impossible to explain, but he had felt as if he were being slowly invaded. ‘She said she wanted more of a commitment.’
‘She cared a lot about you, Reyes …’
‘I know,’ he admitted. ‘And I cared a lot about her.’
‘It would have hurt her deeply, you ending it.’
It had. She had cried, sobbed, and then she had hit him and he’d taken it—because he deserved it, because she had almost been the one. He had hoped she was the one and then, when he could deny no longer that she wasn’t … What was wrong with him?
‘She loved you, Reyes!’
‘So I should have just let it carry on? Married her …?’
‘Of course not,’ Estella said. ‘But it’s not just Imelda …’
It wasn’t.
Imelda was one of a long line of women who had got too close—and, despite his reputation, Ross hated the pain he caused.
‘I don’t like it that my son hurts women.’
‘I’m not getting involved with anyone for a while,’ Ross said.
‘You say that now …’
‘I’ve never said it before,’ Ross said. ‘I mean it; I’ve got to sort myself out. I think I need to go back.’ It took a lot of courage to look at his mum, to watch her dark eyes widen and her lips tighten. He saw the slight flinch as he said the words she had braced herself to hear for many years. ‘To Spain.’
‘What about your work in Russia?’ Estella asked. ‘All your annual leave is taken up with that. You said that it’s the most important thing to you.’
It had been. As a medical student he had taken up the offer to work in a Russian orphanage on his extended summer break, with his fellow student Iosef Kolovsky. It had changed him—and now, all these years on, much of his spare time was devoted to going back. Even though Iosef was married now, and had a new baby, Ross had been determined to return to Russia later in the year. But now things had changed.
‘I want to go to Spain, see my abuelos …’ And that was a good reason to go—his grandparents were old now—but it didn’t quite appease his mother. ‘I’m going back next month, just for a few weeks….’
‘You want to find him, don’t you?’
He saw the flash of tears in her eyes and hated the pain he was causing, but his mother, whether she believed it or not, simply didn’t understand.
‘I want to find myself.’
CHAPTER ONE
‘THERE is room for improvement, Annika.’ Heather Jameson was finding this assessment particularly difficult. In most areas the student nurse was doing well. In exams, her pass-rates had been initially high, but in her second year of study they were now merely acceptable. In her placements it was always noted how hard she worked, and that she was well turned out, on time, but there were still a couple of issues that needed to be addressed.
‘It’s been noted that you’re tired.’ Heather cleared her throat. ‘Now, I know a lot of students have to work to support themselves during their studies, but …’
Annika closed her eyes, it wouldn’t enter Heather’s head that she was amongst them—no, she was a Kolovsky, why on earth would she have to work?
Except she did—and that she couldn’t reveal.
‘We understand that with all your family’s charity work and functions … well, that you have other balls to juggle. But, Annika, your grades are slipping—you have to find a better balance.’
‘I am trying,’ Annika said, but her assessment wasn’t over yet.
‘Annika, are you enjoying nursing?’
No.
The answer was right there, on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it down. For the first six months or so she had loved it—had, after so much searching, thought that she had found her vocation, a purpose to her rich and luxurious life. Despite the arguments from her mother, despite her brother Iosef’s stern warning that she had no idea what she was taking on, Annika had dug in her heels and, for six months at least, she had proved everyone wrong.
The coursework had been interesting, her placements on the geriatric and palliative care wards, though scary at first, had been enjoyable, and Annika had thought she had found her passion. But then gradually, just as Iosef had predicted it would, the joy had waned. Her surgical rotation had been a nightmare. A twenty-one-year-old had died on her shift and, sitting with the parents, Annika had felt as if she were merely playing dress-up.
It had been downhill since then.
‘Have you made any friends?’
‘A few,’ Annika said. She tried to be friendly, tried to join in with her fellow students’ chatter, tried to fit in, but the simple truth was that from the day she had started, from the day her peers had found out who she was, the family she came from, there had been an expectation, a pressure, to dazzle on the social scene. When Annika hadn’t fulfilled it, they had treated her differently, and Annika had neither the confidence nor the skills to blend in.
‘I know it’s difficult for you, Annika …’ Heather really didn’t know what else to say. There was an aloofness to Annika that was hard to explain. With her thick blonde hair and striking blue eyes, and with her family’s connections, one would expect her to be in constant demand, to be outgoing and social, yet there was a coldness in her that had to be addressed—because it was apparent not just to staff but to the patients. “A large part of nursing is about putting patients at ease—’
‘I am always nice to the patients,’ Annika interrupted, because she was. ‘I am always polite; I introduce myself; I …’ Annika’s voice faded. She knew exactly what Heather was trying to say, she knew she was wooden, and she didn’t know how to change it. ‘I am scared of saying the wrong thing,’ Annika admitted. ‘I’m not good at making small talk, and I also feel very uncomfortable when people recognize my name—when they ask questions about my family.’
‘Most of the time people are just making small talk, not necessarily because of who you are,’ Heather said, and then, when Annika’s eyes drifted to the newspaper on the table, she gave a sympathetic smile, because, in Annika’s case people would pry!
The Kolovsky name was famous in Melbourne. Russian fashion designers, they created scandal and mystery and were regularly in the tabloids. Since the founder, Ivan, had died his son Aleksi had taken over the running of the business, and was causing social mayhem. There was a picture of him that very morning on page one, coming out of a casino, clearly the worse for wear, with the requisite blonde on his arm.
‘Maybe nursing is not such a good idea.’ Annika could feel the sting of tears behind her eyes but she would not cry. ‘At the start I loved it, but lately …’
‘You’re a good nurse, Annika, and you could be a very good nurse. I’m more concerned that you’re not happy. I know you’re only twenty-five,
