"So it was your selfishness that left Alex without a father," Kate said pointedly. "Now, that's the first thing you've said today that hasn't surprised me." Trust his mother to turn the story her way, Alex thought. Not that he could blame her. He wasn't too thrilled with his father, either.
"You can go now," she told him with a regal wave of her hand. "I think you've said enough."
"I will go." Charles stood up. "But if you need anything—"
"Why would I need anything? I've made my own way the past twenty-five years. I don't need you for anything."
"I guess you don't. Although you seem to be awfully interested in my pictures these days."
His mother tossed her head. "I had every right to make money off your work and to keep your reputation alive. It was for Alex. He was so proud of you and your accomplishments. I never wanted him to lose that. I was doing it for you and your legacy."
Alex had to admit she had a beautiful way of spinning the truth. It had never been about him, but he didn't intend to get in the middle of this fight. It was between the two of them.
"You're welcome to do what you want with the photos," Charles said. "They served their purpose. They did what I wanted them to do at the time. They showed something important to the world. That's all I ever cared about. That's why you were always angry with me. I wasn't ambitious enough. I didn't want the fame or the celebrity. I wanted to stay in the background."
"Because you were spying on the Russians," she said, "not because you wanted obscurity. And you know, I wasn't stupid. I knew something was going on. And that woman—Sarah—were you sleeping with her?"
"Sarah was always just a friend. She was also working for the government," he added. "We both wanted to do something for the people over there."
"So altruistic," she sneered. "Worry about people you don't even know, but to hell with your family. What kind of heroism is that?"
She had a good point, Alex thought. And his father took the hit hard, his face aging before their eyes.
There were deep, grooved lines around his eyes, across his forehead, and at the corners of his mouth. He'd spent twenty-five years living a lie and feeling guilty. They'd all paid a price, Alex realized.
"I can't defend what I did to you and Alex," Charles said. "I can only tell you that my intentions were to keep you safe, and at least in that effort I succeeded. I'll go now. And I am sorry, Kate, for whatever that's worth. Do what you want with my pictures. I gave up photography the day I died."
Alex was surprised to hear that. "What have you been doing?"
"Working as an auto mechanic. My father was one. He taught me how to work on cars. I never thought I'd want to have that job, but in the end it became my life. I've been able to make enough to survive."
"Did you marry again?" Kate asked sharply. "Not that I care."
"I never remarried," he said quietly. "I never tried to re-create my family. I knew that would be impossible." He drew in a long breath and slowly let it out. "I want you both to be happy. That's all. I'm sorry for everything I've done that hurt you. Not just for faking my death, but for choosing to involve myself in something I knew could bring danger to both of you. That's what I truly regret. I was selfish. I couldn't see past what I thought was so important. I was a shortsighted photographer. I should have turned that camera on myself; then I would have seen the truth." He gave a regretful shake of his head. "Good-bye."
Alex wanted to say something, but he didn't know what.
His mother didn't seem to have the same problem. "You owe me, Charles," she said.
"Whatever you want, Kate."
She hesitated. "I want you to stay dead."
Alex's breath stuck in his chest as he waited for his father's answer.
"I can do that," Charles said. And with that, he walked out of the living room, out of the house, and out of their lives... again.
"I hate him," Kate said a moment later, but there was more pain in her voice now than anger. "You hate him, too, don't you, Alex?" Her eyes pleaded with him to agree.
He wished he could give her what she wanted, but the truth was he didn't know how he felt about his father anymore.
* * *
Julia stared at the house Michael had bought to surprise her. She still couldn't believe he'd made the purchase without asking her first. But she wasn't here about the house or about their relationship; she was here to find Liz. She needed to tell her sister the entire story. Maybe Michael needed to hear it, too. She owed him that much.
She walked up the front steps and saw that the door was ajar. She knocked, then pushed it open, hearing laughter in the kitchen. She walked through the doorway and saw Liz on a short ladder, using a roller on the ceiling, while Michael was on his knees doing the baseboard, complaining that Liz was once again spattering him with paint. He was right. They both wore as much paint as the walls, and they looked surprisingly at ease with each other.
Julia had always known they were good friends, but now she couldn't help wondering if Liz and Michael should have been the couple all along. She cleared her throat, drawing Liz's attention. Her sister almost dropped the roller when she saw her.
"Julia!" Liz squealed.
"Hi," she said. "Michael."
Michael slowly rose. "What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to talk to Liz. My aunt told me she was helping you with the house. It's nice," she added somewhat awkwardly. "This room is really bright."
Liz got off the ladder. "So, tell us—did you find what you were looking for? Did you find your real father?"
Her question made Julia realize how little Liz knew about all the events that had happened in the past few days. "I did. I found out a lot of things about my father... and my mother."
A glint of fear flashed through Liz's eyes. "I don't want to hear this, do I?"
"You have to hear it."
"I'm not your real sister. Mom adopted you, didn't she?"
Julia saw the worry in Liz's eyes and knew she had to put an end to that right now. "You will always be my sister, no matter what, so don't even think about trying to end our relationship. I'm not giving you up."
