by Tessa Radley
“At least he didn’t screw it up.” He flashed her a smile.
“You expected him to,” she said after a long moment.
“Honestly?” Her eyes demanded the truth, so he gave it. “Yes, I did.”
“How could you think he would fail?”
“I didn’t think he’d see it through. He’s never had any firm idea of what he wants from life.” He paused, then turned the focus back on Ella and her sister. “How can you talk. You don’t expect anything of Keira. You still take care of her, sort out all her messes. She never needs to take accountability for anything. You’re even sorting out the adoption for a baby she wanted then discarded.”
For once Ella had nothing to say. He watched as her mouth opened and closed. Finally she turned away and crossed to where three large store bags sat on the floor. She reached into the closest one and took out a box. She opened it, revealing a tray containing about a dozen shiny, red ornamental balls.
It was a moment of utter emotional devastation.
And Yevgeny felt like a complete toad. It was almost Christmas. It was a time for faith...and family. He’d insisted on helping Ella decorate a tree to celebrate the festivities for Holly—and now he was upsetting her.
That wasn’t right. Yevgeny couldn’t help thinking that his dearly loved babushka would be ashamed of him for ruining Ella’s moment of pleasure and forcing her to accept unwanted assistance. She’d already told him to leave—that was what she wanted. If he behaved with the honor that his babushka would expect of him, Yevgeny knew he was left with no choice: he must leave....
He came to a decision. “You don’t want me to stay and help you with the tree, so I will leave and come back later when Holly is awake.”
With an inward sigh of disappointment, Yevgeny made his way to where he’d abandoned his jacket. But before he could lean down to pick it up, Ella spoke from behind him. “You can stay—if you want.”
Yevgeny jerked around in surprise.
She wasn’t even looking at him, nor did she sound particularly welcoming, yet his heart lifted.
“Thank you.” Gratitude welled up inside him. Before she could change her mind, he moved to the tree and hoisted it up with enthusiasm. “The Christmas tree will look good over here, hmm?”
Ella tucked her hair behind one ear, and shifted her glance to where he indicated. “Yes, I think you’re right—that’s the perfect spot.”
His lips curved in a smile and he shot her an amused look through the gap between two branches. “Good. For once we’re in agreement.”
She met his gaze. Then, after a moment, she grinned back. “Yes. It would appear we are.”
Ella McLeod had dimples in both cheeks.
To avoid the confusion the discovery aroused, Yevgeny ducked down and secured the base of the tree. When he’d safely assured himself that noticing Ella had dimples didn’t change anything of great consequence, he finally raised his head again.
“Have you got lights for the tree?” he asked. “They will need to go up first.”
Ella dove back into the shopping bags and emerged, waving a box of brand-new Christmas lights with a triumphant flourish. Another smile...and her dimples flashed again.
Blood pumped through his veins.
Yevgeny averted his gaze, and busied himself with taking the box from her hands. Her slender fingers brushed against his large ones—an electric connection. He didn’t dare look at her as he broke the seal. Once the lid was open, he lifted the coiled rope of lights out. Immediately Ella crowded closer.
He inhaled deeply.
Lilacs.
Yes, he was in danger of becoming addicted to the subtle scent....
Shaking his head in rejection of that craziness, Yevgeny started to weave the lights through the branches while Ella worked alongside him, making adjustments. He’d never been this close to her for any length of time. It felt curiously—he searched for the right word—exhilarating. When she stepped away to shake out the remaining cable and then went to plug it into the wall socket, he found himself sharply aware of the gray void left in her wake.
A flick of the switch and color lit up the room.
Even Ella’s white, cropped T-shirt reflected the rainbow wash of Christmas lights. It looked magical. Yevgeny found himself chuckling at the pretty picture she made.
Ella reached down and switched the lights off. “Now we know they work!”
“Are you always so prosaic?”
She glanced at him through the fan of hair that shielded her face. “Always.”
Despite her reply, Yevgeny couldn’t halt the spreading of awareness. He considered himself a connoisseur of beautiful women—he’d dated some of the world’s best. So why hadn’t he noticed how well proportioned her features were? The straight nose, the short delicate arch of her upper lip, and the uptilted curve of her smile all combined to create a striking face.
But he hadn’t noticed it.
Until now.
He hadn’t bothered to look beyond the dark suits, oversize glasses and abrasive manner.
What else had he missed?
“You have lovely eyes, you know,” he said abruptly. “But those hideous glasses you wear do nothing to show them off.”
Shock flickered in her eyes, and then a flush stained her cheeks. “Thank you...I think.”
“It was a compliment—you shouldn’t hide your assets.”
Without replying, she pushed her glasses up, then tucked her head down and scrabbled around in the shopping bags again. “I bought decorative balls to hang on the tree.”
Ella had changed the subject.
His mouth slanted. Had he really expected a different response? Or was it so hard for her to accept a compliment? He was growing more and more curious about a woman whom he wouldn’t have glanced at twice a week ago.
