Kholodov's Last Mistress (16 page)

‘Snowdrops,’ Sergei told her. ‘I used to pick them for you. They grew in the corner of the yard, just a few raggedy ones.’

She smiled, shyly, and then suddenly blurted, ‘Why … why were we separated?’

Sergei hesitated, knowing he had to answer carefully. He did not want to sow discord between his sister and her adoptive parents; no good would come of that. ‘I was fourteen when you were adopted,’ he finally said. ‘Generally only younger children are chosen for adoption. It is too difficult for older children to adjust to a new family, a new culture.’

She frowned. ‘But if my parents had known I had a brother, they would have adopted you as well. I know they would have.’

Sergei said nothing, and Allison’s eyes narrowed in a way
that was achingly familiar. Even as a child she’d been hard to fool. ‘You think they knew,’ she said quietly. ‘And didn’t choose you.’

‘I did not want to find you in order to discuss this,’ Sergei said. ‘I wanted—’

‘They didn’t.’ Allison leaned forward, her eyes blazing with determination. ‘They didn’t know, Serozyha. I promise you, they were
shocked
—’

Sergei stared at her. ‘What did you just call me?’

‘Sss—Serozhya.’ She blinked, surprised, and Sergei felt himself smiling. She remembered. She might not even realise she did, but he knew the truth. She remembered him. ‘I wish you would believe my parents didn’t know,’ she said after a moment. ‘I think it would make a difference.’

‘It makes no difference now. It was over twenty years ago.’

‘Doesn’t it?’ She gazed at him with a compassionate perceptiveness that reminded him of Hannah. ‘All these years, to think we were separated on purpose because they only wanted me, and not you?’ She reached over and laid her hand, slender and soft, on his. ‘It wasn’t like that. They didn’t know. Perhaps it was the language barrier, or a mix-up at the orphanage …’

Or a system that was overburdened, disorganised, and corrupt. Or even a director who had never liked the surly boy who wouldn’t be cowed or bullied, the boy he knew he’d be able to kick out onto the street in just eighteen months. There could be a dozen reasons, and yet—

Sergei swallowed, didn’t speak.

‘I told them about the email,’ Allison continued, ‘and they were concerned. They wanted to make sure you were genuine.’

‘Naturally.’

‘They thought it might be some kind of scam,’ she explained. ‘But when I started having these memories, and then they saw you were quite well known and, well, you know,
rich—’ She gave a little laugh, embarrassed. ‘All I mean is they knew you weren’t after their money.’

‘Right.’

She gave him a sad smile. ‘But I wish you’d believe they didn’t know about you back then. They were so shocked, and angry too, because they had no idea. I looked it up online, it’s happened more than once—siblings who were separated without the adoptive parents knowing—’

Words tumbled into Sergei’s mind.
And I find it better to believe in people and live in hope than become as jaded and cynical as you obviously are.

But he wasn’t jaded any more. Hannah had seen to that. And even if he’d been willing to believe the worst of his sister’s family for over twenty years, he realised he didn’t want to any more. Now he chose hope. Willingly, deliberately. He smiled at Allison. ‘Maybe,’ he said slowly, ‘I do believe.’

She smiled, her whole face lightening. ‘They want to meet you.’

That surprised—and moved—him. Made him a little sad too, for all they might have missed. ‘Do they?’

‘Yes, of course. Just think. All these years—we could have been a family.’

A family.
Something he’d never had. He’d had a grandmother who hated him, parents who had never bothered to be around, a sister who had been taken from him far too young.

A family. Yet now was not the time for regrets, Sergei knew. He had a family now, a family of two. He had Hannah. And who knew, perhaps he had Alyona too, and her parents. A different kind of family, but a family all the same.

‘I’d like to meet them,’ he told Allison, and meant it. ‘But first, since you came all this way, I’d like to hear all about you.’ And he settled back in his chair to listen.

It felt good to be back in Moscow. Right. Hannah breathed in the warm spring air as she hailed a cab—a metered one—outside the airport.

She threw her suitcase in the trunk and slid inside, giving Sergei’s work address. It was ten o’clock in the morning, and she knew he’d be at work. At least she hoped he’d be at work. She was dying to see him. She’d missed him this last week, especially since they’d barely spoken. He’d rung once, to make sure she’d arrived safely, and Hannah had left a message on his mobile to say she was on her way back. Her way home.

She leaned back against the seat as the taxi sped towards the city centre. She was glad, in a way, that they’d had this week apart, this week of virtually no contact, because she felt they’d both needed it to process and test their feelings. Everything had happened so quickly and intensely, it was hard to trust it was real. Believe it could last.

But now she did … and she hoped Sergei did too.

Grigori half rose from his desk when Hannah entered the reception area in front of Sergei’s office. ‘Hannah—’

She smiled, genuinely glad to see him. ‘How are you? And Varya?’

