Margarita and Luca, book 1. Julia Alex A.
for the beautiful photos! Wow! The Apennines are gorgeous!
Considering your question: there are no more kids in my family, only me. But I have a brother-in-law, my father’s son from the previous marriage. I hadn’t known about it for many years until I met him at a disco. We had a passionate attachment and then parents told us that we were brother and sister…
Everybody in my family had at least two marriages, and I’m not an exception ;) I have been married 3 times.
Do you have brothers or sisters?”
His mail
“I have a brother and numerous relatives, cousins and nephews… When all of them gather together at table on holidays it’s quite a crowd!
Sorry, I didn’t understand, may be because of my English… Have you been married or are you still married?”
Realizing that he was not indifferent to her, Greta grinned. That meant he was in the mood for serious relationship.
Her letter
“Ciao!
How is the weather there?
Wow, I’ve always dreamt of a huge family like yours! My great grandma had eleven children… We all used to gather together on Sundays, at a groaning board: all dishes piping hot. I loved her home-made bread the most! All the meals had a special taste ‘cause of being made in the furnace, stoked with wood.
When the great grandma died, everybody started quarrelling about inheritance and the family broke down.
No, I’m not married now”.
His mail.
“But three times? When I saw you on the plane you seemed 23-25… Kids?
And the Pope?
Are you such a complicated girl?”
Her mail
“Yes, though I’m so young, I’ve had much experience already.
It's not the same with marriage in Russia, as the Pope has no power here :)
No! I'm not complicated at all. I'm just stupid and a hopeless optimist. I blindly believe that every person rules his life and is really able to change it for the better, especially having enough support, no matter what kind of unpleasant things have happened to him. And I don't accept weakness of spirit. Of cause we all have chinks in our armours and let them be there until they don't ruin our lives.
For example, my first husband had midlife crisis(when he was only 30!And I was 18). I supported him in everything and things started going great with work, he became a politician and financial director of a large-scale construction firm and so on. But still couldn't give up drinking, smoking marihuana badly (he had started doing this stuff being depressed). I like to have fun too, but everything has it's borders. So, when he started running around the house with a long sabre catching green devils with long bushy tails…
It's my fault – I always consider people better than they really are. Besides I'm too kind and long to help people. I guess I should not, I have already tried to get rid of this pernicious quality, and have been cherishing that illusion, then I realized – that's next to impossible for me to become indifferent to people.
And my optimism makes me fight till the very end, never give up! I'm highly disappointed when people destroy their lives by their own hands, being immensely lazy to make a single effort to set things right. It's like a sniper shot right into my heart.
There is a fairy tale, you probably know, about 2 mice which got into a basket with milk. One of them sank because it didn't want to labor to save itself, didn't make a tiny movement by its paws. The other mouse, in the opposite, kept moving it's legs so fast, that the milk turned to sour cream and the mouse survived.
That all is a bit shocking for you, the fact is that I was obliged to leave home when I was 14, I had no choice. My adult life started early…
I hope I didn’t load you too much…”
She has never checked her mail so often before: ten times a day. Nothing from him. A month passed and no letters. She was getting sadder and sadder every day. «I’m too much for him… Too complicated… Men don’t like women with baggage of experience behind»: she was thinking pulling a huge suitcase into Moscow airport. She was going to PARIS! A capital of love! Everyone dreams to come there with someone he loves to feel the romanticism of the city. She will arrive in the illustrious city with the empty cindered heart from the previous marriage and frustration from the present affair that ended before getting started. But the girl chinned up: «Apart from work I’ll have as much fun as I can! Otherwise I’ll never forgive myself for sitting locked in the room because I hate all men and life in general, as my ex-husband is a lascivious jerk. Shivers went up and down her spine remembering his words…
She did have fun. First at duty free ”
CHAPTER 2
Paris
A smiling Russian man, resembling more French than Russian in his manners and looks, was waiting for tourists by a small table, few minutes and they were going to the centre of Paris in a big comfy bus. Incredibly small streets astounded our girl: Margot was used to large wide spacious boulevards and streets in her own backyard, when you need eternity to cross the road dashing for the other side to feel safe and sound eventually!
The boutique hotel was small, but indisputably sumptuous. Her room was surprisingly huge and in red with gold coloures. The bathroom – rather large for one, with beautifully decorated with pictures of old Paris walls. After shower she looked into the mini-bar: orange pressée and vin de champagne looked tempting! «Why not? I’m in Paris!!! Besides, I’ve never tried a true Champaign, only those made in the terrible alcohol plants in Russia »: she thought opening the little bottle. Five minutes later she was standing in front of her boss smiling utterly happily, thinking: «God, how I worship my work! Thank you for that!!!», tears of happiness in the green today eyes, the champagne was working well.
The day was hard: apart from much interpreting there were quarrels with Chinese directors on the topic «which turn is correct and which is wrong», thus the investors were always late for the meetings, and thanks to their stubbornness, the working day finished later than expected – at ten in the evening. She rushed to the room, jumped in a shower, then put a brand new small black dress which opened nearly all of her back, and went downstairs. In the hall there were many photographers and film-stars: there was a week of Russian film those days. She enjoyed the view of fine dressed-up people and headed to the bar. It was crowded too: some French film was being shot there. Margo ordered some red wine and looking forward to tasting it, saw through the curtains a famous French actor who she had often seen in Hollywood films: a scene was being shot in the other posh-furnished room of the bar. Then she got involved into the wine, which was so fresh and fruity, that next five minutes the blonde was not aware what was happening around. On looking back she noticed that the filming had finished and the company of celebrated actors was sipping wine at the next table. Then the most handsome one stood up and headed towards our Margaret smiling:
– Bonsoir!
– Good evening, – she answered coldly.
– Can I ask you a question? You look splendid… I concluded that you are Russian, am I right?”
– Spasibo, – she whispered as the barmen handed her another glass of wine.
The actor got madly excited hearing the word “po-russky” and was going to comment on it, but few fans approached with pictures and asked for his autograph.
–Can I ask you to join our company? Our work is finished for today and we’re relaxing… Everybody is impatient to get acquainted with you, – he said signing the pictures.
She looked at the table and a dark-haired beauty waved her smiling all over her face.
–No, thanks, – she stood