Читать книгу Modern Romance June 2016 Books 5-8 - Мишель Смарт, Tara Pammi - Страница 24

EPILOGUE

‘SHE’S STILL ASLEEP,’ Anya said when she came back onto the balcony, and she could not help but smile at Libby’s impatience to meet her new niece.

Daniil, Libby and little Nadia had arrived in Paris early that morning and had been waiting for more than an hour but she was still asleep.

‘She was up a few times last night,’ Anya explained.

She took a seat and watched as Nadia toddled on little fat legs towards the man she thought was her father, jealous because he was holding a baby. Nadia held out her hands to be picked up then let out a little shocked gasp.

‘Wrong one.’ Roman smiled at her.

As Nadia toddled off to her real father, Roman looked down at the son he held in his arms.

Dominik.

He was three months old and as Anya looked over she remembered seeing Daniil holding Nadia as a small baby and thinking that this might never happen for them.

It had.

Anya had had to block out the criticism from the press that she was too thin for a woman who was pregnant. And then she’d had the last laugh when she’d given birth to a long-limbed, huge, bonny boy.

Actually, she hadn’t laughed at the time, it had hurt an awful lot, but she’d had Roman beside her, telling her she could do it.

And with him beside her, she had.

Seeing Roman hold his newborn in strong arms, the magnitude of that moment would reside in her heart forever.

Oh, he hadn’t teared up, this was Roman after all, but, watching him kiss his son and explore his little hands and feet, she’d seen a different side again to a very complex man.

And their dreams had come true in more ways than she had dared hope for.

She was on leave from the dance company but they would be back in Russia in three months’ time. They moved between Paris and there with ease, loving both countries and deeply in love.

They had gone to New York and seen in the new year and had had the most wonderful time. All had agreed it would be an annual event.

Yet Roman and Anya had been holding onto a very special secret.

At new year, they had been on their way for their second visit with a little girl who they hoped would one day be their daughter.

Roman’s comment about adoption had set their minds thinking and when they’d returned to Russia after Firebird had finished to look for a home there, wandering through a magnificent building they had commented about the number of bedrooms and that had led to asking how many babies they wanted.

‘If you want more than one, they have to be close,’ Anya had said in her own direct way.

She would continue to dance.

Perhaps fewer performances a year but, oh, she would be performing!

‘How close?’ Roman said. ‘It’s a shame you’re not having twins.’

‘I know,’ Anya sighed. ‘That would have been perfect, two for one...’

And they had stared at each other, neither wanting to be the first to voice it, in case it sounded completely mad.

But they did want more than one child. What they had said before they’d found out that Anya was pregnant had almost felt like a promise to a baby somewhere. The orphanage in Russia where Roman had been raised was gone now but there were many children who needed a home. Anya had felt Roman’s tension as they’d stepped inside the detsky dom, but it had soon gone.

The sound of laughter had met them and they had glanced inside the dining room.

It had been very different indeed.

And a little the same.

Children had been chatting and there had been jugs of water on the table and some had been lining up for their meals.

The carers here were wonderful and did all they could to make childhood special. Of course, there were problems, yet there was happiness to be found too.

And they had discreetly watched some children playing, unsure how they could possibly choose.

Did they ask about the least wanted one, as Roman had been?

But then she had thought of Daniil, Nikolai, Sev and Roman and how could they ever choose?

You didn’t, Anya found out.

Love found you.

She had been three years of age and had very fine blond hair that had stuck up at odd angles. They’d both seen her at the same time, twirling in the playroom and laughing as she did so.

‘Tell us about that little one.’

‘Tantsivat...’ The carer had explained that she loved to dance and thought that she was a princess; she fully believed that she was, in fact.

Anya had turned and looked at Roman, who had smiled.

Did they realise that she had Down’s syndrome? the carer had checked. ‘Most would consider her unsuitable...’

Yes, they did realise she had Down’s syndrome, and yet she was so much more than that.

‘What is her name?’ Roman asked.

‘Monica.’

She had been born to be theirs, both knew.

Monica had been the happiest, brightest little girl, she’d just had no family of her own.

Until that moment.

