by Tessa Radley
“Urgently?” she asked pointedly.
“Yes— The function is tomorrow.” He’d forgotten all about taking a date. Hell, finding a woman had been far from his thoughts these past couple of weeks. The only female that filled his head had been Holly—and Ella. But she didn’t really count.
“Why me?”
He hesitated again. He’d reached the silver-and-black open-plan kitchen. He swung around. Then stopped. He drew a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Then he leaned back against the kitchen counter.
God, he was becoming more and more tangled in this deception—even though he’d planned to be honest and put an end to it all.
“Because I can’t believe you haven’t got someone else in your little black book you could call,” she blurted out when he didn’t answer.
Yevgeny found himself grinning. “I don’t have a little black book.”
She clicked her tongue. “The contacts list in your phone, then.”
How to admit that none of them stirred his interest enough? His mind skittered away from the terrifying specter that thought raised—the only person he wanted to ask was Ella. Because that had to be wrong. It could never be true.
She was prickly and defensive. Not his type.
She reminded him of his mother.
Or did she? Flashes of Ella laughing with Holly. Of how she looked at the baby. Of her gentle cloying concern for her sister. Of her care for her elderly parents.
For the first time he realized that his assumption was quite untrue: Ella was nothing like the woman who had given birth to him—and then deserted him.
Ella would never desert Holly.
She planned to stay in touch with a baby who was never meant to be hers. She only wanted what she considered the very best for Holly—even though Yevgeny didn’t share her views.
“Why me?” she asked again.
“Because you would probably have held it against my proposed adoption if I turned up with a beauty queen from my contacts list.”
There was a silence in response to his facetious reply.
Then she said, “I don’t think—”
“Please,” he said abruptly, kicking himself for not holding his tongue.
“You could go alone, you know.”
“I probably will. It’s a charity event—I’d feel bad not showing up.” With a sigh, he said, “You would’ve enjoyed the ballet.”
“Ballet?”
Yevgeny held his breath.
“Which ballet?”
A vision of two pairs of ballet slippers with faded satin ribbons danced before his eyes. He had her! A smile curved his lips up. “Giselle.”
He heard as she sucked her breath in. Finally she said, “I’d love to come with you to the ballet.”
* * *
Ella set the phone down, terminating the connection to Jo Wells.
The day she’d been waiting for had arrived. Yevgeny was due to pick her up in—Ella glanced at her watch—two hours. She still had to beat the rush-hour traffic home, see that Deb had handed Holly over to the night caregiver, express milk for Holly’s night bottle, shower and glam herself up. Now Jo was on her way, too.
Of course, everything always did happen at once.
The social worker had identified a couple whom she believed met every one of Ella’s criteria. A professional couple who’d already adopted a two-year-old girl, they had a very good relationship with their daughter’s biological parents and grandparents. Their home was located in a rural suburb of Auckland, less than forty minutes drive from where Ella lived. The property abounded with pets and ponies, with a garden that led down to the sea.
They’d flown through the police checks. The family offered everything and more.
Jo was ecstatic. She was bringing the profile file for Ella to view immediately.
The family was so perfect that Jo’s biggest concern was that the biological mothers of two other babies currently waiting for adoption might choose this family. But Jo had said that the family was more than happy to let Holly spend Christmas with Ella—if that was what Ella wanted.
Ella knew she should be experiencing profound joy. But she could only feel the heaviness of dread.
When she examined the dark source of that heaviness she concluded that deep down she’d been secretly hoping that Keira would come to her senses and contact Ella to claim the baby. Was that why she’d been stalling? Was that why she’d vetoed every other couple?
Why she’d been so critical of every other solution available to Holly? Even the option Yevgeny offered? She closed her eyes. She didn’t even want to think about the house Yevgeny was going to buy. Every nook and cranny of her memory of that place was infused with imaginary visions of Holly running across the lawns, Holly playing on the swing Yevgeny intended to build, Holly curled up in the window seat while a fuzzy feminine figure read her a story—
But this would be an open adoption. No reason why Holly would not still have that... She would visit Yevgeny. This family clearly welcomed full participation for the biological family.
There was no reason to hesitate. Ella knew she had to breach the barrier and take the final, irrevocable step.
But she had to face that it wasn’t a case of Keira coming to her senses—Keira had made her own choice. She wanted to find herself—she wasn’t ready to become a mother. Keira was a grown-up. Ella could no longer make her decisions—live her life—for her. Keira had already had twelve days to change her mind.
But she hadn’t.
Ella knew it was time to stop clinging to a thread of hope that had already snapped.
She had to stop putting roadblocks up. This state of limbo was stressful for everyone. And it was unfairest of all to Holly— Every day that passed was taking away the opportunity for the baby to form a strong relationship with her new mother. Ella knew she had to finally let go of the secret dreams she’d been harboring and start working with Jo Wells to finalize the adoption.
For Holly’s sake.