‘She is recovering. She allows me to take care of her, and that is enough for me.’ He smiled. ‘Still the mouse in the box, but it is a comfortable place. I don’t mind.’

‘I’m glad,’ Hannah said. She did not offer platitudes that Varya might come to love him in time; there were no guarantees. But she hoped and prayed so, for Grigori’s sake. For Varya’s too. She nodded towards the closed doors of Sergei’s office. ‘Is he in?’

‘Yes—’

She smiled mischievously. ‘Do you think I should surprise him?’

Grigori smiled back, just as mischievous. ‘Yes.’

Hannah knocked once on the door before turning the handle and slipping inside.

‘Who—?’ Sergei glanced up from his papers, frowning, and stopped when he saw Hannah. She gazed back at him, amazed and a little afraid by how absolutely good it was to see him. How much she’d missed him. It had only been one week, after all.

Sergei rose from the desk. ‘You’re back,’ he said, without much expression at all, and Hannah cocked her head in acknowledgement.

‘I said about a week.’

‘I know, but—’ He moved from behind the desk, crossed the room in three great strides and then pulled Hannah into his arms. After he’d kissed her thoroughly enough to obliterate any remaining uncertainty or doubt, he pulled back, gazing down at her soberly. ‘I missed you. I didn’t like it.’

She laid her hand against his cheek. ‘You didn’t? Why not?’

‘I don’t like missing people,’ Sergei said, his voice a little hoarse. ‘I’ve tried not to miss anyone or let them matter for years, and I just can’t do that with you.’

Emotion welled inside her and she smiled rather tremulously. ‘I’m glad.’

‘So am I,’ he said, and kissed her again.

He took her out to dinner that night, to celebrate Alyona’s return and the sale of her shop. They’d caught up on all that had happened over coffee in Sergei’s office, and then later in bed at his penthouse as the sun sent its late golden beams across the tangled sheets.

Now as the limo pulled to the front of The Kholodov, Hannah glanced at Sergei. ‘Where—?’

‘You’ll see.’

He led her through the opulent lobby, reminding her of how impressed—and intimidated—she’d been a year ago. How she hadn’t been able to stop thinking of him. Wanting him.

She still couldn’t.

The little private booth was the same, with its candlelight and crystal, and as Sergei led her to the table Hannah had a strange sense of déjà vu. Yet at the same time everything was different. So wonderfully different.

They lingered over their meal, savouring the food and wine and simply being together, and, while the same bubbles of expectation buoyed her as they had before, nervous anticipation had been replaced by a deeper joy.

After the dishes were cleared away Sergei rose from the table, and Hannah glanced at him in surprise. ‘What—’

‘I’m going to do it right this time.’

‘Right?’ she repeated blankly, then stopped in surprise for Sergei had sunk to one knee.

‘Hannah Pearl, I love you completely. You’ve changed me for ever, made me see and feel things I’d never thought to again. You’ve allowed me to believe, to hope once more, and that alone is precious.’ He took a breath, his eyes blazing with the light of his love as Hannah felt tears sting her own. ‘But you’ve given me more than that. You’ve given me love, and laughter, and you haven’t let me intimidate you even when I try, because the honest truth is you scare me so much.’

Hannah let out a little laugh, tears trembling on her lids. Sergei gazed up at her seriously.

‘I’m new to this, to loving someone like this, and it scares me. I won’t get it right, I’ll drive you half-mad, and I can only ask you to bear with me. Believe the best in me, which you told me you did, much to my own amazement.’

‘I do,’ Hannah said softly. ‘Oh, Sergei, I do.’

‘Then,’ Sergei said, taking out a small box of black velvet, ‘will you do me the great honour of becoming my wife?’

Hannah swallowed, joy and disbelief and just pure emotion welling up like a fountain inside her. Until she’d seen Sergei again she hadn’t realised how nervous she’d been that
he might have changed his mind. His heart. And until he’d said all those wonderful things, she hadn’t been completely sure he’d felt them.

Now she was sure. She was very, very sure. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, and then her voice grew stronger. ‘Yes, I’ll marry you.’

Sergei took the ring, a gorgeous diamond flanked by sapphires, and slipped it on her finger. He rose to his feet and kissed her, his arms coming around her, pulling her close. They remained there for a few moments, in the circle of each other’s arms, Hannah’s cheek resting against his shoulder, the room quiet and still and filled with a gentle peace.

Then, with a little smile, Sergei tugged her towards the door, and upstairs, to the sumptuous suite she’d stayed in once before, where the rest of their lives would now begin.

All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

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First published in Great Britain 2011
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited,
Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

© Kate Hewitt 2011

ISBN: 978-1-408-92625-3