LITMIR.BIZ

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      He and Daniil had been abandoned at approximately two weeks of age. No one knew who had been born first but it had always been assumed that Roman was the elder.

      Roman had been a natural leader and, though Daniil was as tough as they came, Roman had looked out for his brother at every turn. He had taken care of him and taken the fall for him and had wanted only the best for his twin.

      When Daniil had been adopted Roman had made a promise to himself that he was letting his twin go for good.

      Daniil had had a chance, a real chance for a good life and an entirely new start, and Roman had insisted that he take it.

      When Daniil had refused to leave, when he had reminded Roman that they would make it themselves as boxers, Roman had told him he would do better without him, that he was the better fighter and that it was Daniil, if he stayed, who would drag him down.

      A forbidden fight had been set up in the dorm and Roman had fought dirty that night.

      ‘See, shishka,’ Roman had said. Daniil had been recovering from a savage blow that had ripped apart his cheek and Roman had used the name they had called him since they had found out he was to be adopted. It meant big shot. ‘I do better without you.’

      So Daniil had taken his chance. There had been no letters sent from England to the orphanage, no attempt by Daniil to contact his twin. Though Roman had missed him, the knowledge that his brother had a chance had consoled him.

      When Roman had left the orphanage he had considered trying to track Daniil down, but the thought of turning up on his doorstep, of being a burden on his twin, meant he had decided to leave well alone.

      Roman had considered it again when he had come out of the French Foreign Legion. Unlike most legionnaires, he had amassed quite a fortune thanks to a long conversation with a comrade, Dario.

      The men had rarely spoken about their lives before joining the legion—it was what they had come to get away from after all. But one night in the desert, both wounded and waiting for help to arrive, they had touched on their pasts.

      ‘Stay awake,’ Roman said as Dario slipped in and out of consciousness. Roman too wanted the bliss of closing his eyes but he knew it would have signalled the end. The sand in his lacerated back felt as if salt was being rubbed into his wounds, and he could hear the gurgle of his chest as he tried to breathe. He held onto the gold earring he had taken from his pocket and it felt as if Anya was by his side and for her he kept his eyes open. ‘Dario!’ he commanded. ‘Talk.’

      Silence.

      ‘What are you thinking about?’ Roman asked.

      ‘My wife,’ Dario said. ‘I left chaos behind me,’ he admitted to Roman. ‘I just hope she is okay.’

      They conversed in French, as was the rule.

      ‘If I’d stayed I’d have been locked up, I think,’ Dario said. ‘What about you?’

      ‘I don’t know.’ Roman tried to imagine what life might have been like had he stayed. He might have moved to Saint Petersburg but he could not imagine things going well there. How would he have supported Anya? He couldn’t have.

      He thought of the furious words that Katya had hurled at him. Anya’s audition hadn’t gone well and the blame, her mother had said, lay squarely with him.

      ‘I tried it as a boxer but got nowhere,’ Roman told his wounded comrade.

      ‘You’re a good boxer,’ Dario commented, because Roman was in the parachute regiment kickboxing team.

      ‘I knew nothing about nutrition then,’ Roman said. ‘Anyway, getting beaten up for a living never really appealed. It was just a dream when we were growing up—a way out.’

      ‘We?’

      Roman didn’t answer that question.

      ‘I was good at the share market,’ Dario said. ‘I got rich but then I got foolish.’

      ‘Foolish?’

      ‘I didn’t stick to the rules,’ he admitted. ‘You have to know when to hold steady, know when to pull out.’

      And Dario told Roman the rules that he had failed to adhere to and he told him about brokers and such things. Recovering in Provence, Roman had set things in motion.

      Legionnaires’ board and lodging were provided and Roman had barely touched his wage so he set it to work. He was attached to nothing and no one, certainly not money, and he had way more self-discipline than most. These were the perfect ingredients to play the stock market and Roman did it incredibly well.

      Having recovered from his injuries, Roman signed on for another five years but he would leave the legion a wealthy man. Still, there were things he did not know about and had never experienced and he was embarrassed to go to his brother. The night before he walked out of the gates he and his comrades had drunk plenty. They would miss Roman and could not imagine a better solider beside them in battle, or a more focused, determined person to get them there on long, seemingly endless marches. He had done all he could to never leave a comrade behind.

      ‘What about this one...?’ Dario said. They were reading the personal ads. ‘If I was leaving this is where I’d be headed. I don’t know about going to the ballet and theatre, but the adventurous sex I could do with...’

      Roman smiled as he read it.

      She was in her early forties and lived in Paris. No name was provided, just that she had given up on finding love but wanted to marry to please her dying father. She wanted someone, preferably younger and attractive, to accompany her on nights out to the theatre and ballet. As well as that she wanted an adventurous sexual partner. She understood that the marriage might not be a long one but hoped it would last at least two years. Naturally accommodation would be provided and she was an excellent cook, though preferred to eat out in the evening.

      He liked her directness.

      Throughout his life Roman had always had board and lodgings provided, first as an orphan, then as a fighter and perhaps now as a lover!

      The men had whooped in delight when he had pocketed the details and even Roman had grinned.

      Responding to the advert was a calculated move. He had never lived in a home, let alone been to the theatre. On a rare day off he might have hit a bar with comrades but he had never been to a restaurant except for that one disastrous time with Anya.

      Roman headed to Paris.

      Yes, he had been right not to contact his twin, Roman soon found out as he tried to acclimatise to living in an apartment in Paris and sharing a bed. Even lingering over meals proved difficult—he been nowhere near ready to face Daniil.

      After those awkward first weeks things improved. More than delighted with happenings in the bedroom, Celeste wanted to venture out. She loved the job of ‘improving’ Roman. She had an eye for fashion and he was dressed well. He learnt to eat from fine china and to order at a restaurant with ease. She cooked with passion and soon so too did he. He always spent his own money, yet Celeste knew real estate in Paris and soon his portfolio consisted of houses as well as shares, though, as was the case with his shares, he was not attached to any of the properties.

      And the sex?

      There was a lot of it, of course, but, although it started out risqué, tenderness and affection grew, so much so that when, at the end of two years, Celeste fell ill, Roman stayed in the marriage. Just as he’d done all he could to never leave a comrade behind, he remained by her side. He was now the teacher, showing her that with focus and determination six months to live could be turned into a year.

      ‘You are the best thing that ever happened to me,’ Celeste said just before she died.

      Her estate naturally went to her sister, who had blinked in surprise that Roman had not contested the will.

      Of course they had assumed he had been there for the money.

      Not

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