The tension in Liz's face eased at her words. "But we don't share the same blood, do we? Come on, Julia, tell me the truth. I can take it."
"We don't share the same blood."
"So you are that Russian girl in the photo?"
"Actually, I'm not. That was my sister."
Liz's jaw dropped. "What?"
"There are two of you?" Michael echoed, shock in his voice.
"Yes, there are two of us. We're identical twins." She paused, letting her words sink in. "Her name is Elena. I think I used to call an imaginary friend Elena, but she wasn't a friend, she was my sister, and I didn't know what had happened to her."
"Dad told me about your imaginary friend and your made-up language," Liz muttered. "That was Russian, wasn't it?"
"I think so." She swallowed hard, trying to figure out the best way to tell the story. "My parents were important Russians. They were trying to defect. We were separated to make it easier to get us out of the country, and they were killed before that could happen. Elena and I were brought to the U.S. by different government agents, and Sarah, who was one of those agents, decided to keep me and raise me as her own."
"No," Liz said in disbelief. "Mom was not an agent. You're not going to tell me that."
"She was. I know it sounds incredible, but it's the truth. Oh, Liz, it's a long story, and I want to tell you everything. But I need to tell Dad, too, and I was hoping maybe we could do it all at once. Will you come with me to see him?"
Liz hesitated, glancing over at Michael. He gave her a small nod of encouragement.
"All right," Liz said, "I'll come with you." She set the roller down in the tray. "Just let me wash my hands." She walked out of the kitchen into the adjacent laundry room and turned on the faucet in the big sink.
Julia stared at Michael, feeling more than a little uncomfortable being alone with him. S
he didn't know what to say, so she settled for, "I'm sorry about everything."
"So am I," he replied. "But I'm glad you found your past. No more missing pieces."
"It feels good knowing who I am, why I never felt like I quite fit with my parents, why my mom tried to steer me away from things that I loved. She didn't want to lose me. She gave up her whole life to keep me, and she couldn't take a chance that I would ever slip away, so she trapped me with her love. I didn't see it until she was gone."
"And then you thought I was trapping you, too."
"Not exactly—"
He cut her off with a wave of his hand. "No, I think that is exactly what I was doing, although I didn't realize it. I had this image of you that I couldn't let go." He smiled sadly, with enormous regret. "I'm just sorry that I wasted so much of your time."
"You didn't. You were great. It was me. All me. I couldn't commit to you because I knew deep down I wasn't happy with the way my life was going."
"I can't believe I bought this house for you without telling you. Pretty stupid, huh?"
"It's going to be a great family home for you and the right person."
"I hope so."
Liz returned to the room, looking from one to the other. "Are we done here?"
"We're done," Michael said, meeting Julia's gaze. "We're definitely done."
* * *
Two hours and several cups of coffee later, Julia finished telling her story to Liz and Gino as they sat in her father's kitchen. Both had been stunned by the revelations she'd shared, especially in regard to Sarah. She'd tried to soften the blows by emphasizing how much Sarah had sacrificed to build their family, but she knew that Gino and Liz would have to find their own way to acceptance of the woman they'd all loved.
Gino hadn't said anything in almost twenty minutes, Julia realized. And he'd been staring down at his black coffee for at least the last five. "Are you all right, Dad?" she asked, covering his hand with hers.
There was pain in his eyes when he looked at her. "Do you still want to call me Dad?"
"Of course I do. You're the only father I've ever known. I love you. I love Lizzie, too. You're my family."
"But we're not," Liz said.
"Yes, you are. Blood doesn't matter more than love, and we love each other," Julia said.
"If blood didn't matter, why did you need to know your real parents?" Liz asked.
It was a good question. Julia tried to explain. "Because I needed to know myself as much as I needed the history. I've always felt a bit out of step with everyone. I couldn't figure out where I got my love for music or even my looks. I know Mom used to joke that I had her nose and her legs, but I think she just said that to make me feel like I fit in. She did everything to make me happy. I'm angry in some ways, but in other ways I know I've had a good life because of her."
"She should have told me," Gino said heavily. "I should have asked more questions about you and your father."
"She left that life behind. The only truth Sarah lived was with the three of us. The lies ended when she married you, Dad. You have to remember that."
"You think you know a person, but you don't," he said.
"But you did know her. You knew the little things," she said. "You knew the way she liked her coffee, the way she cried at romantic movies. You knew the way she read the newspaper from back to front, and the way she laughed—half giggle, half snort." She smiled at the memory. "We all knew her. We did."
"What about your other sister?" Liz asked. "What are you going to do about her?"
Julia took a breath. "She's flying out here next weekend. I want you all to meet her. I'm hoping..." She paused, waiting for them both to look at her. "I'm hoping that you'll accept her. She's had a tough life. She grew up in foster homes. She has no family, except for me—no father, no sister, no nothing."
"I'm kind of jealous of her," Liz confessed. "She shares your blood. And you're twins. You're going to get closer to her and forget about me. I just know it."
