Modern Romance June 2016 Books 5-8. Tara Pammi

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СКАЧАТЬ He couldn’t have.

      He thought of the furious words that Katya had hurled at him. Anya’s audition hadn’t gone well and the blame, her mother had said, lay squarely with him.

      ‘I tried it as a boxer but got nowhere,’ Roman told his wounded comrade.

      ‘You’re a good boxer,’ Dario commented, because Roman was in the parachute regiment kickboxing team.

      ‘I knew nothing about nutrition then,’ Roman said. ‘Anyway, getting beaten up for a living never really appealed. It was just a dream when we were growing up—a way out.’

      ‘We?’

      Roman didn’t answer that question.

      ‘I was good at the share market,’ Dario said. ‘I got rich but then I got foolish.’

      ‘Foolish?’

      ‘I didn’t stick to the rules,’ he admitted. ‘You have to know when to hold steady, know when to pull out.’

      And Dario told Roman the rules that he had failed to adhere to and he told him about brokers and such things. Recovering in Provence, Roman had set things in motion.

      Legionnaires’ board and lodging were provided and Roman had barely touched his wage so he set it to work. He was attached to nothing and no one, certainly not money, and he had way more self-discipline than most. These were the perfect ingredients to play the stock market and Roman did it incredibly well.

      Having recovered from his injuries, Roman signed on for another five years but he would leave the legion a wealthy man. Still, there were things he did not know about and had never experienced and he was embarrassed to go to his brother. The night before he walked out of the gates he and his comrades had drunk plenty. They would miss Roman and could not imagine a better solider beside them in battle, or a more focused, determined person to get them there on long, seemingly endless marches. He had done all he could to never leave a comrade behind.

      ‘What about this one...?’ Dario said. They were reading the personal ads. ‘If I was leaving this is where I’d be headed. I don’t know about going to the ballet and theatre, but the adventurous sex I could do with...’

      Roman smiled as he read it.

      She was in her early forties and lived in Paris. No name was provided, just that she had given up on finding love but wanted to marry to please her dying father. She wanted someone, preferably younger and attractive, to accompany her on nights out to the theatre and ballet. As well as that she wanted an adventurous sexual partner. She understood that the marriage might not be a long one but hoped it would last at least two years. Naturally accommodation would be provided and she was an excellent cook, though preferred to eat out in the evening.

      He liked her directness.

      Throughout his life Roman had always had board and lodgings provided, first as an orphan, then as a fighter and perhaps now as a lover!

      The men had whooped in delight when he had pocketed the details and even Roman had grinned.

      Responding to the advert was a calculated move. He had never lived in a home, let alone been to the theatre. On a rare day off he might have hit a bar with comrades but he had never been to a restaurant except for that one disastrous time with Anya.

      Roman headed to Paris.

      Yes, he had been right not to contact his twin, Roman soon found out as he tried to acclimatise to living in an apartment in Paris and sharing a bed. Even lingering over meals proved difficult—he been nowhere near ready to face Daniil.

      After those awkward first weeks things improved. More than delighted with happenings in the bedroom, Celeste wanted to venture out. She loved the job of ‘improving’ Roman. She had an eye for fashion and he was dressed well. He learnt to eat from fine china and to order at a restaurant with ease. She cooked with passion and soon so too did he. He always spent his own money, yet Celeste knew real estate in Paris and soon his portfolio consisted of houses as well as shares, though, as was the case with his shares, he was not attached to any of the properties.

      And the sex?

      There was a lot of it, of course, but, although it started out risqué, tenderness and affection grew, so much so that when, at the end of two years, Celeste fell ill, Roman stayed in the marriage. Just as he’d done all he could to never leave a comrade behind, he remained by her side. He was now the teacher, showing her that with focus and determination six months to live could be turned into a year.

      ‘You are the best thing that ever happened to me,’ Celeste said just before she died.

      Her estate naturally went to her sister, who had blinked in surprise that Roman had not contested the will.

      Of course they had assumed he had been there for the money.

      Not for a moment.

      He had been there for the education: to somehow transition from a life lived in regimented institutions or war zones to the real world.

      After her death he left the hotel he had checked into and went to look at a property in the Eighth District in Paris to add to his portfolio. Taking the antique elevator to the top floor, he walked into the magnificent apartment and felt something he had never felt before. The very French furnishings, the stunning view of Paris, the wraparound balcony all appealed. So much so that for the first time he felt attached to a building and had bought it to live in. But more than that he finally felt a part of the planet he lived on and he was ready to consider contacting his brother.

      Almost.

      Daniil had been adopted by a rich English family. Roman had read that he had married an English woman and so, as he was only able to converse in Russian and French, Roman had spent the last few months learning English.

      He was ready to face his twin now.

      The brother he had sworn to let go forever.

      He would not be a burden.

      Roman took out a suit and dressed and he did up his tie with steady hands.

      They only shook slightly as he opened the hotel safe.

      He had found a Russian jeweller.

      There he had seen a stone in the palest of greens and it had reminded him of Anya’s eyes.

      Yet the gift he’d had made for his niece was a platinum cross studded with diamonds and on the back the word Sila had been engraved in Cyrillic. It was the Russian word for strength. This was not a trinket to be worn— more, if need arose, and his niece ever fell on hard times, it was insurance.

      Money was all he had to give.

      He didn’t even know if he was ready to get in touch with Daniil but he had taken seriously Anya’s warning that she would no longer pretend she hadn’t seen him. So, on the morning of the christening, he was driven to the address Anya had given and entered an impressive foyer.

      The doorman nodded.

      ‘Good morning, Mr Zverev.’

      It had been a long time since that had happened, Roman thought.

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