Award Winning Author

“AUNTIE MASHA, I THINK THIS GOWN MAY NEED A DIFFERENT SASH.” Before the Countess could respond to Kira, a woman in a yellow silk chiffon evening dress entered the room. Kira saw her image in the full-length mirror and cried out, “Mother.” She turned with arms stretched out.

Her mother remained rigid. “I understand there was trouble in St. Petersburg.”

Kira felt her cheeks flush and suppressed an urge to hide in the armoire. “You mean the attempt on our lives?” She knew full well her mother referred to the gossip about her and Roman. She entwined her fingers nervously then turned back to the mirror and adjusted her gown.

“You know exactly what I am mean, young lady.” The woman’s frown relaxed. “Although, I am grateful for your wellbeing.”

“Sister,” the Countess said. Kira’s mother dismissed her interruption with the wave of her hand.

“Kira, your father and I have cultivated this union to see that your station in life is well situated. To marry into the Romanov family would…” She paused.

“You mean your position.” 

“Don’t be impertinent, Kira.” She crossed the room, gently placed her hands upon her daughter’s shoulders, and spoke to her reflection in the mirror. “Your engagement has been arranged for years.  To alter plans now would cause severe embarrassment to our family and compromise your father’s political position. You know my dream is to return to St. Petersburg or here to Moscow.”

 “Sister,” the Countess interrupted. “Remember my situation and how I entered into a loveless marriage with a man much older than myself. You know the hardships that I faced. I still bear some of the scars. My only salvation was a stampede from a runaway carriage that freed me. Mikhail is too old and coarse for her youthful spirit. He is not the man for your daughter.”

Kira gave her aunt an appreciative smile. “Mother, I understand my duty, but I couldn’t stop myself. I simply fell in love with the lieutenant.” Kira hesitated to speak Roman’s name for fear of her own tears and another reprimand from her mother.

“I want what is best for you. You are a shrewd, intelligent, and sensible woman.” Her mother turned Kira around to face her. “This is your obligation as my daughter.” Kira threw her arms around her mother’s neck, buried her face in her breast, and sobbed.

THE DIMLY LIT TAVERN with heavy soot walls and air that held an odor of sour mash was the best accommodations the boys could find in Moscow. Their rooms, one flight up were in no better condition. Roman sat with his feet propped up on a wood chair in front of an empty fireplace.

Fëdor slammed an empty glass on the table and refilled it with another shot of vodka. “Where’s Uri and Boris?” 

“Relax.” Roman yawned. “Boris has gone to visit his wealthy uncle. Uri–well you know where he is.”

“It’s amazing, that guy knows every gambling house in every city.” Fëdor gulped his vodka.

The door to the tavern opened exposing what light was left of the day. Several of the hung-over customers moaned. Boris pulled a chair over to their table and plopped down next to Roman. “My uncle said there is a ball to be given tomorrow with well over a hundred guests. I got invitations for us.”

“What makes you think we’ll find her at a gala?” Fëdor said.

“What else is there to do in Moscow?” Roman said.    

The door opened again and further moans erupted from the crowd as Uri stumbled into the tavern. He brought company. A stout man dressed in civilian clothes. “Look who I found,” Uri said. The two intoxicated men propped themselves against one another for support. “This fine fellow is Mikhail Vershinin.” Uri slurred his words.

Mikhail tried to click his heels and bow but instead fell forward. Roman rose and caught him then placed him in his seat.

“Where the hell did you two meet?” Boris said.

“Cards. I’ve never seen anyone loose so much money at one time.” Uri laughed. “I know a secret.” Uri put his finger to his lips and in a loud whisper, “He’s getting married in a few days to our dear friend, Kira.”

All heads turned to Roman. The sight of the drunken man slumped in the chair with his chin pressed against his chest left an acrid taste in Roman’s mouth. “Uri, why don’t you and Mikhail go up to the room.  We’ll wake you in a few hours and we can talk.” He paused. “Fëdor, show them the way.” 

“What are you going to do, Roman?” Boris said.

Roman’s eyes remained fixed on Mikhail as he lumbered up the stairs. “I don’t’ know, Boris–I just don’t know.”