Page 63 of Staking His Claim

Forever.

A secret they would share.

The doorbell interrupted her musings.

That would be Yevgeny.

Opening the door, she found him standing outside in the warmth of the evening sunshine, his arms piled high with goodies and gifts.

“You shouldn’t have.” She laughed, ushering him in. “Put the presents under the tree. Actually, let me help unpack the top items first.”

There was a bouquet of flowers, chocolates, an iced Christmas cake...and crackers.

“This wasn’t necessary,” she scolded.

“What? And deprive me of the opportunity to spoil Holly rotten?” He started to pack the gaily wrapped parcels under the tree. Ella couldn’t help noticing how well his black jeans fit

his narrow waist and long legs, and how the T-shirt clung to his muscular shoulders.

Oh, my. All he needed was a red bow and some ribbon to be someone’s perfect Christmas present.

But she had to remember he wasn’t intended for her.

She swallowed. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“There’s a bottle of red wine somewhere in here. Or it may still be in my car— I’ll go check.”

“I’ll find it,” Ella said. “Look, here it is.”

But Yevgeny had already disappeared through the front door. He returned minutes later without the wine—but this time he carried an enormous boxed gift as tall as he was.

Ella did a double take. “What is that?”

“A playhouse—one to set up inside, until I get the one in the tree built.”

Ella couldn’t help herself. She laughed.

* * *

They had eaten dinner. Lazy now, Ella sat on the carpet in the living room leaning against the sofa, her legs stretched out in front of her with Holly cradled in the crook of her arm sucking sleepily at the last dregs of her bottle, while Yevgeny sprawled in front of the Christmas tree with his head propped up on his elbow, watching them both through pale, wolf eyes.

“Holly is almost asleep,” Ella said softly, bending her head.

The baby was heavy and relaxed in her arms.

For so long Ella had been at pains not to hold or feed Holly, to keep her distance. Yet tonight she was eager for the experience. With Deb gone home to enjoy Christmas with her family it seemed like the right time. Ella knew that she was going to spend plenty of time with Holly over the next two days, and that she’d grow fonder of the baby with every hour, making the final wrench of separation so much harder. But she’d accepted that.

With the pain came immense pleasure. The joy in watching Holly’s mouth twitch as she sucked. The satisfaction of stroking a finger along the baby’s velvety skin. And these precious days would give her a chance to say goodbye to the baby.

But tonight there were three of them—herself, Yevgeny and the baby.

Almost a family.

To escape that delinquent thought she glanced back at Yevgeny, and asked, “What was your first Christmas memory?”

The flickering red-and-green lights on the tree reflected in Yevgeny’s colorless eyes.

“The Christmas season would run from the last day of December to around the tenth of January. When I was a boy, on New Year’s Day we would hold hands and form a chain around the tree and call out for Grandfather Frost—not Santa Claus. He would hand out presents helped by his granddaughter, the Snow Maiden. There were always tables laden with food, a total contrast to the food shortages that my parents had grown up with. Things denied us during the rest of the year appeared. A goose. Cakes. Meatballs. Pineapple— My mother queued for hours to get pineapple. I’d almost forgotten about that. And no celebration would be complete without kutya.”

“Kutya?”

“A kind of porridge made from wheat berries, honey, poppyseed and nuts. My babushka would make it a few days in advance because that way, she used to say, the flavors had time to develop. But the best part, the part I couldn’t wait for, was watching my grandmother hurl a spoonful of kutya up at the ceiling in the hope that it would stick.”

Ella found herself laughing. “She sounds like a character.”

“Everyone did it—it was a tradition. The theory went that if the kutya stayed stuck to the ceiling, a successful honey harvest would follow. And that is good for everyone—because honey represents happiness and success.” His mouth softened into a smile, and even the hard angles of his cheekbones disappeared as he lost himself in the memories.

“Your grandmother must’ve been a wonderful woman.”

“Oh, she could be a tartar, too.” He reached out and grasped the hand resting on Holly’s cheek. His fingers tightened around hers. “But she made Christmas special.”