Reality was far better.
Filip had won her over completely with his humble confidence, his kindness, his patience. She’d fallen in love with his determination, his attention to duty, and his considerate nature. Now she fell in love with the way his mouth moved over hers, the way his arms held her, and the way his hands caressed her. She didn’t want the kiss to ever end. She’d never felt so alive, so giddy. Nor had she ever felt such a strong connection to anyone.
Eventually, Filip’s lips moved to her neck. “Nadia.” His voice was a husky whisper. He kissed her again, even longer than he had the first time. There was more passion now, and more anticipation. She treasured every second of it, drank up every moment of his closeness, his attention. The feelings were new, powerful, and exquisite.
“Nadia, I don’t have guard duty till tomorrow. Will you spend the night with me?”
She hesitated only a moment. She wanted to be Filip’s wife in every aspect, wanted to be alone with him, wanted to be completely his. “Yes.”
“What I’m asking will make an annulment unlikely.”
Their agreement at the train station in Piryatin felt like something from a different life. “I . . . I don’t want an annulment anymore. Do you?”
He ran his hands around her waist and buried his face in her neck. “I never wanted one.”
She laughed softly. “For someone who never wanted an annulment, you’ve been incredibly patient.”
He responded with more kisses. His mouth did something to her—something incredible. His warmth wrapped her up in delight and security and invited her to something new and absolutely breathtaking.
She held his face with her hands. “How soon can you find us somewhere private?”
“Soon.” Another kiss sent her soaring. “Very soon.”
She woke up the next morning with Filip at her side. Her husband—a real one, not a sham one. She fingered the curls of his hair and watched him sleep. Gratitude wound around her heart. After the worst moments of her life, God had led her to someone who was gentle and capable, honorable and kind. “I love you,” she whispered and knew it would be true for the rest of her life.
Chapter Twenty-Six
When Kral called everyone together, Filip sensed that something was wrong. Dalek’s more-petulant-than-usual frown confirmed his hunch. It seemed a cruel twist of fate for another complication to arise now, when the legion finally held the rail line from the Volga to Vladivostok and when everything with Nadia had been so perfect for the last week and a half.
Kral raised his voice so everyone could hear. “The Allies have requested that we hold our current positions.”
“Why?” someone asked.
Filip had the same question. Yes, they’d managed to take over several thousand miles of railway, but the legion was too small to hold for long. It was better to get everyone to the coast and sail for France as soon as possible.
“Because German guns are shelling Paris, and the German Army is transferring divisions from Russia to France. The Western Allies are in danger of collapse. They’re desperate.”
“Then they should give us ships and send us to France, as planned.” Emil’s young face showed confusion. “We can make a difference there if they hurry.”
“We can also make a difference here. Perhaps more quickly than we can there.”
Filip almost choked. “They want us to draw the Germans back east? Pick up where the Russian Empire left off? Kral, there aren’t enough of us. You know that. We’ve been lucky this summer. We’ve had speed and better tactics, but we’ve made enemies. We’d have to fight the Bolsheviks to get there, then fight the Germans with the Bolsheviks at our backs. It’s insanity.”
Kral didn’t disagree. “I know it’s not what we planned. And I know it’s not ideal. But we’ve thrown our lot in with the French, the British, and the Americans. If they don’t win, we don’t have a country. We’d be shipped to a Bolshevik work camp, or you’d go home and be executed for treason. We have to keep the Central Powers from victory. We can best do that by splitting their armies—forcing them to fight on two fronts—and by keeping them from the million tons of war supplies sitting in Russian ports. We won’t be alone. The French and British are landing in Arkhangelsk. The Americans and Japanese are landing in Vladivostok.”
“We’ll be fighting with the Americans? And the Japanese?” Emil frowned.
“That’s what’s implied.”
Dread wormed through Filip’s gut. Their supply line would stretch five thousand miles, maybe farther. It sounded like a disaster. If the Bolsheviks took just one station, they could cut the legion off. The legion was growing, with almost seventy thousand men now in its ranks. It wasn’t a small number, but compared to the millions of men they would replace—and the millions of men they would face—it seemed insignificant.
And yet, Filip wanted a country. A homeland free from Hapsburg domination. The paradise on earth that they sang about, not just because of its beauty but also because of its liberty. Helping the Western Allies might be the best thing he could do for his people. He’d planned to help them in the west, but the way things were going, if the legion sailed now, by the time they made it to France, they might be greeted by Germans.
But if they stayed in Russia, they’d be torn to shreds.
***
Filip held Nadia extra close that night, after telling her he was going west with most of the legion and she was going east with the other wives and children. He knew his duty, knew the reasons behind the orders, but that did little to assuage the pain inside. He’d found the perfect woman and had somehow convinced her to fall in love with him, and now they’d be separated, connected only by a thin line of steel stretching five thousand miles.
“You’ll write to me, won’t you?” she asked.
“I can’t write in Russian. Only Czech and German.”
“I don’t know how to read Czech yet,” she whispered. “It will have to be German.”
German. The language of their enemy. That seemed like a final, ironic stab at their emotions.
Preparations for the move left him little time to spend with his wife. The men had to be armed and outfitted as best as possible, and after the march from the Ukraine and months of fighting the Bolsheviks, boots were worn out, trousers were torn, and greatcoats were threadbare. Hardly any of them owned socks, so they wrapped their feet in rags. They’d taken good care of their rifles, for the most part, but some had been damaged, and they had little ammunition for their few pieces of artillery.
Dalek approached as Filip finished leading the men through a session of calisthenics.
“Dismissed,” Filip said.
Dalek watched the men disperse. “Eager to go west again?”
Filip avoided answering. He was a leader. He’d recruited a significant portion of the men under him, so it was his duty to show the proper attitude—willing, optimistic, confident. “Are you?”
Dalek shrugged. “How are things with the wife? No chance of an annulment now?”
“No annulment. Just a separation.” Filip wasn’t happy to be sending Nadia to Vladivostok, but she loved him. That was something to rejoice over. As long as he survived, they had a future together. “My wife is a goddess, and I worship her as often as I can, though it seems such activities will have to be put on hold until the war is over.”
“And she is pleased with this, uh, veneration?”
“Goddesses are usually pleased with adulation, aren’t they?”
Dalek stuck his hands in his pockets. “It seems such a shame for war to come between a man and his worship.”
Filip cracked a smile. Dalek could make fun of him all he liked, but it wouldn’t change the magnificent fact that Filip and Nadia were passionately in love with each other.
Dalek continued. “I was speaking with Kral. It’s vital we keep control of the line—the tracks and the telegraph wires.”