‘I wanted us to be married. I thought that maybe then I would have more rights—I knew that if the courts had to choose between us, if my past came out…’
‘There’ll be no court,’ Millie whispered. ‘I told you there was never going to be court—and anyway, Levander, no court would hold this against you. None of this is your fault.’
‘I know that now.’ Levander nodded, and with tears swimming in her eyes she tried to look at him as she attempted to say the bravest words of her life—to tell the man who had just jilted her, the man who had wanted marriage for all the wrong reasons, that no matter how others in his life had treated him, she loved him—loved him for everything he was.
‘That night was the most rash, reckless thing I’ve ever done—but it wasn’t an accident. I didn’t fall into bed with you that night because of your looks or your money or…’ Staring skywards for clarity was her worst mistake. Tears tumbled down her cheeks as she rewound a touch—aimed for total honesty. ‘Okay, maybe your looks did play a part—but they weren’t enough to hold me. It was you, Levander—you were the first person I’d trusted, the first person I gave myself to. And whatever the outcome—that night wasn’t an accident. As dazzled as they were, my eyes were open. Did it never enter your head that all this time I’ve loved you?’
But how could it have? Millie realised as he frowned over at her. How could a man like Levander, who had never known it, believe in something as simple and as complicated as love?
‘The only reason I couldn’t go through with our marriage in the end was because I knew you’d never love me.’
‘You love me?’ He practically barked the question. ‘Through-all-of-this-you-say-that-you-have-loved-me?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘How?’ His question actually eked out a half-laugh. ‘How could you love me when I was so horrible to you?’
‘I just did…’ Millie sobbed. ‘I just do.’
‘Tell me what this love is,’ Levander asked. ‘Tell me what love feels like.’
‘Awful.’ A new batch of tears was coming, and she covered her face with her hands, wishing he wouldn’t torture her so. Surely knowing was enough?
‘But it is good at times?’
‘Lots of times.’
‘So when you love someone, you think about them all the time?’
‘All the time.’ Millie nodded glumly.
‘Like you think you are going crazy?’ Levander checked.
‘Completely crazy.’
‘Would love make you worry that you are too bitter, too cynical? That somehow you might taint the other…?’
Peeking at his face from behind her fingers, Millie felt the world stop as Levander continued.
‘And because of this love, do you want only what’s best for the other person?’
‘Always,’ Millie breathed, and he took her hands down from her face and held them as he spoke on softly.
‘This love would make you spend far too much on a picture because you have to have it—you have to have something…’
‘Tangible?’ Millie offered, only he didn’t understand. ‘Something you can feel and see and touch to know that it is real.’
‘Tangible.’ Levander nodded, as if he really liked the word. ‘You buy an expensive picture because it is tangible.’
‘Sort of.’ She gulped, crying and laughing and loving him for faltering over a single world.
‘So if you love someone—even though you want to spend every minute with them, even though all you want to do is be with them—still, if that is where you think they do not want to be, you would let them go? When you see her standing beautiful in her wedding dress, but her eyes are resigned…’
She wasn’t laughing now. This was an insight he was giving her—insight into how lonely, how unsure of his own worth he was, of the terrible effects of growing up in a world utterly devoid of love.
Levander hadn’t been able to tell her he loved her because he didn’t even know what it was.
‘Are you telling me you love me, Levander?’ Millie whispered.
‘I’m just checking with myself first,’ he said.
From anyone else the pause that followed would have been an insult, but from Levander it was anything but—just a delicious, wondrous wait as he processed his thoughts, as he assimilated all the feelings he’d never till now experienced.
‘I-love-you.’ He said it like that, each word a firm statement, and even if they were the three little words she’d wanted so badly to hear, when he said them—when he looked at her and actually said them—nothing could have prepared her for the impact of him saying them.
If she lived past a hundred, Millie swore there and then that every time he graced her with those words she would relive this moment. Even though he hadn’t even known what it meant to receive love, somehow he had found the courage to love her.
‘I love you,’ he said again, and hearing the honesty, the wonder in his voice as he joined up the puzzle, knowing how alien it was to him, made the words all the more precious to her.
‘Why are we sitting here, then?’ Millie smiled through her tears. ‘Why don’t we go…?’ She’d been about to say home, but Levander’s hotel room had never been that, to either of them. But as her voice trailed off, Levander filled in for her.
‘There’s a church decorated and waiting, the priest is booked, and we’ve got a licence…’
‘Everyone will have gone.’
‘Perfect!’
‘But I’m in jeans….’ Millie gave a shocked laugh
‘Even better.’ Leaning over, he kissed her—one tiny kiss, but it was so laced with love, so utterly chaste and tender, it confirmed utterly what he’d just told her.
He loved her—that was enough—for anything.
