by Tia Siren
“Yes, madam, if you would like to. I can try to hurry. Put a rush on it.” He grinned slightly, enjoying the new phrase. “However, if you want quality work, it will take at least five sessions.”
She sighed. “All right. You may do whatever suits you, Sir Anthony.”
“Please call me Eric.”
“All right, Eric.”
“Stand here.” He came over to her and adjusted her as if she was a mannequin, being careful not to touch her too frequently and cautious about where he put his hands.
For the next few hours, she stood listening to him. Whenever she wanted to speak, he would shush her abruptly. “You must not move!” He would say in a firm voice. She resisted grinning whenever he said it, mostly because he had usually just asked a question and she was trying to answer.
“How am I supposed to answer your question if you keep yelling at me not to move?” She asked at one point.
“I guess you will not be able to answer my questions then.” He looked around the canvas at her to see if she could tell he was joking with her. She could see it and it warmed her heart. He talked to her about his family, how they had immigrated from France originally but that he had no ties to the country and couldn’t speak the language. She found out he was born and raised here in Virginia, he had two sisters and a brother, whom he adored and that his favorite animal was the horse.
“Such majestic creatures they are, you know,” he said. “They have minds of their own. They will do what they want to do whenever they want to do it. They are free spirits, roaming the mountains around us.”
“I agree.”
“Do you?”
She nodded. “Yes, I do.”
“You mustn’t move.” This time, he said it very gently.
Five days later, after hours of standing for the portrait, Eve was relieved to hear he was finished.
“Come and take a look,” he said, standing back. “I hope for your approval.”
When she moved around to see the front of the painting, she felt a wave of emotion. It was exactly as she remembered. She would surely be able to get back now.
The problem was that she had come to think of this as her home, this time as her own. There had been no more dances or balls, only standing for the portrait being created with strong hands by a handsome man she had come to adore. His voice was deep and gentle. His words were always encouraging and positive. He held an outlook on life that matched hers, in a way, at least, how she felt when she wasn’t constantly being questioned by a negative, angry man.
“Do you approve?” He asked in a gentle voice.
She looked at him and then back at the painting. “I do.” She breathed.
“I am happy to hear that. Will you be giving it to your father for his birthday?”
She wondered how he knew about that little joke she had shared with her father earlier that week. She laughed softly. “It was never really intended for that but…I might.”
She had been waiting so long for the portrait. But in the meantime, she had fallen in love. The look in Eric’s eyes when she looked at him made her feel as if perhaps the feeling was mutual. She wasn’t sure she could leave now.
“How…did you know I was thinking of giving it to him?” She asked.
He lifted one hand and brushed a lock of her hair back from her cheek. The slight touch sent chills over Eve’s body.
“I talked with him this morning before coming in to finish the portrait.”
“Oh?” She gazed at him, biting her lower lip.
“Yes. I…I also asked him a very important question.”
She felt her heart thumping when she gazed up at him. She wanted to grab him and plant a huge kiss on his soft-looking lips. But she couldn’t do that. How inappropriate would that be!
“I asked him for your hand in marriage, Helen.”
She almost fainted but held her own. “Oh?” The question came out shaky. She cleared her throat.
“Would you like to go for a walk with me sometime? Perhaps we could get to know each other better before taking a step that large?”
“What did my father say?”
Eric smiled. “He gave his approval.”
She chewed on her bottom lip. She was supposed to go home. She thought about her grandmother.
When she looked back up at Eric, she knew what her decision would be.
“Will I be able to talk on this walk?” She asked.
He laughed. “You will be able to talk all you like, my lady.”
“Then yes. I will stay with you.”
“Stay?” He tilted his head.
“Yes. A walk would be lovely. So very lovely.”
He took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it softly. “That makes me very happy.”
She could only smile at him. She was about to change her family’s history books.
*****
THE END
BWWM Romance Collection
The Russian’s Secret Love Child – Tyra’s Story
A BWWM Billionaire Pregnancy Romance
''It's okay, Tyra, hold on to me,'' Natalie said as Tyra collapsed into her arms.
Father Smith had told me it would be like this, Tyra thought. But which of the emotions had he meant? The Grief or the guilt? Tyra was experiencing both. Two of the most powerful human emotions were wracking through her at will.
''Tyra, we're so sorry for your loss.'' Tyra lifted her head from Natalie's shoulder. It was Mr. and Mrs. Radley Samuels, Tyra's boss and his wife.
''Thank you for coming. I really appreciate it.'' Tyra didn't think she could speak, but the words came out somehow. Natalie handed her another tissue and for a moment, Tyra could see clearly again. She looked to her left and saw a line of mourners waiting to express their condolences to her.
''If only I hadn't been so selfish,'' Tyra said to Natalie as they walked up the cemetery path. It had taken an eternity to work through the line of those seeking to express their condolences and Tyra was exhausted. ''It was foggy, and I knew dad didn't want to drive that day. It was me. Me moaning that they hadn't been to see me in my new home in the city. Lord knows, I think I even suggested they weren't interested in me anymore.'' She held onto Natalie again as another insufferable wave of guilt rammed at her. ''No, I killed them. Dad would never have taken mom out in the car on a day like normally.'' Natalie didn't know how to comfort her friend. They were both just twenty-three and beginning to make their way in the world. Losing parents wasn't supposed to happen until later in life.