She would look at the profile that Jo was bringing with an open mind...and try not to compare the home with the dream home she’d visited with Yevgeny on the weekend.
Then she would have to face up to Yevgeny himself when he collected her tonight, and tell him what she’d decided.
* * *
Applause thundered around the theatre.
The dramatic stage curtains came down as the first act of Giselle reached its dramatic conclusion. The lights came up. Around them the audience was already swarming up the aisles to take advantage of the intermission. Yevgeny was in time to catch the transfixed glow on Ella’s face, before she blinked rapidly.
“Glad you came?”
Ella shivered. “Good grief, of course! Thank you. It’s incredibly powerful.”
As Yevgeny got to his feet, Ella gave herself a shake. He could see her starting to come back down to earth.
“How can they possibly top that performance in the second act?” she asked as she rose. Her delicate chiffon wrap dropped from her shoulders, exposing the deep V-shaped back of her fitted black dress.
Yevgeny tucked his arm around her waist and ushered her into the aisle ahead of him. She didn’t shake his hand away, so he left it there. Nudged from behind, he pressed up against her, all at once aware of the warm softness of her body against his. His gaze lingered on the soft skin exposed by the dress.
He ached to touch that skin, run a finger down her spine, see the frisson of desire convulse her.
The emotions that had played out on stage in the first act had heightened all his senses. The love. The despair. And the intense passion.
His awareness of Ella leaped higher, blazing through him.
Yevgeny swallowed.
This was truly crazy!
As they emerged fr
om the theater into the lobby he murmured, “Let me fetch us a couple of glasses of wine.”
She hesitated, then nodded.
In relief he swung away. Surrounded by the din of chatter, he took a moment to assemble his thoughts, to deal with his fascination for Ella. A waiter bearing a tray filled with tall, slim champagne glasses was coming toward him. Yevgeny took two glasses.
At a touch on his arm, he glanced sideways—and broke into a smile.
“Jerry, how are you?” Then his smile faded as he remembered the gossip. Jerry’s wife had left him for another man. Awkwardly he held up the glasses. “Sorry, no free hand to shake yours.”
An uncomfortable pause followed, and then Yevgeny caught sight of Ella’s blond head on the other side of the room. “Good to see you again, Jerry.”
“Call me—perhaps we can play golf sometime,” Jerry said.
Yevgeny nodded. “I’ll do that.” Then he made his way over to Ella and handed her a glass.
After a few minutes the bell signaling the end of intermission sounded.
Ella turned away and handed her still-full flute to a passing waiter.
Yevgeny sensed a black hole opening between them. Widening with every second that passed. Yet he couldn’t find the words to bridge it.
What to do? To say? Yevgeny wasn’t used to floundering for words. He was decisive. A leader.
He wasn’t accustomed to this rudderless uncertainty.
Carefully he inched forward. He rested his fingers on her arm. She jumped. He let her go at once.
“Time to see what the second act holds.” Ella threw the comment back over one pale exposed shoulder as she made her way back to the theater. “Let’s see what the ghosts of jilted brides intend to do to the lying, faithless Albrecht.”
That jolted him back to the present.
What was Ella going to say when she learned about the deception Keira, Dmitri and he had been engaged in?
The baby deserved honesty from all the adults around her. Not just from Ella. Holly was the innocent in this situation. Yet, ultimately she would suffer most from any deception.
Shame smothered him.
Ten
“You’ve booked a table for dinner?” Inside the confines of the cockpit of the stationary Porsche, Ella stared at Yevgeny in horror.
What to do now? How could she possibly tell him about the couple who wanted to adopt Holly amidst a room full of diners having a wonderful time? How could she kill his hopes in such a public arena?
It seemed too callous.
But if she asked him to take her home, and invited him in for a nightcap back at her town house, the night nanny—and Holly—would be waiting....
They needed somewhere private.
“Aren’t you hungry?”
“A little.” But she wasn’t up to enduring two hours of polite pretense in a high-society restaurant while she sat on new information that involved Holly’s adoption.
Maybe she should simply insist he take her home...and wait until tomorrow, then ask him to meet at her office? That would be appropriate. Yet Ella didn’t want to leave this any longer—Yevgeny deserved to know of her decision.
Holly.
It was all for Holly.
Her chest ached, and she felt quite ill. Ella knew her heart was breaking. Her glasses had misted up. She couldn’t possibly be crying?
Ella ducked her head and fished in her purse for a tissue. Removing her glasses, she gave them a perfunctory polish then put them back on. The mist had cleared.
Yevgeny was watching her.
“Don’t you feel like going out? Would you prefer to have something light to eat at my apartment? With a glass of wine? I have a fabulous cellar.”
That was a solution, although wine might not be such a good idea—not now that Holly was drinking breast milk.
And Ella discovered she was curious to see where he lived, to find out what lifestyle he would be shedding when he moved into his new home. The next wave of pain washed over her.
Goodness, she was behaving like a goose.
“That sounds like a good idea—but I had a late lunch so don’t go to any trouble. I’m not that hungry.”