‘I will ring the church…’ As Levander turned on his phone he rolled his eyes. ‘Fifty missed calls—can you imagine Nina’s face?’ He winced as it rang loudly. ‘It’s Iosef. I won’t take it. He will understand…’
‘We need witnesses,’ Millie said gently, as the ringing died away. ‘Two, I believe. Why don’t you ask your brothers?’
‘My half…’ Levander started but didn’t finish. Love was flooding in now, and shining its light on so many dark places.
‘Doesn’t one have to be a female?’ Mille asked, but Levander waved her away.
‘Between the two of them—I’m sure they can rustle one up.’
And she watched, smiling, as he took the call—watched as he laughed with his brother as they shared their first secret, arranged for him and Aleksi to slip away from the drama unfolding back at the Kolovsky house and pick them up to take them to the church.
‘What did he say?’
‘That he would be proud to be there—and I hope you don’t mind, but we have another guest…’ As her face literally paled, Levander just laughed. ‘Anton—he’s distraught. They are on their way.’ Standing up, he took her hand, led her out onto the street and into her new life. ‘Now—may I suggest that we go and get married.’
EPILOGUE
THE ONLY ADVANTAGE to Levander’s past was that he loved shopping.
And there was plenty to be done.
A vast, sprawling home on the outskirts of London had to be furnished and decorated and filled with memories and babies and love.
‘I can see why she did it.’
They were lying on the grass—Sashar kicking on the rug between them. She watched the sky darken, feeling his hand on her soft stomach. They hadn’t even made it indoors yet since Levander had come home from work. Still in his suit, he lay beside her, chatting, yawning, lazy and utterly relaxed, enjoying the evening with their baby.
Sashar Levander Kolovsky.
She’d loved looking through Russian names, and had been completely unable to make a decision. But a couple of days before he was born Millie had stumbled on the name Sashar.
‘It means reward, I think,’ Levander had told her. ‘Or God remembers…’
Both me
anings had seemed to fit, and now he was here, lying beside them—the absolute image of his father.
And his father’s father.
Sometimes Millie felt a stab of guilt—guilt that they were on the other side of the world when his father was so sick, that maybe if they’d stayed somehow bridges could have been built.
But somehow by leaving they had been. Sashar had brought them the most surprising gift of all—forgiveness, where Millie had thought there could never be.
‘I can see Nina felt she had no choice…’
Sometimes he spoke about it. Not often, but sometimes—just little snatches of stolen childhood—and she never cried on the outside. Just wept on the inside for all he’d seen and all that he’d never had.
‘She had to think of her unborn children. If she had told my father—if he had insisted they take me to Australia too—well, they may never have got there.’ He stared down at Sashar. ‘I think I understand now.’
‘And your father?’ Millie gulped, wishing she could understand too—could be as big as Levander and somehow find it in her to forgive.
‘He told me when I turned down his offer that I was like my mother—too strong willed and stubborn for my own good. But he was smiling when he said it. I guess he banked on how tough she was—convinced himself we would be okay. He couldn’t have known that I was in an orphanage, waiting for him to come. You know, a family would come sometimes—dressed in beautiful clothes, smelling of rich perfume. They would bring chocolate, or gifts. I never got one—too old, too angry looking, too much trouble…’
‘They didn’t give you a gift?’
‘The gift was for the child they would take—they were there to choose the child that would join their family. I wished that someone would choose me. Still, I got my wish in the end—you came back for me.’
He bent over and kissed her, and this time she did cry. Because, yes, he’d got his wish in the end, but it had been way, way too long in the coming. She cried not just for Levander but for all those little children who were too angry, too scared and too much trouble to be loved.
‘We could go back…’
‘Perhaps.’ Levander nodded. ‘Soon, I guess. For a holiday. I would like my father to see his grandson.’
‘I’m not talking about Australia.’ Millie smiled softly, and she felt his body still—so still even his heart seemed to stop for a beat or two.
‘I never want to go back. Never again will I set foot in that place. No.’ He shook his head, but she could feel his indecision—knew that this wasn’t the first time he had considered it.
It wasn’t the first time Millie had considered it either.
Seeing him hold his son—cherishing the little life they had created—she had caught the pensive look that dimmed his features now and then, seen the tightening of his jaw as he recalled all he had been through, and had known he was living it again, thinking about all the little ones who weren’t as lucky or as loved as Sashar.
‘Fine…’ Millie nodded, but didn’t quite leave it there. ‘If you ever change your mind…if you ever want to talk about it—’
‘It isn’t like choosing a pet,’ Levander insisted.
‘It wouldn’t be.’
