Their second Christmas of the year was spent in Russia, where the holiday was traditionally celebrated on January the seventh and nothing was eaten all day, until the first star had been seen in the sky, when a dish called kutia was taken from a shared bowl, to signify unity. And if once upon a time Leo would have turned his nose up at the thought of walnut-and-fruit-studded porridge, he dug into the dish with enthusiasm as the three of them ate their meal together. Erin remembered staring at her son in amazement, and thinking how much he’d changed.
How much they’d all changed.
Leo had blossomed beneath the warm glow of his father’s love—a love which Dimitri had confessed he wasn’t sure he’d be able to show, just as he wasn’t sure if he was capable of being a good father. Erin guessed that wasn’t surprising, because if you’d never been properly fathered when you were a little boy, then how would you know how it worked? But Dimitri had worked it out. Of course he had. Her cold, proud Russian had melted—morphing into a man with so much love to give that it made her heart sing just to think about it.
She’d changed, too. The dark fears and insecurities which had nudged the corners of her soul were now a thing of the past. She recognised that it was more than Dimitri’s love which had helped her to accomplish that. It was finding her own inner strength and conviction. She’d been strong enough to tell him that she wouldn’t settle for second best. To show him that she could and would live independently, even if that was the harder option. Sometimes you needed to be prepared to walk away from the thing you most wanted, in order to get it to come to you.
She lay back against the sofa while the fire crackled and waited while Dimitri read Leo a bedtime story. He would be down in a minute and tomorrow they were taking him and Anatoly sleighing. And after that they would probably build yet another snowman.
She sighed.
‘Such a very big sigh,’ Dimitri observed softly as he walked into the room and the light from the crackling fire turned his hair red-gold.
‘A happy sigh.’
‘Oh?’
She looked up at him as he joined her on the sofa, his arm sliding around her back, and automatically she snuggled up to him. ‘I was just thinking how lucky I am. Lucky to have met you and had your baby. Lucky to be with you now.’
He looked down at her very intently as he brushed the hair away from her face. ‘And all the in-between years? The wasted years?’
She shook her head. ‘No, not that. I’ve been thinking about that and they definitely weren’t wasted. They were learning years. Growing years—and growing is always painful. Unless of course you happen to be a bonsai tree, in which case you don’t even get the chance!’
He smiled. ‘Any ideas what you’d like to do tonight?’
‘Surprise me.’
His smile deepened as he cupped her face in his hands and moved his own close enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath.
‘I’m going to pour you a glass of champagne and tell you how much I love you, before thrashing you at P’yanitsa.’
‘A busy schedule,’ she observed.
‘Very busy,’ he agreed as his lips brushed over hers. ‘And after that...’
‘After that...what?’ she questioned breathlessly as his fingertips brushed over her breast.
‘On second thoughts,’ he said roughly, ‘maybe the P’yanitsa can wait...’
* * * * *
Keep reading for a bonus novella by Amanda Cinelli, CHRISTMAS AT THE CASTELLO.
‘THERE’S STILL SOMETHING MISSING.’
Dara stood poised at the top of the staircase, looking over the Winter Wonderland theme that had transformed the opulent grand ballroom below her. Her assistant, Mia, waited patiently by her side. The younger woman had long ago got used to her boss’s obsessive eye for detail. Devlin Events was about creating perfect Sicilian weddings for their high-profile clients. Over the past three years Dara had gained an army of the industry’s most talented people and put them onto her payroll, but she still liked to oversee the final run-throughs at their most prominent venues. There was no one in the industry who could spot the little things better than she. And right now something was off.
Sweeping yet another glance around the room, she mentally checked off twenty-five tables, each adorned with a glittering crystal tree centrepiece. The overall effect was like a winter forest, with white and blue lighting completing the wintry theme. Her bride, a famous opera singer, had expressly forbidden any real flower arrangements on the tables. She had instead ordered hundreds of spherical arrangements of fresh white and pink roses, to be suspended from the ceiling in intricately symmetrical clusters.