She took a sip of wine. “When I first found out I was pregnant, I didn’t even tell Andrei. I knew a child would just get in the way of his missions, his crusades.” She gave me a steady look. “With these men, nothing real is possible. They will give themselves, over and over until nothing is left. They are shells with emptiness inside.”
“What is his cause? Why is he broken?” I whispered. I wanted to run away and escape from her warnings, but my training came to the fore. I knew I had to find out as much of the truth as possible.
“That is not my secret to reveal,” she replied. “I just wanted to warn you.” She sighed. “I wished someone had warned me to run when I first met Andrei.” Her eyes were lost in thought. “Even though I wouldn’t have listened.”
She shook her head and her expression became neutral. It was like a mask had slid over her face. “I’m sorry, I’m being quite rude. How are you enjoying Paris? Alexander mentioned it is your first time in our city? And your sister is ill, non? I’m so sorry. It must make it difficult to spend time here with that hanging over your head.”
“It does,” I lied. “I’m sorry, I’m still quite confused. How do you know Alexander?” Perhaps she’d dismiss my prying as jealousy.
“My boyfriend used to work with him,” she replied.
“Used to?”
“He is dead.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said automatically.
She did that little shrug again. “In death, perhaps he found the peace that was missing when he was alive,” she replied. “Or that is what I hope for him.”
We made small talk after that, though I couldn’t stop thinking about her warnings. Her words had resonated with me. Not as the warning about Alexander that she’d intended them to be, but as an eerily similar descriptor of my own life.
I’d glibly told Lucien that I’d gone on vacation with Alexander. What I hadn’t mentioned to him was that it had been the first vacation I had ever taken. Growing up, I’d been too poor for trips. After the kidnapping, everything in me had been focused on my revenge.
The cause, Sasha had called it. I called it my revenge. Different phrases for the same thing. That all-consuming fire that burned everything that came into its path.
Last week in Paris, when Alexander had taken me to the symphony, I had been confronted with how much of my life I’d missed while I was training for combat. Sasha had accused Alexander of being an empty shell? Those words could have just as easily applied to me.
***
Alexander:
Later, when Sasha and Andrei had left, we were sitting at the table eating a cold pasta salad for dinner. “How long have you known Sasha?” she asked me.
“Are you jealous?” I smirked. I couldn’t help myself.
She rolled her eyes at me. “Vanity, thy name is Alexander,” she muttered. “I was trying to figure out if Andrei was your kid.”
I gave her a startled look. “No, I assure you,” I said. “Sasha’s boyfriend died before the baby was born. I just thought they needed family and neither Sasha nor Andrei had any.”
“So you just stepped in?” She looked skeptical. “Just like that.”
“Something like that,” I replied. “I grew up without much by way of family. If I can prevent that for Andrei, I will.”
***
I am meeting my father for the first time. After ignoring my existence for five years, I’m suddenly summoned to Jamaica.
My aunt puts me on a flight and sends me off without a word. I have a large ‘unaccompanied minor’ tag around my neck.
In Provence, my aunt makes it clear that she finds my presence less than desirable. I’ve learned to stay quiet and not get in the way. I stay just as quiet on the plane. A flight from Marseille to Kingston is almost twenty hours long. There are two connecting stops. At every step, the flight attendants exclaim at how well behaved I am. They bring me little toys to play with. Ask me what I’d like to eat. Bring me juice and chocolate. I’m unused to the attention.
The flight attendant on the last leg is especially kind. Her name is Julie. She has a warm smile and kind eyes. She hands me a teddy bear to play with. I hug it tight to me as I disembark.
I don’t know what to expect. I’ve never even seen a picture of my father. I try to cling to Julie, but she gently loosens my grip. “Look, Alexander, that’s your father, isn’t it?”
He’s tall. I incline my head up to look at him. I don’t know what to say. “Bonjour, papa.”
“Speak English, damn it,” he huffs. “Hasn’t Carrie taught you anything other than French?”
I’m used to speaking French; I do live in Provence, after all. “I’m sorry, Father,” I reply docilely. “I can speak English.”
“Come on then,” he says gruffly.
My visit lasts two weeks. My father doesn’t talk to me very much. I’m not sure why I’m even here. The servants feed me and care for me, but it is a lonely visit. I’m not allowed to visit the town. In the farmhouse in Provence, there is at least my aunt’s dog Brutus to play with, the cats in the barn to chase. In Kingston, there is nothing.