He grabbed my hand and walked us to her table.
“Mon Dieu,” she breathed before getting to her feet and placing her hands on my face. “Si belle. Tellement comme ma Tatianna . . . So much like my Tatianna.”
My chest twisted as the knowledge sank in.
She was Tatianna’s mother.
My grandmother.
She pulled me into her arms and sobbed. The shock faded beneath her soft embrace. All those times I’d dreamed, wanted, needed this familial affection flashed through my mind like still shots, each picture fading away as my chest was sewn back together with a needle and thread. I didn’t even know this woman, but tears fell at the pain of the past and the relief of letting it go.
She pulled back to look at me, wonder glistening in her wet eyes. “You are probably shocked right now.”
Throat tight, I nodded.
“Me too.” She exhaled deeply to compose herself. “Please, sit down with me. I would love to get to know you and answer any questions you have.”
Nervously, I glanced at Ronan, who asked, “Ty khochesh’, chtoby ya ostalsya?” Do you want me to stay?
I wasn’t sure why he was using Russian or if he even realized he’d done it. Reservation flared behind his eyes, and I had the feeling he might think I would no longer need him now I was reconnected with my family. He was wrong. But this was something I needed to do alone, so I shook my head and spoke in Russian, hoping it would reassure him. “Ne ukhodi daleko.” Don’t go far.
He gave me a long look before walking over to the bar.
After I took a seat across from my estranged grandmother, she stared at me for a long time, another one of her tears escaping. “I’m sorry. You look so much like Tatianna, it’s shocking.”
“I understand.”
“You’ve probably figured out by now I am—was—Tatianna’s mother. My name is Estelle.”
All I could manage was, “I’m Mila.”
“I know. That man”—she looked toward the bar at Ronan—“got ahold of me and told me a little about you. I did not know you existed until recently.” Nervously, she played with her napkin. “I am angry I have missed so much of your life, but also so blessed to finally find you.”
“Tatianna never told you about me?”
She frowned. “No. My daughter left home when she was sixteen in search of better things, I suppose. I never saw her again . . . Well, that is not true. I saw her in a few magazines.” She gave me a sad smile. “But I am curious about why you speak of her as if you didn’t know her.”
I swallowed. “I didn’t. I saw her visit my papa sometimes when I was little, but I never did meet her.”
She shook her head. “Oh, Tatianna. Comment as-tu pu faire ça à ta fille?” How could you do that to your daughter? “There is something you should know about your mother. She looked healthy on the outside, but on the inside . . . she was not well.” She dabbed her tears with the napkin. “Tatianna . . . lacked something inside her. She didn’t love in the same way others do . . . In fact, I’m not sure she loved at all. She may not have been in your life, but I promise you, her choice had nothing to do with you.”
I thought I’d gotten along fine without knowing much about my mother, but now, I realized I needed to hear this. It sounded like my mother really was a psychopath. I didn’t know how to process all the information, so I stared out the window at the passersby.
“You look so much like Tatianna, I thought it was her when you walked in. But I can see now, you are so much different than your mother.”
I pulled my gaze back to her. “How so?”
“Well, for starters, I never saw Tatianna cry. Not even as a child when she hurt herself.”
“I’ve been told I’m a faucet.”
She laughed. “You get that from me. I can cry at the drop of a hat.”
I smiled.
“Do you have a good relationship with your father?” she asked.
I shifted in my seat, my chest tightening. She couldn’t know my papa was the one who murdered her pregnant daughter. If she knew, would she despise me? My stomach churned.
I chewed my lip. “He always treated me well, but . . .”
“You don’t have to say anymore.”
I raised a brow.
“Those magazines showed me a lot more than just Tatianna’s pictures. I knew the people she involved herself with were not the best.” She added hesitantly, “Your papa in particular.”
I wondered if she knew the man I came here with was D’yavol himself. She could say whatever she wanted about my papa, but I knew I would defend Ronan even if it meant losing this new connection.
The secret inside felt like it would strangle me if I didn’t get it out. “I’m not sure how her death was reported, but it wasn’t suicide.”
She gave me a solemn look. “I know, dear. The moment Tatianna left home, I knew she wouldn’t come back.” Alive was the unsaid word. “If you know more than I do about her death, you don’t have to explain. In fact, I don’t want you to explain. I’ve had a long time to grieve. I’ve come to terms with her passing, and I don’t want to relive it.”
I exhaled as relief overwhelmed me. Maybe she already had an idea of what happened. Maybe those gossip magazines were right on the money.
“You know,” I said, “I’ve mentally recited French for years, and now it all makes sense.”
“Of course it does. You are half-French.” She laughed, her eyes sliding to the bar. “So tell me about this man you came here with.”
I glanced over my shoulder to see Ronan leaning against the bar, his eyes on mine. A woman was trying to talk to him, but I didn’t think it was going well for her. I turned back to Estelle.
“I think we’re getting married.”
“You think?” she chuckled. “Shouldn’t you know?”
“I don’t know. It’s . . . complicated.” Unfortunately, there wasn’t a better word to describe our situation. “It’s all moving really fast.”
“You know, when I saw your grandfather for the first time, I knew I would marry him instantly.” Her eyes lit with a smile. “He was the new repairman at the hotel I still work at. I know it sounds silly, but that first glance at him, he looked ethereal—almost like he was too perfect to be real.” Her gaze fell. “He passed away a few years ago from cancer, and all I wish now was that I would have approached him sooner. We wasted so much time dancing around each other. If you feel that way for this man, don’t waste any more time. It can’t be brought back.” Seeing her tears made a few of mine fall.
“I’m so sorry about your husband.”
She laughed. “I expect lots of tears in our future. But let’s make them happy ones.”
“I like that idea.”
She stood. “I’m going to be late getting back to work, but promise me we’ll keep in contact. My apartment may be small, but there will always be a room for you if you need it.”
I got to my feet and accepted her tight hug. “Thank you so much.”
She pulled back, ran her fingers across my cheek, and whispered, “Ma petite fille.” My granddaughter. “Your mother might not have been able to love you the way she should have, but I always will.” She kissed each of my cheeks. “Je t’aime, Mila.”