“Jesus. So, on top of being a cabinet minister in Parliament, a blood descendant of the Romanovs, you’re also an Olympian?”
“I participated in three different Olympic games before retiring from competition. My recent involvement with the London games was as commentator and ambassador for the sport only.”
“Impressive. Did you take home any medals at your three Olympics?”
“A few.” I saw no reason not to be evasive with her, so I did my best to answer truthfully without offering extra information. She didn’t seem to be intimidated when it came to questions, I’d noticed.
“How many Olympic medals do you have?”
“Eight. And before you ask the next question, it’s four bronze, two silver, and two gold.” I didn't mention the World Archery Championships I'd earned.
“Of course, you have eight Olympic medals on top of everything else, Ivan.” She just shook her head in disbelief and smirked at me from behind her wineglass.
In a way I was reluctant to tell her about my past. The information age we lived in made certain no stone was left unturned for a celebrity, be it their professional or private life. The tabloids also shared their erroneous findings with anyone who might buy a newspaper or two. Sex scandals were the most sought after by the paparazzi and sold massive amounts of papers. I was no saint to be fair, but the vile lies printed about me were nothing short of pure calculated revenge. I knew who instigated it, and I knew why. The thing was, the cat was out of the bag now and there was no turning back. Gabrielle could do an internet search and find out a lot more about me. And right next to my archery stats would be some sordid shit I hated for her to know. I went the denial route instead. “Enough about me and my circumstances of birth, I want to hear about you, Gabrielle. How did you find your way here all the way from Santa Barbara?”
GABRIELLE
I knew it was coming. I'd been asking Ivan a lot of personal questions, so it was only fair for him to be curious about me. I decided to go with the easy stuff first.
“Well, I grew up in Santa Barbara with my mom who was American, but I was born in London and have a UK passport. My dad is a British citizen. He’s the Chief Superintendent for the Southwark Division at New Scotland Yard. My younger sister, Danielle, and I visited him in London during our school holidays and summers over the years. He met my mother when she was like nineteen years-old. My grandparents were diplomats who moved the family to London when my mom was a teenager. My mom and dad fell in love, or more accurately, she fell pregnant with me. My grandparents were not happy about their marriage and they interfered… more than they should have. My mother left England after two years, returning to California pregnant with my sister. My grandparents were killed in a car accident a few years later. Mom married my step-father and had my brother Blake. My sister recently graduated from university and now studies fine art and design in Los Angeles. My brother goes to UC Santa Barbara, the same school where I did my undergrad, and lives at home with his dad, my step-father. I came to London to study art and learn conservation. My mom died suddenly three years ago, and I’ll never live in the U.S. again.”
I took a deep breath as I finished my oration and kept up my game face. It was better this way. Profoundly ashamed of the real reason I’d left home, wasn't something I was willing to share, especially when I could barely deal with my guilt now, years later. I was, for lack of a better term, deeply fucked up over what I'd done.
He nodded slowly after listening to my rambling speech, giving me his full attention. I was certain he’d absorbed every detail. I'd already experienced Ivan as a thoughtful listener much to my surprise. Again, he went against the norm—at least for me he did.
“I’m very sorry about your mum. I lost mine suddenly, too.” He paused before delivering the worst part of the news. “When I was six.” He shrugged helplessly. “Pissing drunk driver took to the road and hit them head on. They never stood a chance.”
“They? Your father too?” I asked, thinking six was a horrifying age to be orphaned. No wonder he was a little rough around the edges. Any guy would be affected without a mother’s love and gentling influence from such a young age. I thought of Ethan and saw some of the same hardness he had also in Ivan. Brynne had told me that Ethan lost his mom when he was like four-years-old in a car accident. Ethan and Ivan were cousins… While my heart was hurting for the little six-year-old Ivan, imagining how hard it must have been for him growing up with no mother, it dawned on me to wonder if he and Ethan had shared the same tragedy.
He shook his head. “No, my father wasn’t with her. She was with her sister and they were coming home from their grandfather’s funeral…”
“Ethan and Hannah’s mother was your mum’s sister?” What a sad, sad connection for Ivan and his cousins to share. It was understandable though. Their relationship, the closeness, the family loyalty—they were all deeply bonded over the same tragic loss.
He nodded in the affirmative, the expression on his face showing me it was still a painful memory for him. I wanted to comfort him but had no idea what I could possibly say that wouldn’t sound dismissive.
“That’s incredibly tragic, Ivan. I’m so sorry about your mum, but I am glad you still had your dad,” I offered lamely, before instantly regretting it. Ivan’s whole body stiffened, and his jaw hardened in what could only be interpreted as anger. I’d said the wrong thing apparently, and I felt badly for bringing up sad memories for him. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, wishing for an ‘un-ring’ button on that bell, and maybe an accompanying mute button for my big mouth. Ivan’s father was definitely off the list of acceptable conversation topics.
“Let’s change subjects, shall we? There has to be something more pleasant for us to talk about.” He smoothly shifted focus to the landscape beyond us and took a sip of his wine. When he moved his eyes back to me, the sexy, sophisticated, confident Ivan had returned. Just that fast. He had learned how to turn it on and off at will. I was struck with the urge to hug him, but I just sat in my chair sipping my wine and looked out at the beautiful green landscape of his beloved Donadea instead. I could feel his eyes on me. Staring. What did he see in me?
“So, you were born in London but raised in California?”
I nodded and turned my eyes back to him, glad that our awkward moment had passed.
“Well, that certainly explains the accent. I remember being surprised you weren’t a native that night I picked you up on the road. Turns out, you really are a native. Just another perfect example of how things are not always as they appear on the surface.” He picked up my hand from the table and stroked over my knuckles with his thumb. “I want you to remember that as you learn more about me.” That last bit from him sounded sincere and struck me as a significant point for him. Was Ivan scarred from a painful past like me? Something to do with his father perhaps? He appeared so confident, but I would never forget how paranoid he’d behaved when I surprised him here that horrible night in the rain. He was a man who guarded his privacy fiercely, so I imagined he probably had his reasons, and I respected him for it because I was basically the same way. I totally got it.