Danielle Steel - Zoya

She cooked the chicken for her that night, roasting it carefully in their tiny oven. It was a luxury not to make soup of it, but it was the only gift they shared, and both of them concentrated desperately on trying not to remember years past in their days of grandeur. They had always stayed at home on Christmas Eve, then gone to church with the family at midnight, and then to Tsarskoe Selo the next day to celebrate there with Nicholas and the others. Now instead, they commented on the chicken, talked about the war, mentioned Vladimir, anything to avoid their own thoughts. When Zoya heard a soft knock on the door, she rose to see who it was, brushing away Sava, who was hoping for some of their chicken.

“Yes?” Zoya wondered if it would be the answer to their prayers, and a new boarder was about to appear, directed to them by Vladimir or one of his friends. But it was an odd time to come, and Zoya looked stunned when she heard a familiar voice … it couldn't be … but it was. She pulled the door open, and stood staring at him, as she took him in his full uniform, his epaulets and his cap shining with his brass insignia, his face serious, but his blue eyes filled with warmth.

“Merry Christmas, Zoya.” It was Clayton, standing there. She hadn't seen him in four months, but he knew the importance of the date for them, and he had moved heaven and earth to leave Chaumont in time to share it with them. He had a four-day leave, and he wanted to spend it with Zoya. “May I come in?” She was standing there, stunned, unable to say a word, as she stared at him in mute amazement.

“I … my God … is it really you?”

“I believe so.” He smiled, and gently bent to kiss her cheek. Their flirtation of the summer before had gone no further than that, but he longed to take her in his arms now. He had almost forgotten how beautiful she was, as she stood lithe and graceful before him.

She followed him inside, gazing happily at his broad shoulders and straight back, and her heart flooded with joy, as he greeted her grandmother, and she noticed that he was carrying a bag, from which he took out incredible treasures for them. There were freshly baked cookies from headquarters, a bar of chocolate, three big fat sausages, a head of fresh lettuce, some apples, and a bottle of wine from General Pershing's own cellars. They were riches beyond words, beyond anything they'd seen in months. But Zoya was looking at him, with round, happy eyes, and an expression of adoration.

“Merry Christmas, Countess,” he said quietly. “I've missed you both.” But not half as much as Zoya had missed him. She realized it even more now as he stood before them.

“Thank you, Captain. How is the war?” Evgenia asked quietly, watching her granddaughter, and what she saw warmed her heart, and brightened her all at once. This was the man Zoya had wanted, whether she knew it or not. It was plainly apparent.

He was handsome and proud, as he stood virile and tall in their tiny living room, dwarfing everything around him. “Unfortunately, it's not over yet, but we're working on it. We should have things in control in a few months, though.”

The remains of their dinner sat on the table, looking paltry now, as Zoya glanced hungrily at the chocolates. She laughed as she offered her grandmother one, and then gobbled two, like a hungry child, and Clayton laughed. He was so happy to see her.

“I'll have to remember how much you like those,” he teased, gently taking her hand in his own.

“Mmm? … wonderful! … thank you very much …” Evgenia laughed, watching her, she seemed so young and happy again as the Captain looked over her head and met the old woman's eyes. She had aged in the past four months, and they both looked thinner to him now, thinner and tired and more worn, but Zoya looked so beautiful to him. He longed to take her in his arms and just hold her.

“Please sit down, Captain,” Evgenia invited, looking elegant and proud, despite her age and her pains and her constant sacrifices for Zoya.

“Thank you. Are you ladies going to church tonight?” He knew it was a ritual for them. Zoya had told him all about the candle-lit processions on Christmas Eve, and he wanted to go with them. He had done everything possible to be there on that night with them, as Zoya nodded emphatically, questioning her grandmother with her eyes.

“Would you care to join us, sir?” Evgenia invited.

“I'd like that very much.” He opened the wine for them, and Zoya got out the glasses he'd given them the summer before, and silently watched him pour. It was like a dream seeing him standing there in his uniform, like a vision, and she remembered suddenly what she had said to Antoine. She couldn't marry a man she didn't love. And she knew she loved this man. She could have married him, no matter how old he was, or where he had been, or what happened to them … but they were foolish thoughts. She hadn't even heard from him in two months. She had no idea how he felt about her, if he cared about her at all. All she knew was that he was generous and kind, and he had walked back into her life on Christmas Eve. She knew nothing more than that. But as Evgenia watched them both, she knew more than that, even more than Clayton knew himself as he stood there.

Vladimir arrived shortly after eleven o'clock. He had promised to drive them to church, and he looked startled when he saw Clayton. The Countess introduced the two men, and Vladimir searched his face, wondering who he was and what he was doing there, but the light in Zoya's eyes told its own tale. It was as though she had survived the past months only to live for this moment.

Clayton followed her to the kitchen briefly as Evgenia poured the Prince some wine, and gently he touched her arm and pulled her slowly toward him. His lips softly touched her silky hair, and his eyes closed as he held her.

“I've missed you terribly, little one. … I wanted to write to you, but I couldn't. Everything is top secret now. It's a miracle they even let me come here,” He was intimately involved with all of Per-shing's plans for the American Expeditionary Force. He pulled away from her then, and looked down at her with his warm blue eyes. “Did you miss me at all?”

She couldn't speak, and tears filled her eyes in answer. Everything had been so difficult for them, their poverty, the lack of food, the cold winter, the war. It was all a nightmare, and now suddenly here he was, with his cakes, and his wine, and his strong arms held fast around her. “I missed you very much.” She spoke in a hoarse whisper and averted her eyes. She was afraid to even look at him, he would see too much there. But she felt so safe with him, as though she had waited for him for a lifetime. She heard a polite cough then in the kitchen doorway and they both turned. It was Prince Vladimir, watching them with quiet envy.

“We should go to church soon, Zoya Konstanti-novna.” He spoke to her in Russian, and for a moment his eyes met Clayton's. “Will you be coming with us, sir? The ladies are going to a midnight service.”

“I'd like to very much.” He looked down at Zoya. “Do you think your grandmother would mind?”

“Of course not.” Zoya spoke for them both, especially for herself, as she found herself wondering where he was staying. She thought of offering him Antoine's room, but suspected correctly that her grandmother wouldn't think it proper. Not that it mattered anymore. What did propriety mean when you had no food, no money, no warmth, and the world you had lived in was gone? Who was there to even care about what was proper? It all seemed so foolish to her now, as Clayton gently took her hand and led her out of the kitchen. Sava followed them closely as they went, looking up at them, hoping for a scrap of food. She quietly reached down and fed her one of the treasured cookies.