*****
Three weeks after the funeral, Tyra stood outside the jewelry store on West 47th Street and looked at it, really looked at it, for the first time. I've been working here for seven months, and this is the first time I've properly taken the place in, she thought. Grief-stricken and riddled with guilt; she felt her senses had become sharper since the passing of her parents. It was as if someone was making her take notice of the world. Making her appreciate what can so easily be torn away from you, in an instant.
West 47th Street was full of jewelry shops, but none as grand as J.P Samuels. They might as well have called it, 'Jewelers to the rich and famous,' she thought. For that's what it was. A place where the rich came to gorge on expensive stones. The front of the store was imposing. Between the cleanest store windows in New York, there were columns of polished black granite. The entrance was in the middle of the store and it too was surrounded by shiny black stone. The door itself was made of bulletproof, reinforced glass. What Tyra liked best about the facade was the sign. It was made of copper and ran the length of the store. The background was dark and the letters that had been forged onto it were polished and stood out better than any other letters on the street.
''Welcome back Tyra. I'm so sorry to hear about your mom and dad,'' Leon said. ''Thanks, Leon. It's very brave of you to say so.'' She'd found that most people just turned away from her, not knowing what to say. Not Leon. It was his job to stand inside the door and keep out the undesirables. He was pe
rfectly equipped to do so at six feet seven and two hundred and fifty pounds, but it involved hours standing in the same place, day after day.
''Tyra, my girl,'' Radley Samuel's said. He'd been waiting for her. Normally, he didn't stand in the shop.
He had others to do that for him. His job was managing the business that his grandfather had started. ''Come with me.''
Tyra followed him through the store. They walked past glass cabinets filled with beautiful necklaces, rings, bracelets, earrings, and watches. At the back of the store, they went through a door and down a corridor. The first door on the right led to a security room. Tyra had never been in the room, but she had seen inside once when the door had been open. It was full of monitors and the latest lock down systems. It was all hi-tech, and she had no idea about any of it.
Radley pushed open the first door on the left and showed her into his office. How can anyone spend hours in an office with no daylight? she wondered. There were pictures of his ancestors on one wall and a giant flora vase in the corner. What she liked most about his office was the carpet. It was deep red with the company crest woven into it.
''Tyra, please sit down.'' He pointed to a button backed armchair that stood in front of his mahogany desk. ''I want you to tell me how you are feeling. You've been through a lot, and I want to make sure you’re feeling up to working again.'' I wish I had a daughter like her, she's so graceful and kind, yet determined and motivated, he thought.
''Well, honestly speaking, I'm still feeling awful.'' You can tell him everything; he cares for you, she told herself as a moment of doubt crept into her mind. ''I weep a lot, especially in the evening and I feel guilty. So guilty.'' She noticed how closely he was listening to her. The furrows on his forehead were deep with concern for her, and his eyes were looking directly into hers, seeking any sign that a return to work may be too early.
''There is nothing I can say to you that will make you feel better. All I can do is tell you what happened to me when my son was killed.'' Killed? I didn't know he'd had a son, she thought. The thought that someone close to her had also suffered such a loss made her feel better.
''My son was only nineteen. He was studying business at New York University and working here at the weekends.'' He stopped talking for a moment, took out a white handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped his forehead. Tyra knew him to be fifty-nine. He was quite tall and very thin. It was as if he was so involved in his business he forgot to eat.
He looked at her with a pained expression as he continued. ''One morning, he left home to go to college, and he never came back again. A man who had been drinking all night decided to get into his car and drive to the girlfriend he had left for dead in her apartment the previous evening. When he fell asleep at the wheel, it was my son he hit.'' Tyra noticed a crack in his voice. ''Walking down the street minding his own business.'' He took the handkerchief and blew his nose.
''Oh my God, that's awful,'' Tyra put her hand to her mouth.
He nodded. Perhaps I shouldn't have burdened her with this, he thought. ''At first, everything was a blur. It was only after the funeral had taken place that it really hit me. After the funeral, everyone seems to disappear. All the kind words and supporting arms are no longer there. You are suddenly alone.'' He ran his hand through his thinning gray hair and looked towards a photo on his desk. Tyra couldn't see who it was. She assumed his son.
''The Undertaker had warned me about it. A deep hole, he'd called it, and I fell into it.'' When he paused, Tyra thought about where she was mentally and recognized what he was describing. ''The Undertaker also explained that there is something called the cycle of grief. You go through stages of grief, and if you are lucky, eventually come out the other end. The last stage is called the acceptance stage. You stop all the blaming and come to terms with what's happened. Of course, you're still sad, but it gets easier.''
''It's very kind of you to tell me this. I had no idea. I was afraid I would have this level of pain for the rest of my life.'' Tyra looked at her hands. Her nails used to be so manicured, she thought.
