CHAPTER FOUR

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After the excitement of the masquerade ball the night before, the house was strangely quiet.

Annabelle was alone in the library, curled up on one of the white leather couches in front of the crackling fire, cozy under a cashmere throw. She was dressed warmly, in a metallic gold sweater with a deep cowl neck, and black velvet pants, but she always found the library to be drafty. It was a cold, raw January day; wind was rattling the floor-to-ceiling windows. Annabelle was reading the latest Daniel Silva novel, and sipping eggnog from a cut crystal mug.

Every few pages, Annabelle would glance up from her book to look at the Christmas decorations. They really were quite beautiful! Hundreds of white lights twinkled on the tree, and reflected off the vintage, hand-blown glass ornaments. The garland that draped across the mantel twinkled with the same white lights. There were pots of brilliant red poinsettias everywhere, and Santa figurines tucked into every nook and cranny.

Annabelle had been in the library for about an hour, when the door opened and Boris walked in.

"Boris! Where have you been hiding yourself? I was beginning to think that aliens had landed and carried everyone off!

"I was. . .there were some things that needed my attention."

"Hmpf!" Annabelle held up her novel. "Boris, I can read you like this book! You were upstairs in your study, answering emails, weren't you?!"

Boris hesitated, trying to gauge Annabelle's mood. "Yes, Annabelle, I was in my study, and I was answering emails. I am sorry if that upsets you, but I really do not want to argue anymore! Can we not call a truce, at least for today, and start the new year in peace?!"

"Oh, Boris, I don't want to fight, either! I'm sorry about last night, really, I am! I may have. . .overreacted. . .just a bit. . .about the cell phone?!"

"So. . .we have a truce, ja?!"

"Yes, Boris, we have a truce!"

"Sehr gut!"

Annabelle hesitated, and then spoke. "It's just that. . .?!" She looked away, leaving her sentence unfinished.

Boris sighed, and shook his head. "Say what is on your mind. Annabelle!"

Now it was Annabelle's turn to sigh. "It's just that. . .I can't stop thinking about what your grandmother said!"

"Gott verdammt, Annabelle?! I will NOT allow Olga to ruin our relationship!"

"Oh, Boris. . .that's just not going to happen!"

"And yet, she has you believing that I will always put business first! She is poisoning your mind, Annabelle! She will do everything within her power to ruin our relationship; it is what she does!"

"I. . .she. . .?!" Annabelle didn't finish her sentence, and threw her hands up in frustration. "Is that what you really believe, Boris?!"

"Ja, that is what I believe; that is what I know!"

Annabelle shook her head in disbelief. "Boris. . .you absolutely flabbergast me?!" Boris shot her a quizzical look, but didn't respond, so Annabelle continued. "You are, without a doubt, one of the smartest men I've ever met! You know art, and music, literature, architecture, history, and politics! You speak more languages than anyone I know! You understand all the working parts of the global economy, but, sometimes. . .you just don't get people at all!"

"Really?! That is what you think?!"

"Yes, Boris, that is what I think! I also think that I understand your grandmother!"

"And I do not?"

"No, Sweet Pea, you do not!"

"Well then, please, enlighten me!"

"Why bother?! You won't listen!"

"Annabelle, I am standing here, and I am obviously listening!"

"Oh, Boris, please don't try playing semantics with me; you'll lose! Yes, you're hearing my words, but you aren't really listening to what I'm saying; it is abundantly clear that your mind is closed! You're not willing to give an inch where your grandmother is concerned!"

"And. . .you know this how?!"

"Because that's how you deal with people! People are either black or white to you. But here – in the real world – people are many, many shades of gray!"

Boris stopped to consider what Annabelle was saying, stretching his arms out to the side and then crossing them across his chest.

"My grandmother is a bitter old crone, who does not love anyone but herself. But, if you think that you can convince me otherwise, by all means, have at it!" With that, Boris sat down on the white leather couch opposite Annabelle. "I AM listening, Annabelle!"

Sighing, Annabelle set her book aside, and took a sip of her eggnog. "Your grandmother loves you very much, Boris!"

"Hmpf?!"

"You are such a wanker, Boris! And listening REALLY isn't your strong suit, is it?!"

Boris put his hands up in mock surrender. "I am sorry! Please. . .continue. I will listen. . .this time."

"As I was saying, your grandmother loves you very much."

Boris just couldn't help himself; he interrupted Annabelle yet again. "She turned her back on me, when I needed her the most!"

Annabelle was getting exasperated. "I KNOW that, Boris! And for the record, I think your grandmother was wrong! I'm not trying to excuse her behavior; I'm simply trying to explain it!"

Boris stood up abruptly, walked to the drink cart, and poured Scotch into a cut crystal tumbler. He walked back over to the couch and sat down, took a drink of the Scotch, and then sat back on the couch, crossing his legs.

Annabelle sat silently as she watched Boris struggling to rein in his temper. Distracted, he rubbed his eyebrow with his thumb while he gathered his thoughts. He took one more sip of Scotch, then he set the tumbler down on the glass-topped table. "I am ready to listen, Prinzessin."

"I think. . .that your grandmother did what she did out of self-preservation, Boris!" She waited to see if Boris was going to react.

"Go on."

"First, your grandmother lost her husband – your grandfather. He was the love of her life, Boris, and she was devastated. Olga got hit by a runaway train, and she never saw it coming! Then, she lost her son – your father. He was the crown prince of the kingdom, and then, he was gone, leaving you behind." Annabelle paused, and took a deep breath. "Your grandmother is a strong woman, Boris, but she couldn't go through that a third time. She couldn't nurture you, and love you, only to lose you, too. I think, that's when she started putting up walls."

"And she has told you this?!"

Annabelle shook her head. "Nooooo. . .not in so many words. But she did tell me that, after the death of your father, she couldn't give you what you needed. I just. . .filled in the blanks."

Annabelle sat silently, watching Boris process their conversation. "Well, Prinzessin, you have certainly given me much to contemplate." Boris drained his glass of Scotch, then walked to the cart to pour another. He carried his Scotch to the windows, where he stood for several minutes, looking out at the grounds, lost in thought.

"It is beginning to snow again."

Relieved to hear him speak, Annabelle turned toward Boris. "So it is!" Annabelle watched Boris for a minute or two, then sighed. "Boris. . .may I ask you a question?"

Boris finally turned away from the windows. "Of course, Prinzessin!"

"Do you love your grandmother?"

Boris thought for a moment, then shrugged his elegant shoulders. "She is. . .my family?!"

"Boris, that's not the answer to my question!"

Boris walked over to the couch and sat down, leaning back and crossing his legs; he seemed to be stalling for time. "All right, Annabelle, the answer to your question is yes! I love my grandmother!"

"Well, then, Boris, I think you owe it to your grandmother, AND to yourself, to find a way back to each other!"

A hint of a smile flashed across Boris's face. "So! It seems that we have a project for the new year, Prinzessin!"

"Wait. . .what?! We?! Why we?! She is YOUR grandmother, Boris!"

"Ja! But this was YOUR idea! So. . .we are in this together, my love!"

Annabelle smiled, and shook her head. "Fair enough!" Annabelle raised her mug. "Here's to our. . .project!"

Boris raised his glass in return. "And. . .God bless us, every one!"

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