year after year, they prided themselves on the fact that no one ever knew about how much they meant to each other in private, not even her children. Matthew liked him very much, and Sasha tolerated him. She was too busy with her own life now to care much about what her mother did, and she never appeared to be aware of their involvement. And of course, Nicholas was still away, fighting with the RAF in Europe.
President Roosevelt died on April 12, 1945. And three weeks later the war ended in Europe, and Zoya rejoiced as tears streamed down her cheeks. Her son was still alive. He came home on the day he turned twenty-four, and two days later, the war ended in the Pacific as well. There were endless celebrations, and parades down Fifth Avenue. Zoya closed the store, and she went home to see Nicholas, standing at the window of their living room, watching people dance in the streets, with tears running down his face.
“If Dad had only lived to see this day,” he whispered to her as he watched the jubilation in the streets, and Zoya looked up at her handsome son tenderly. He looked more than ever like Nicolai, particularly now in his uniform. He had become a man in his years away, and she wasn't surprised when he told her he wasn't going back to Princeton. He wanted to begin learning what he needed to of the empire Simon had left behind him. Paul taught him all that he needed to know of it, and Nicholas was stunned by the money that had been left to him. Sasha knew also that she would be inheriting a great deal of money the following year, although she did not yet know how much. But Nicholas was aghast when he saw the way she behaved when he stayed with Zoya briefly. She was out until the early morning hours every night, came home drunk most of the time, and was rude to everyone who tried to talk to her about what she did, particularly Nicholas, but also Zoya. He was furious when he talked to his mother about it late one night. Sasha had come in early that night, and was already passed out cold in her room. A boy in uniform had dropped her off and he was so drunk he could hardly walk as Nicholas almost threw him out.
“Can't you do something about her, Mama? She's totally out of control.”
“She's too old to spank, Nicholas, and I can't lock her in her room.”
“I'd like to try it,” he looked grim, but the next morning when he talked to his sister it was to no avail. She was gone again that night, and didn't return until well after four o'clock in the morning.
She was even more beautiful than she'd been before, she was too young for her excesses to hurt her looks, but Zoya knew that if she didn't stop, in time they would. And Zoya was less than pleased when, that December, she eloped. She had married a boy she had known for less than three weeks, and the fact that he was the son of a polo player in Palm Beach was small consolation to her. His life-style was as wild as her own, they drank and they danced and cavorted every night, and it was even more upsetting when Sasha blithely told her mother when she came to New York in March that she was expecting a baby sometime in September.
“On Matthew's birthday, I think.” She was decidedly vague as he wandered into the room. He was six and a half years old, with Simon's big brown eyes and gentle ways. He adored Nicholas, but he had learned to keep out of his sister's way long since. She drank too much, and she was either indifferent or openly unpleasant. She was twenty-one by then, and the inheritance Simon had left only hurled her faster toward her own destruction.
In June, she came home again and announced that Freddy was cheating on her, and she instantly took revenge. She bought a new car, two diamond bracelets, slept with one of his friends, in spite of her delicate state, and went back to Palm Beach to find her husband. Zoya knew that there was nothing she could do. Even Nicholas didn't want to talk about it anymore. She was what she was, and none of it was pleasant. She talked about it often with Paul, and his