He refrained from pointing out that she’d already opened one box and smiled at her as she continued, “I ordered red-and-silver balls from an online catalog.” Ella drew out the second box. “They should look very pretty against the dark green foliage.”
He let her off the hook. “My grandmother had a collection of antique glass balls.”
That garnered her interest. “Your grandmother? Is she still alive?”
Yevgeny shook his head. “Unfortunately not. She passed away two months ago.”
Behind those ugly glasses, Ella’s eyes were perceptive. “You miss her.”
“Very much—she was a loving woman.” Unlike her daughter, his mother. But Yevgeny had no intention to brood about the past.
“She was Russian?” Ella was asking.
“No. She was English.” He picked up one of the red balls and hooked the silver ribbon securing it over a branch. After a pause during which he could sense Ella bursting to ask more, he said, “She married my very Russian grandfather after the Second World War—and taught him to speak English. In the process, she became more Russian than he was. The handblown glass decorations she treasured belonged to his family.”
“Did she ever return to England?”
“No.” But his mother had, taking him and Dmitri with her....
“Was she happy living so far from home?”
It took him a moment to shift his thoughts back to their conversation, and pick up the thread again. Ella was talking about his grandmother.
“She loved my grandfather. Her home was with him.” And she’d loved him and Dmitri. Babushka had brought some degree of normality into their lives, normality that had vanished once his mother had ripped them away from their father. Without Babushka their lives had been barren of feminine affection—because his beautiful mother had had little to spare. Every day Yevgeny remembered his babushka’s legacy of kindness. “She was one in a million.”
His words hung in the air as they contin
ued to loop decorations onto the branches.
After a few minutes he added, “My babushka collected wooden decorations, too. She used to say she liked her tree to be a true yolka.”
“Yolka?”
Yevgeny smiled as Ella tried the unfamiliar word out.
“The traditional tree is called the yolka,” he told her. “The first Christmas tree was brought back to Russia by Peter the Great after his travels. The tradition became very popular, until Christmas was outlawed after the 1917 Revolution. It became known as a New Year’s Tree.”
“That’s sad.”
“For most of my life Christmas celebrations have been allowed,” he said quickly, lest she feel pity for him, “although people had gotten used to celebrating on the first of January, so changing back to Christmas day came slowly at first.” Yevgeny changed the subject. “Your family celebrated Christmas?”
Ella hesitated. “Well, we always decorated a tree—and my parents gave us Christmas gifts each year. But they didn’t believe in perpetuating the myth of Santa Claus. They were older,” she said with a touch of defensiveness when he stared. “And when Keira was young I used to wrap something of mine for her to find on Christmas morning. I’d tell her it was from Santa.”
“My grandmother always made sure the family celebrated Christmas,” he said, “even in the Iron Curtain years when it wasn’t allowed. Although I don’t remember that time—I was very young when the prohibition against Christmas was lifted. We would put our tree up earlier than New Year’s Day so that we could have a Christmas tree, and we would decorate it with my grandmother’s collection of ornaments and tangerines and walnuts carefully wrapped in tinfoil.”
When he’d lived in London, even his mother had followed Western tradition and Santa Claus had visited each year. He and Dmitri had at least had the memories of finding gifts under the Christmas tree on Christmas morning—whatever else his mother had done, she had allowed them that small pleasure. What would life have been like for Ella and Keira? To be deprived of such simple joys? Especially when all their friends must’ve been visited by Santa’s sleigh and his reindeer.
And this Christmas Keira would be on the other side of the world.
“Will you be getting together with your parents this Christmas?”
Ella shook her head. “No, we haven’t celebrated together for a number of years.”
Yes, Ella would be alone.
Not wanting her to see the compassion in his eyes, he turned away and started to hang the silver balls on the tree. But his mind couldn’t let go of the image of Ella stoically wrapping her treasures to give to her sister—so that Keira wouldn’t miss out on all the fun that went along with Santa. Was that part of the reason Ella seemed so humorless? Had all the fun been sapped out of her young life?
Perhaps...
All the more reason why this Christmas would be different for Holly.
As he made that vow, Yevgeny hung the last silver ball on the tree then stood back to admire their efforts. “Not bad,” he declared. “Let’s put the lights back on.”
“Before I switch the lights on, there’s one more item to go on the tree.” Ella was unwrapping dark green tissue paper from the object she held in her hands. “The ornament for the top.”
The wrapping fell away.
Yevgeny found himself staring at an angel. His first thought was that he would’ve expected Ella to choose a shiny silver star for the top of the tree. Nothing as personal—and as touchingly humorous—as this angel.
He reached out a hand to touch the angel.
“She’s even more beautiful than I thought she would be from the online picture.” Ella placed the angel in his hands, then hit the wall switch so that the tree lights came back on again. “She’s handmade,” continued Ella, as she straightened up. “What do you think?”
The angel wore a long robe of some kind of shimmery silver fabric. But, as Yevgeny held her up to the light, it was her face that captured his attention. Not beautiful. But full of childlike joy. Chubby and cherubic, the angel’s face was brightened by a mischievous smile.
