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I raise her hand to my lips. Her eyes soften, and she rises on her toes to kiss me, sweet and deep. I wrap my arms around her, holding her close under the watchful stars.
Martin be damned. Tatiana is mine, and I will do whatever it takes to bring her back to life. Gently, slowly, with nothing other than kindness for encouragement.
Tatiana pulls back, her cheeks flushed. "Shall we?" She gestures at the table, and we take a seat. We talk and laugh over the meal, mostly about how silly the geese are. She doesn't know I had them flown over for tonight so that they would pose as the perfect distraction. The conversation flows as easily as the wine.
When the first strains of Eremushka's lullaby float from the speakers, Tatiana stills. Her eyes shimmer with tears as she stares into the candles.
I reach across the table and cover her hand with mine. She starts, blinking rapidly before giving me a tremulous smile.
"Quella canzone," – That song, – she whispers, turning pale.
"What about it?" I frown, leaning closer. "Should I turn it off?"
She shivers as she takes a deep breath, looking away.
"No. È solo... è una delle poche cose che mi sono rimaste di mia madre." – No. It's just... it's one of the few things I have left of my mother.
"I didn't know that." I caress her knuckles with my thumb. "If it's too painful, I can turn it off."
Tatiana's breath hitches. "No, please," she whispers with urgency. "Leave it on. I want to remember."
I watch tears glisten in her eyes as she listens, transported to a place where the realms of reality and fiction blur. As the bridge plays
‘Nella sinfonia delle stelle, troviamo liberazione, Una ninna nanna d'amore, una pace senza tempo’
(In the symphony of stars, we find release, A lullaby of love, a timeless peace)
I look around to see how apt the words are.
The stars do twinkle so very far away, and I can see Tatiana's memories reach for the same.
Under her breath, I hear her sing. Sitting there in that white dress, the moonlight shimmering over her dark hair, her cheeks glistening with the remnants of a tear, she looks and sounds like the very angel of god.
‘Nella trama delle stelle, troverai la tua strada, La ninna nanna di Eremushka, per sempre a dondolo,’
(In the tapestry of stars, you'll find your way, Eremushka's lullaby, forever to sway.)
She sings, slowly, so very slowly that all the sounds around me fade away.
I stop listening to the crickets, the clatter of the birds, the gush of the wind, and the very music from the speakers. All I hear is her aching, haunted voice.
And I realize this is the first time she's sung since she returned from Russia.
My plan worked.
I can feel the weight of her emotions, the pain and longing that she has kept bottled up for so long, pouring out in each note she sings. Her voice is raw and vulnerable, yet hauntingly beautiful, filling the air with its bittersweet melody.
As Tatiana's voice trails off, the silence of the garden wraps around us like a comforting embrace.
I reach out and gently place my hand on her trembling shoulder, offering her support in this moment of vulnerability. "You have such a gift, Tatiana," I whisper, my voice filled with admiration. "Your mother would be proud."
Tatiana's eyes glisten with tears as she turns to face me, her voice still quivering with emotion. "Do you really think so?" she asks, her voice laced with uncertainty.
"With all my heart."
She nods and looks away.
"You said your mother taught you this song?" I inquire, hoping to bring her out of her shell.