Monica had looked over and had seen the strangers watching and she’d seen that her dancing made the lady smile and so she’d danced a little more.

And then Monica had run over to them, holding out her arms, and Anya had scooped her up; she had simply gathered her into her arms and Monica had smothered her face in kisses.

Leaving her behind had been hell.

They had visited often as they’d waded through the paperwork and the adoption process, and in the midst of it all Dominik had been born.

Last week their family had been made complete.

‘Mama! Papa!’ Monica’s voice came over the intercom.

Monica said it over and over, as she had in the week since she’d been home. She was like a little wind-up doll, practising the words she had always wanted to say.

‘I’ll go,’ Roman said.

But Anya couldn’t help herself, and went with him.

And they met Josie at the door, who was running to be the one to greet the little girl too.

She was adored and now knew it.

Monica was sitting up in her pink bed and her blond hair was sticking up as if it had been rubbed with a balloon. Her whole face beamed as they came in and she held out her arms. She was delighted, not just that Mama and Papa had answered her call but that lovely Josie was here and that they’d brought her baby brother in too.

Roman sat on the bed and handed Dominik over.

Anya watched as so very patiently he showed Monica how best to hold him, as his large hands hovered to protect his son.

Dominik looked up at his big sister and smiled at her.

‘Ne plach,’ Monica said, and Anya frowned because Monica was telling the baby not to cry and yet Dominik was smiling.

And then she realised it was Roman who had teared up.

There was so much love in this room, and beyond.

His twin was here, with his wife and niece.

He had all his family safe home.

Roman cleared his throat and then spoke to his daughter. ‘We have visitors. Your family have come from England to see you,’ he said, and then smiled as Monica reached to her bedside table and put on a little silver plastic tiara.

She was ready now to meet them!

Roman carried both Dominik and Monica with ease and told her that their visitors were her aunt, uncle and a little cousin named Nadia.

‘Warn her,’ Anya said, remembering Nadia’s shocked gasp when she had inadvertently run to Roman instead of Daniil.

‘No,’ Roman said, smiling.

He knew his little girl.

They walked out onto the balcony and a very happy Monica smiled and gave a royal wave to Libby, who promptly melted on sight.

And then Monica looked at Daniil and her little head cocked to the side and her blue eyes narrowed. Then she turned to look at her papa and then back to Daniil, but then she started to laugh. She had the most infectious laugh in the world.

It was a wonderful day, a family day. After dinner Daniil and Libby jetted back to London with the promise that they would be over to see them very soon.

As Roman put Monica to bed Dominik cried out and Anya went to settle him.

She walked into the cream and lemon room. He lay in the antique crib she had been sure would never be filled, and her heart seemed to squeeze in love for her son.

He would have all the love his father hadn’t and Monica would have the same, and she would give her children support rather than obsession.

For whatever they wanted to be.

Just as she’d had Roman’s support, in his own unique way.

She opened the door to her dance studio. It had handles up high so that little people would not interrupt her when she trained. Mostly, though, the door was left open and sometimes she exercised with Dominik lying on a mat, kicking his legs in the air as Anya warmed up.

Just this morning Monica had joined her, copying her mother and loving watching herself in the mirror. Roman had suggested that they put in a smaller barre for her.

Anya heard Roman’s deep baritone, singing Monica to sleep with the song that still brought tears to Anya’s eyes.

She lay on a mat and listened.

Roman had learnt French through song and he was gently teaching Monica the same.

And it was now a song for her.

A little later Roman came in carrying two glasses and two bottles, one of champagne, the other mineral water.

‘Hey,’ Roman said in surprise when Anya held up her glass for bubbles. ‘What’s this?’

‘You’ve only ever known me pregnant or nursing, Roman.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I knew you a long time ago.’

He had.

He filled up her glass and she tasted icy champagne as he joined her on the floor.

There was so much to celebrate and they chinked their glasses but with one sip Anya put hers down.

So too did he.

And as they kissed and made love, as he moved deep within her, she found herself gazing into a mirror.

There were hundreds of images of them, of Anya and Roman.

Yet they made memories now.

* * * * *