“She’s perfect,” he replied.
As he reached up and perched the angel on the apex of the tree, Yevgeny couldn’t help thinking that in a few years’ time, Holly would be itching to be the one to put the angel on top of the Christmas tree.
But Holly wouldn’t be here...if Ella got her way.
* * *
Green. Yellow. Red.
The wash of light over his face didn’t offer any assistance with making Yevgeny’s expression easier to read. A mix of pensiveness...and some other emotion that Ella couldn’t identify clouded his face.
She hesitated, then blurted out, “Would you like to look through the adoptive parent portfolios that Jo dropped off with me?”
Almost at once she regretted the offer. Already he was frowning. She must be going soft in the head to believe she and Yevgeny could do this without coming to blows. They were polar opposites. They never agreed on anything—this was going to end up in one big battle.
But before she could cast about for a reason to retract the invitation, the cloud cleared from his face, and he said, “Oh, yes! Perhaps I can finally make you see sense.”
He flung himself down on the couch beneath the window and stretched his long legs out in front of him. Crossing his arms behind his head as he leaned back, he looked far too sure of himself.
Taking in the picture he made in his suit pants and white business shirt, together with the stubbled chin and rumpled dark hair, Ella wasn’t sure whether to be exasperated or amused.
He looked quite at home...and it would probably take a bulldozer to move him out again.
But the truth of it was, if Yevgeny could see what some of these families had to offer a baby, he might even have second thoughts about his rash and selfish demand to keep the baby himself.
If Yevgeny reconsidered his standpoint, and accepted that adopting the baby out would be in Holly’s best interests, it would be so much easier for them all. If he was involved in choosing a family for the baby, Holly would come out the winner.
Buoyed up with fresh optimism, Ella collected the five profile files Jo Wells had delivered from the dining table, then seated herself beside Yevgeny.
“Those look heavy.” Unlocking his arms from behind his head, he bent forward to lift all but the bottom portfolio from her lap and set the stack on the coffee table in front of the couch.
“They are! They hold the whole life story—or at least the pertinent parts—of each couple.” Ella opened the first folder. “This is the hardest part for me, the first photo of the couple together. Look at their eyes. They want this baby, they want Holly.”
She paused.
Then, when Yevgeny remained silent, she added, “It’s the same with each profile. Every time I have to conquer a surge of guilt before I turn the page.”
When he slanted her a questioning glance, she said, “In case I don’t choose them.”
“I see.”
From the look on his face, she could tell that he didn’t get it.
“In case I didn’t see the plea in their eyes, the desperation on their faces,” she said to make it clear.
This time he got it.
She knew it by the shock in his eyes.
Maybe it was the word “desperation” that did it.
Ella turned the page. Then the next...and the next...until she reached the end. “This couple has two sons...they live in an apartment in Auckland City. Both parents are professionals—like me.” She looked up to find Yevgeny’s eyes already fixed on her. Shock jolted through her. She swallowed, then continued in a slightly husky voice. “Being professionals is good—I want Holly to have a career. But I visualized her having an older sister—and a garden growing up. Kids need space to roam. Two boys and
an apartment? And their parents working long hours? I don’t know. It might mean good money and a comfortable existence, but will the parents be able to give Holly—all of them—enough time?”
Yevgeny shook his head.
She set the portfolio aside and reached for the next one. Leaning back she discovered that Yevgeny had rested his arm along the back of the couch, bringing him so much closer. Tingles danced over her skin as her nerve endings went on high alert. A deep, steadying breath only made her more aware of the musky male scent that clung to him.
Hurriedly, Ella flipped open the folder and concentrated on the first photo.
This time the decision was easy. No. The family just was not right. But the following profile was much tougher to look through. The family seemed to tick off all the boxes that Ella could ask for, yet she didn’t find herself overcome with enthusiasm.
“They do look lovely—they have a daughter already.” She tried to fake enthusiasm as she paged through the file. “A garden. And two dogs.”
“Her mouth is too set—she’s a witch.” Yevgeny arched forward and pointed at the mother with the hand that was not settled on the back of the couch.
“Nonsense! She’s not a witch. She’s smiling!” Glancing up to protest, Ella could see the dark stubble on his chin, the hard angles of his cheekbones.
Yevgeny turned his head. Their gazes tangled. “But her eyes are not. And that dog looks like it can’t wait to get off her lap.”
Ella couldn’t breathe!
Feeling crowded, she glanced away...down...and focused on the photo in front of her.
The little girl wasn’t smiling at all.
Ella’s heart sank. Did that matter? Was it really significant? With a confused sigh she said, “We may be seeing things that don’t even exist.”
The instant Yevgeny removed his arm from behind her, the twisted mix of excitement and apprehension that had been fluttering in her stomach like a caged butterfly eased. She watched Yevgeny reach for the previous two portfolios, page through them and jab a finger at the family portraits. “In both of these the parents are touching each other.”