''When I employed you, Tyra, I saw something in you. You are one of life's good people. I can see you care about people. When you talk to clients, you are patient, and most importantly, you listen to them. Did you know I have no relatives?''
Tyra shook her head.
''No.''
''Well, I don't. Not one, and no friends. There's only my wife and me.'' He looked at her, and wondered what he was about to say, would do to her. ''I am going to leave the business to you.'' He stared at her, not wanting to miss her reaction.
''Pardon?' Tyra said. She wasn't really in the mood for jokes.
''I am going to leave the business to you,'' he repeated.
What the hell is he playing at? This isn't funny, doesn't he know I've just buried my parents. She went to stand up, but he put up his hand and stopped her.
''For the last time, Tyra. You will inherit this business.'' Someone knocked on the door; it was his wife. ''Tell her Eliana, she doesn't believe me.''
''How are you, Tyra? We are very worried about you?'' she said ignoring her husband's plea for help.
''I've been better.'' What are they playing at, surely Jewish people don't give things away like this, she thought?
''My husband, as you know, isn't given to pranks. We have decided to leave it to you. Of course, you are young, and you have only just started in the business, but we see you have got what it takes.'' She put her hand on Tyra's shoulder and looked her into her eyes. ''You are intelligent, and you have an enormous appetite for the business. We have never seen anyone with your enthusiasm. We are both sixty next year and all we have done with our lives is sit in this store.'' She looked at her husband and gave him an assertive nod. ''In five years time, we will retire and travel. You will take over as manager, and when we die, it will all be yours. Take the time between now and then to learn all you can about the business.''
''Are you okay to come back to work?'' Radley asked. Tyra looked at him and burst into tears. It was a gesture so great that her emotions overflowed.
Eliana sat on the chair arm and put her arm around her. ''You have been through a lot, but you have us, and we will help you all we can.''
*****
Tyra started up Google and typed in: 'The Hope Diamond' She read: Value $350 million dollars, 45 karats, 9.1 grams. ''Three hundred and fifty million dollars,'' she whispered under her breath.
She and Radley had agreed that she would work in the shop four days a week and spend the other two days shadowing him. He' made a list of things he had to teach her. He hadn't realized how long the list would prove to be. One thing he couldn't teach her was diamond cutting. While he was an expert at grading and valuing gems, he'd never enjoyed using tools. Tyra had told him that she'd go to college in her own time and learn.
''How do you like your desk?'' Radley asked as he poked his head into her new office. Tyra wondered if the room had been intended as a broom cupboard when the place was built, but she didn't want to complain. She was grateful it had a window and more than grateful that the Samuels had seen so much potential in her.
''Lovely thanks. I was just looking up information on the Hope Diamond. It really is quite spectacular.''
He stepped into the office and looked at the picture with her. ''It sure is. One of the best diamonds in the world and it's coming here. I can't quite believe it.''
''Neither can I.'' She'd never heard of the program called, 'Diamonds for All.' It was an initiative set up by the National Association of Jewelers, with the aim of bringing famous diamonds to places where the public go and see them. Based on reputation, Radley had been asked if he would like to house the Hope Diamond when it came to New York. His store had the best security of any in the city, and it had a strong room big enough to house a large show cabinet, four security men, and the viewing public.
''Listen, Tyra, I know I said I'd show you the sales figures this afternoon, but Mrs. Johnson has told me she's feelin
g ill and would like to go home. Can you fill in for her this afternoon? Tyra nodded.
The shop was divided into departments. Not that the clients would notice. To the untrained eye, the store was one large area full of glass cabinets. To the staff, however, it was different. Usually, there were four sales people on duty at anyone time, and two security guards. Each sales person was responsible for six cabinets. Tyra didn't know why, but she enjoyed working on the cabinets where the most expensive ladies jewelry was housed.
''Wow,'' she muttered when she saw the man talking to Leon. Leon had a great eye for people and was a master at keeping scruffy, drunk or loud people out of the store. The man Leon was talking to was none of these. He was beautifully dressed, six feet tall, and well built. Tyra wasn't an expert on men's suits, but she knew enough to see that it was expensive. Leon pointed to Tyra, and she watched as the man walked towards her. When he got closer, she saw the dreamiest emerald green eyes. She inadvertently adjusted her hair and checked to see her blouse was tucked into her skirt.
''Hi. I have an appointment. My name is Dima Asakov. I'm looking for some jewelry for my mother's birthday.''
''Certainly sir.'' Although she had never seen him before, he was obviously one of the store's high net worth individuals. Very rich people were allowed to make an appointment, during which they got VIP treatment. Why don't you pamper me instead of your mother, I could use it right now, she thought. She was quick to chastise herself for being unprofessional.
He noted her features with interest. Black, beautiful, tall, thin, lovely curves, perfect breasts and beautiful face. His mother always said it was the sign of a classy man, when the man kept eye contact with a woman, despite the size of her breasts. Whenever he met a woman, he reminded himself of this. Most days it was easy, but today it required a Herculean effort.
''Follow me, Mr. Asakov.'' The VIP suite was the most comfortable place Tyra had ever been in, but it lacked atmosphere. It wasn't used nearly as often these days. The financial crisis had seen to that.