"I have room in my heart for two sisters. What about you?" Julia challenged. "And what about you, Dad? Do the DeMarcos have room for another person at next weekend's Sunday brunch?"
"Yes," he said, a smile crossing his lips for the very first time. "Of course. We will make room for your sister at our table whenever she comes."
"You are a very generous man," she said, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek, "and I'm lucky to have you. Which reminds me, we need to talk about your drinking, Dad. I know I've been distracted, but not too distracted to notice that you've been drowning your sorrows in alcohol. I don't want to lose you. And I think you should stop. I'll help you, whatever it takes."
He patted her hand. "I feel better when I drink. The pain is not so sharp."
"But Dad—"
"I know," he cut in. "Your sister already talked to me about it."
Julia looked at Liz in surprise. "You did?"
"You told me it was my turn to take action," Liz replied. "Dive in, take charge, stop being a spectator, you said. So I did. Dad and I had a long talk last night."
"I'm glad." Things were going so well, Julia wondered if she should push her luck; then she decided to go for it. "There's one other person I'd like to invite for next weekend's Sunday brunch."
"Alex?" Liz asked with a wry smile on her lips. "I should have figured."
Her heart flip-flopped at the sound of his name, but she shook her head. "No, not Alex. I was thinking about Susan Davidson, Sarah's mother, and your grandmother. I'd like the two of you to meet."
Gino glanced at Liz. "What do you think, honey?"
"I think it's a good idea," Liz said slowly. "If Julia is getting another sister, I might as well get another grandmother, if you don't think Nonna will mind," she said to Gino, referring to his mother.
"She'll be all right with it," Gino replied. "There's always room for one more."
"Good," Julia said with a smile. "You're both being really generous, and I appreciate it more than you know."
"What about Alex?" Liz persisted. "Why don't you invite him, too?"
"Because he's leaving. In fact, he's probably already gone. He couldn't wait to get back to his job." She blinked back a tear. She wasn't going to cry over Alex. She'd had a good time with him. And he'd been great. She'd known all along that what they had was only temporary.
"You love him, don't you?" Lizzie said quietly, with compassion in her brown eyes.
"I wish I didn't, but I think I do." She paused. "There's something else I need to tell you."
"There's more?" Liz queried. "I thought we knew everything."
"About the past, yes, but I want to talk to you about the future. I'm planning a little trip..."
Chapter Twenty-Three
Two weeks later Julia could barely believe she was traveling by taxi through the streets of Moscow with Elena by her side. She smiled at her sister. "We're here," she said.
"I keep pinching myself to make sure I'm not dreaming. Two weeks ago I didn't know you existed, and here I am in Russia with the sister I thought was dead. Life takes some very mysterious turns just when you least expect it," Elena replied.
"I'm so glad you were willing to come with me. I know it was kind of an impulsive thing to do. And you're more into planning than I am. But I was afraid if we waited too long, we'd never do it."
"Fortunately, the Russian government was willing to extend us visas," Elena replied. "That expedited matters."
"I guess the Russians were happy to discover an American end to an old Russian crime. It certainly released any lingering doubts about who killed our parents."
"It's too bad Mama and Papa told Brady about those jewels. They might have lived otherwise."
"I'm sure they did the best they could with the information they had. They didn't know who to trust, and they took a chance."
"And it got them killed." Elena turned sideways in her seat. "I wasn't sure about this trip, you know. I kept thinking we should let this part of our lives stay in the past, but
now that we're here, I'm excited." She paused. "I keep thinking I should remember something, but I don't. Do you?"
"Not at all," Julia said with a sigh. "Maybe when we start walking the streets something will come back. I hope so, anyway."
"Me, too. But whatever happens, I'm glad we came. I'm also glad I met your family. They were really nice to me. I'm grateful for that."
Julia sat back in her seat, watching the sights go by, and thinking about the last ten days. As Elena had said, the DeMarcos had graciously accepted her into their midst, including Liz, who after some initial awkwardness had opened her heart. Liz had also been willing to spend time with her newly discovered grandmother, Susan Davidson, who had finally been filled in on the whole story. It would take some time to blend the families, but Julia was convinced it would happen in the end.
There were still a lot of things they had to figure out, especially about the money, the jewels, and the music scores, but she and Elena had both agreed to do nothing until they'd made this special trip back to the past. They needed to shut that last door before they could completely move on with their lives.
Ten minutes later, the cab pulled up in front of the Hotel Metropole, located across the street from the Bolshoi Theater. Her mother had danced there, so had her great-grandmother, and it was as good a place as any from which to retrace their steps.
Once they were checked in, they proceeded to their room, which was nicely decorated with sketches on the walls, two double beds, a desk, and a chair. While Elena made a stop in the restroom, Julia headed toward the window. The Bolshoi Theater was directly in view. It was a beautiful building, with eight strong columns and the Chariot of Apollo sculpture on top. There was so much history to the building, so much history that was important to her family of dancers and musicians.
"What are you staring at?" Elena asked, joining her at the window.
"The Bolshoi."
"It's stunning," Elena said with a sigh. "I dreamed of dancing there one day. But it wasn't meant to be."
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