‘You don’t understand, Millie—the damage that is done. These children are not cute, not easy to love, to live with—’
‘I know that, Levander,’ Millie broke in. ‘My own brother isn’t particularly cute or easy to live with. But he is very easy to love and, like my parents, I’d never turn my back on him.’
‘No, you never would, would you?’ It was a statement, not a question, and his voice faded. He stared down at her, seeing the infinite understanding in her eyes, and knew then that she didn’t want easy, that she understood completely what she was saying—knew from her own brother that miracles didn’t always happen, was fully aware of all she was prepared to take on.
Knew that he had her for ever.
‘Could we do it?’
‘One day,’ Millie answered softly. ‘When we’re ready—whenever you’re ready…’
And if love could travel, then it surely was travelling now—somewhere a piece of their hearts was already sold to the angriest, least loveable one. A child’s wish, sent out to the universe, was in the process of being answered…
* * * * *
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CHAPTER ONE
SHE was better off without the job, Allegra told herself.
No one should have to put up with that.
Except that walking in the rain along grey London streets, taking the underground to various employment agencies, the anger that her boss could make such a blatant a pass at her and then fire her for not succumbing started to be replaced with something that felt close to fear.
She needed that job.
Needed it.
Her savings had been obliterated by the bottomless pit that was her family’s excess spending. At times it felt as if her lowly publishing wage supported half the Jackson family. Yes, she was the boring reliable one, but they didn’t mind her dependability when their erratic ways found them in trouble. Just last week she had lent her stepmother, Chantelle, close to five thousand pounds in cash for credit card debts that her father didn’t know about. It was laughable to think that she might now have to have her family support her.
It was a miserable day, with no sign that it was spring; instead it was cold and wet, and Allegra dug her hands deeper into her trench coat pockets, her fingers curling around a fifty-pound note she had pulled out of the ATM. If her boss refused to put her pay in tomorrow it was all she had before being completely broke.
No!
She’d been through worse than this, Allegra decided. As Bobby Jackson’s daughter she was all too used to the bailiffs but her father always managed to pick himself up; he never let it get him down. She was not going to sink, but hell, if she did, then she’d sink in style!
Pushing open a bar door, she walked in with her head held high, the heat hitting her as she entered, and Allegra slipped off her coat and hung it, her hair dripping wet and cold down her back. Normally she wouldn’t entertain entering some random bar, but still, at least it was warm and she could sit down and finally gather her thoughts.
There had been a confidence to her as she’d stalked out of her office with dignity. With her track record and her job history, a lot of the agencies had called over the years offering her freelance work.
It had been sobering indeed to find out that they were hiring no one, that the financial crisis and changes to the industry meant that there were no causal jobs waiting for her to step into.
None.
Well, a chance for a couple, but they added up to about three hours’ work per month.
Per month!
Allegra was about to head to the bar but, glancing around, saw that it was table service so she walked over to a small alcove and took a seat, the plush couch lined with velvet. Despite its rather dingy appearance from the street, inside it was actually very nice and the prices on the menu verified that as fact.
She looked up at the sound of laughter—a group of well-dressed women were sipping on cocktails and Allegra couldn’t help but envy their buoyant mood. As her eyes moved away from the jovial women they stilled for a fraction, because there, sitting at a tabl
e near them, lost in his own world, was possibly the most beautiful man ever to come into her line of vision. Dark suited, his thick brown hair was raked back to show an immaculate profile, high cheekbones and a very straight nose; his long legs were stretched out and crossed at the ankle. But despite his rather languorous position, as he stared into his glass there was a pensiveness to him, a furrow between his eyebrows that showed he was deep in thought. The furrow deepened as there was another outbreak of laughter from the women’s table, and just as he looked up, just as he might have caught her watching, Allegra was terribly grateful for the distraction of the waitress who approached.
‘What can I get you?’ Allegra was about to order a glass of house wine, or maybe just ask if they could do her a pot of tea and a sandwich, because she really ought to try a couple more job agencies, but hell, a girl could only take so much rejection in one day and she may well be living off tea and sandwiches for a long while yet!
‘A bottle of Bollinger please.’ It was an extravagant gesture for Allegra, an unusual one as well. She was extremely careful with her pay cheque, saving twenty percent to put towards her first mortgage before it even hit her account, determined never to be like her family—but where had that gotten her?
The waitress didn’t bat an eye; instead she asked how many glasses.
‘Just the one.’
She was given a little bowl of nuts too!
‘Celebrating?’ the waitress asked as she poured her drink.
‘Sort of,’ Allegra admitted, and then, left alone, she decided that she was. For months she had put up with her boss’s thinly veiled leers and skin-crawling comments. It was worth celebrating just to finally be past all that, so she raised her glass to the window, in the general direction of her old work place.
Playing the Dutiful WifeExpecting His Love-Child Page 28