No calls to say she was going to be late, no making the kids meals.After I received a printed-out Amazon gift card for my birthday that was left on the dining room table and her not showing up until 11:00 that night, I had decided that enough was enough. When the kids told her about our going to Bucca di Peppo to celebrate and questioned her about not attending, she rushed them to bed.Her face was beet red. “You couldn’t wait? You just couldn’t wait until the weekend? Now I’m the bad guy. Just freaking wonderful. Dad’s the put-upon hero. Again.”I sat there, Shiner Bock in hand, staring at her. “You have to be kidding me. We didn’t leave the house until 7:00. We waited an hour and a half for you. Did you even check your messages? Your daughter called you three times. You know what? Fuck you. Why do you even bother coming home? Next time, just stay gone.”I clambered to my feet, a little drunk after the red wine with dinner and three beers in short succession after we got home. I. He could see how the poor young woman was eaten up with guilt, and he shared her horror at what she had done. But the Count was older and wiser than Emma. He knew that nobody is beyond redemption. If only he could make her see this! The pain of seeing such a lovely person being destroyed was far worse than that of losing her.The icon that Emma had touched in the Blue Room was now in the rebuilt monastery on the family's former estate. He had flown back to Russia especially to return the ancient and holy relic to the monastery personally. It had been the only one of his great grandfather's treasures that the hard-headed and mercenary old rogue had not sold. Even that died in the wool entrepreneurial capitalist had possessed some sense of the holy.The Abbot and the Count were walking in the grounds and talking. Alexander had decided to stay for a while - a long while, maybe for ever. Although he had been born and educated in England and had always thought of himself as one hundred per.
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