Danielle Steel: Zoya

“Yes, Nicholas? Am I supposed to wear a serious face, or are you just trying to frighten me?” She had been expecting it for a while. He had been seeing a charming southern girl. He had met her when he was in South Carolina, checking on the mills. She was very beautiful, and a little spoiled. But Zoya never commented on that. He was a grown man, and free to make his own choices with his life. As she said to Paul, she respected his judgment. He was a sensible young man, with a kind heart, and a mind that had been honed by running Simon's businesses.

“Will you be very surprised if I tell you I'm going to get married in the fall?” His eyes played with hers and she laughed.

“Should I be surprised, my love?”

“Elizabeth and I are getting married” he proudly announced.

“I'm happy for you, darling,” she looked at him and smiled. He was a good man, and both his fathers would have been proud of him. “I hope she makes you happy, my love.”

“She already does.” Zoya couldn't have asked for more, and she offered to help her find a wedding dress the next time they spoke, remembering to herself Sofia's inquisition before she and Simon had gotten married years before. Simon's parents were long since gone, and his uncles after that. She had never been close to them, but she had seen to it that Matthew visited them often before they died, and they were grateful.

She reminded herself not to be difficult, when Elizabeth swept into the store and was rude to everyone. The wedding dress was the least of it. She also seemed to expect Zoya to supply her entire trousseau, and buy them an apartment. Zoya felt a tiny chill run up her spine, as she stood at the wedding after that, watching Matthew carefully balance the ring on the cushion he held, and Marina swing a tiny basket of rose petals, as she waved at her grandmother in the front row, and Zoya smiled proudly at them.

But Nicholas carried on valiantly, supplying her every need, meeting her every demand, catering to her every whim, until he could stand it no more. Almost four years to the day that Zoya had watched Marina tossing rose petals at them, Nicholas sent Elizabeth home to her parents. Marina was nine by then and Zoya was taking her to ballet class every day. It had been her only passion in life since she was five. And this time, Zoya was determined to do everything she could for the child, still feeling that she had somehow failed Sasha. She left the store at three o'clock every day, picked Marina up at Miss Nightingale's, and took her to the ballet classes where she did the same tours jetos, the same plios, the same exercises that Zoya herself had done a lifetime ago in St. Petersburg with Madame Nastova.

It was odd how things repeated themselves again. She told her about the Maryinsky School, its wonders and joys, and how demanding Madame Nastova had been. And when she and Nicholas went to her recital, she sat quietly and cried. Nicholas looked over and touched her hand, as Zoya smiled through her tears, watching Marina.

“She's so sweet and innocent.” Life was just beginning for her. And she worked so hard at everything she did, she was such a good and earnest child. Matthew was like a brother to her, although they were seven years apart, not unlike Nicolai when she was growing up herself. It was odd how it all happened again and again, generation after generation, her own passion for the ballet reborn in Marina.

Paul gave the budding ballerina a tiny bouquet that night, and after Marina went to bed, chattering excitedly about how the recital had gone, he asked her the question Zoya had dreaded hearing from him for years. His wife had finally died of cirrhosis several months before, and he looked at Zoya quietly in the silence of the library after Nicholas was gone, back to his own apartment.

“Zoya … after twelve years, I can ask you now. Will you marry me?” He reached for her hand, and she looked into his eyes with the smile born of a love long shared, but never fully brought to fruition. They had been together for twelve years and she loved him deeply and valued his friendship, but that time was past for her. She had never wanted to marry again after Simon. She was happy watching Matthew grow up, and Marina dance. She still bustled around the store with almost the same energy she'd had before. At fifty-six, she was barely slowing down. But marriage wasn't what she wanted now, and she gently touched his fingers with her lips and shook her head.

“Paul, my darling, I can't.”

He looked wounded as he listened to her, and she tried to find the words to explain it.

I'm past that now. I'm too old to marry anyone.”

“Don't say that, Zoya, look at you! You haven't changed since the first time I saw you.” She was still so very lovely.

“Yes, I have,” she smiled pleasantly, “inside. I want to grow old quietly, to see Matthew on his way, and Marina become exactly what she wants to be. I want her to have the luxury of doing exactly what she wants to do, to be who she has to be … and that's what I want too.”

He had feared that, even before he asked her. He had wanted to marry her for years, but he couldn't. And now that he was free, the moment had passed for her. He wondered if things would have been different if Allison had died sooner. His weekends with Zoya were less frequent now, but they still went to his house in Connecticut from time to time, but in recent years the weekends were less important to her. It was their friendship she loved, and she would have wanted more than that of marriage. She would have wanted passion. The children were her only passion now. The children, and still, the store. Always that, in memory of Simon.

“I can't be anyone's wife again. I know that now. I gave everything I had to give to Clayton and then Simon, a long time ago. Now there's me. The children, my work, and you, when we both have time for it. But I couldn't give you enough of myself to justify marrying you. It wouldn't be fair to you. I want some time for myself now, Paul, as awful as that must sound. But perhaps now it's my turn to be selfish. I want to travel when the children are old enough, to be free again. Maybe to go back to Russia again one day … to visit St. Petersburg again … or Livadia …” She knew it would be painful for her, but it was a dream she'd had in recent years, and each year it was more possible. All she needed was the time, and the courage to go back. But she knew she couldn't do all of that with him, he had his life, his house, his work, his gardening, his friends. His life had slowed down considerably in recent years. “I think I have just grown up, finally.” At sixty-six, he suddenly seemed much older, but Zoya didn't say that. “I was so busy surviving for so many years. I finally discovered that there is a great deal more than that. Perhaps if I'd known that earlier … perhaps things might have been different for Sasha.” She still blamed herself for her daughter's death, and it was difficult to look back and see what she could have done differently, and it didn't really matter anymore. For Sasha, it was much too late, but not for Matthew, or Marina, or even herself. She still had some living to do, and she had chosen to do it on her own, no matter how much she loved Paul Kelly.

“Does this mean it's over for us?” He looked at her with sad, wintry eyes, as she gently leaned over and kissed him on the lips, and he felt the same fire he had always felt for her since the first day they'd met.

“Not unless you want it to be. If you can accept me like this, I'll be here to love you for a long, long time.” Just as she had been there for him during the years when he was married.

He laughed quietly, “Just my luck, the world has finally come of age, people are doing things that would have shocked the world twenty years ago, sleeping with each other openly, living in sin, and what happens? I offer you respectability a dozen years too late.” They both laughed as they sat comfortably in her library. “Zoya, you're too young for me.”