Written on the Wind (The Blackstone Legacy #2)(93)
Natalia blinked in confusion until Liam reminded her of the long-ago afternoon at her townhouse when he thought the pope lived in Switzerland because of his Swiss Guard. Darla had laughed at the time, but apparently she’d shared the story with her friends. Now she and all the others called him “the Swiss Guard” behind his back.
“One of them asked her what she saw in me,” Liam continued. “I hid behind a column to listen. Darla said she likes me because I’m big and strong like Hercules, but I’ve also got a fortune in the bank, and she doesn’t care that I’m as dumb as a stump. Those were her exact words.”
Natalia felt ill. Darla’s careless remark had hit Liam where he was most vulnerable. Liam wasn’t dumb, he just never had a chance to get an education beyond the eighth grade because he’d been yanked out of school to work in a steel mill.
“I already miss her,” he continued. “I taught her how to weld, and she showed me how to sculpt with a blowtorch. We had fun together, you know? The only thing I do at work is bang my head against the books and wear these smothering collars, and I hate everything about it.” He watched the welders working on the steel beams high above the city, his face filled with longing. “I liked being a welder. At the end of every day, I felt like I’d built something. I’d give anything to be up there with those guys and quit pretending to be someone I’m not.” He looked tired, dispirited, and old, and Natalia didn’t know how to comfort him.
“I’m sorry about Darla,” she said. “Is there no hope you can forgive her?”
Liam shook his head. “She doesn’t respect me. She wouldn’t have talked to her friends like that if she did. And maybe she’s right. I don’t belong in the boardroom. I don’t even like it.”
“But you’re good at it,” she said. “Nobody thought you could cram that proposal through, but you brought insight and passion to the table. Enough to get through to those cold-hearted businessmen and make an important change.”
Her words of comfort didn’t seem to help. Liam continued to glower at the men across the street as he spoke.
“I’m not going to give up,” he said. “I’ll agree to that fifteen percent raise for now, but I’ll keep fighting in the boardrooms and in the back alleys. In the courts or on the floors of a steel mill. If I start a mission and come up short, I’ll only retreat long enough to lick my wounds, saddle up, and then ride back into battle. Nobody is going to stop me. Not the board, not your father, and certainly not Darla.” His mouth twisted in irony. “It’s good that I found out about her. Darla was a distraction. If I ever get married, it will be to a woman who isn’t afraid to walk into a cauldron of fire with me.”
Natalia nudged him a little, hoping to lighten his mood. “Most women don’t want to walk into a cauldron of fire, Liam.”
He shook off his melancholy and winked at her. “That should have been my clue that Darla wasn’t the right woman for me.”
Perhaps Liam was right. He and Darla had always seemed like an odd pairing, but his comment saddened her because Dimitri had been the right man for her. Why did she need a baby from her own body when there were countless needy children filling the orphanages in this city? Why did she assume his commitment to Mirosa was a fatal flaw? The world had telegraphs, steamships, and trains that could close the distance.
Liam had just said that if he ever came up short in a mission, he would retreat only long enough to lick his wounds, saddle up, and ride into battle again. She would do the same.
That night, she sat at her mother’s dainty rolltop desk to write Dimitri a letter.
Dearest Dimitri,
How does one apologize for a hasty decision? It occurs to me that although I have always relied on careful research before making a business decision, I have not always been so circumspect in my personal life.
Perhaps it was arrogant, but I grew up assuming I could choose exactly the life I wanted, but sometimes God has other ideas for us. Nothing has been working out as I planned, but I am slowly learning to appreciate the strange curves in my path. There are many things I did not fairly consider until forced to do so. The music industry is one of those things, and it has been an unexpected delight. There could be more. Adopting a child? Exploring the possibility of living in Russia? I don’t know, but I wanted to ask your opinion on these things.
Having read both Tolstoy and Napoleonic history, I have too much respect for the Russian winter to brave its ferocity, but I would like to visit Mirosa in the spring. What do you think?
I will understand if you do not find this letter welcome. Just say the word, and I won’t raise the issue again, but I felt compelled to ask your opinion.
Sincerely, Natalia
Her fingers shook as she sealed the envelope.
She clutched Dimitri’s firebird in her hand as she carried the letter to the post office the following morning. The Russians believed the firebird was either a harbinger of something wonderful or of a dark catastrophe. It was surely a fitting symbol for this letter, as she had no idea which fate loomed before them.
37
It was time for Dimitri to confront the czar. His mother feared he was walking into a trap, and she spent the night before the meeting begging Dimitri not to go. Sitting in the candlelit dining room at Mirosa, she looked as old and haggard as he’d ever seen her.