“Hold on.” The Porsche growled. They started to nose forward out of the theater’s parking lot. “Won’t be long now.”
Ella pulled out her cell phone to text Holly’s night nurse not to wait up for her.
The talk to come might take a while.
* * *
Yevgeny’s penthouse apartment was perched high above Auckland City like an eagle’s nest.
From the private elevator, Ella alighted onto a steel mezzanine bridge spanning the length of the penthouse. Two steps down, and Ella found herself in the living area with Yevgeny right behind her.
Black marble floors gleamed under blindingly bright track-mounted spotlights. The immense space stretched miles to the left and right. In front of her a wall of glass framed the unfolding cityscape like an enormous, dramatic work of art.
“This is awesome.”
Yevgeny touched a panel on the wall and music swelled.
One end of the vast living space was filled with a high-tech kitchen dominated by jet-black marble and the brash shine of stainless steel. In the center of the space, a slab of glass suspended on white marble blocks and surrounded with designer ghost chairs gave a highly luminous, yet strangely floating, transparent take on a dinner table. To her left, a sitting area was furnished with sofas constructed of blocks of black and gray leather artfully arranged to take advantage of the view beyond.
“There’s no television.” Ella was surprised by the absence of electronics.
“Oh, it’s here—you just can’t see it.”
Yevgeny walked to the sitting area and picked up a sleek object that, had Ella given it a second glance, she would’ve assumed to be a modern artifact. He pointed it at the glass wall in front of the sofas. With a soft click a narrow panel alongside the window slid open. A second click and the largest, slimmest wide-screen television Ella had ever seen rose out of the floor.
The mind boggled. “Very James Bond.”
Amusement flashed in Yevgeny’s eyes. “The theater sound system has been built into the walls and ceilings.” He moved a finger and the television came on. “There are blinds that roll down to block out the light. Then this becomes a home cinema. The security system is also wired in.”
The picture on the television changed and the screen split into a grid of images. As her eyes flicked from one image to the next, Ella could see the Porsche parked underground, the entrance to the private elevator where they’d been minutes before, the concierge desk in the lobby as well as images of rooms she had not yet seen. A huge bedroom with a scarlet bed clearly designed to reflect the passion of the occupant, caused her to glance away.
“There must be cameras everywhere in this apartment. Don’t you ever feel...watched?”
“There are no cameras in the guest washroom.”
Ella shot him a wary look to see if he was joking. His face appeared to be perfectly straight. With an edge she said, “How very fortunate for your female...guests.”
Yevgeny gave her a lazy smile. “All my guests deserve a modicum of privacy.”
This...this was a playboy’s pad, jam-packed with boy-toys. Ella searched the screen. “What about the guest bedroom? Any cameras in there?”
“There is no guest bedroom—only the master bedroom and bathroom—and a study. I’ll show you around if you like.”
“The ultimate bachelor’s dream,” she said, not ready to acknowledge his offer to show her his bedroom. Although her heart had picked up at the thought of standing with Yevgeny in the same space as that wildly passionate scarlet bed....
Her eyes roamed the living area, seeking a dist
raction.
Minimalist. Glossy hard surfaces. Hardly the kind of place that a child could visit. It belonged on the pages of interior-design magazines and was far removed from the house Ella had visited with Yevgeny on Sunday.
That place—while big—was meant for a family.
“I see why you wanted to go house hunting,” she said.
A pang of guilt stabbed her. Ella knew she was procrastinating. It was time to talk to Yevgeny about Holly’s future.
The bubble of hope he’d been fantasizing about was about to burst. And it was an unrealistic fantasy— Ella had only to look at the kind of place he lived in to know that his lifestyle was totally unsuited to a child. Buying that dream house wasn’t going to change who Yevgeny was.
Even though she’d discovered he was capable of patience and enormous devotion toward Holly, it was not enough.
He could not provide the family Holly needed.
But, Ella told herself, that didn’t mean he could have no relationship with Holly. An open adoption allowed that. They would both be able to be part of Holly’s life.
Holly would have it all. A wonderful family and plenty of support from both sides of her biological family. They were all giving Holly the best chance of success in the circumstances.
Yevgeny had opened a panel in the end wall to reveal a bar complete with a fridge below the counter. “Would you like a glass of Merlot? Or I can offer Sauvignon Blanc—or what about a flute of chilled Bollinger?”
About to ask for a glass of mineral water, Ella changed her mind. What the hell, a woman didn’t have the chance to drink Bollinger in this kind of place too often in her life. And the effervescence of champagne might clear the sadness that was settling around her like smog at the end of a winter’s workday.
With a determined smile, she said, “Bollinger, please.”
“Have a seat.”
Yevgeny turned back to the bar fridge and extracted a frosted jeroboam. A moment later he popped the cork. Perched on a sofa, Ella listened to the sound of the champagne being poured into two tall flutes and tried to tell herself that everything was working out for the best.