often wished to do the same. I feared for her, especially after her mother's passing.”
“You had cause,” Christopher said grimly.
“It must be very gratifying that what began as a good deed turned into such a
deep love,” Alessandro commented.
“It is,” he replied, unembarrassed to lay his heart clearly on his sleeve.
“Perhaps someday she will heal enough to love me back. I look forward to that
day.”
“No. She already does,” the older man insisted.
“What?” Christopher gaped. “Why do you say so?”
“Because of her last song. Could you understand any of it?”
“No, what did it say?”
“Ask her. I could tell she meant every word.” Alessandro winked.
Christopher nodded. “Yes, she seemed very sincere.”
“Definitely. You're a lucky man, Christopher Bennett.”
“I know it. Thank you.” And now I need to find out what my wife was singing
to me.
Despite her concerns, Katerina enjoyed the party once she found her husband and took his arm. Being close to Christopher made anything seem possible, even
conversing comfortably with strangers in a foreign country. She stood as near to
him as she was able, until she could feel the heat from his body, and she smiled
sweetly at the people around her.
I am not a mouse, not a rabbit. I stood up to a bully, challenged her and won.
Not the contest. I never cared about winning that. I won the battle of wills. I'mbraver than ever before. Aimée will never bother my husband again, and if she
does, I will give her a piece of my mind she'll not soon forget.
The hours went by, neither flying nor dragging, just passing until at last the
appointed ending time arrived. The guests who lived nearby returned home, and
those from farther away retired to guest rooms. Finally, Katerina pleaded
exhaustion, kissed her grandfather goodnight, and led her husband to their room.
Alessandro waited for the last lingering attendees to depart before finally heading off to bed. Ending his liaison with Aimée had left him unhappy. Her behavior was unconscionable, and I'm still angry, but damn it, I love the wench.
He undressed and slid between the sheets, knowing sleep would be difficult.
He drew an unsteady breath. The bed felt cold and empty without his warm, vital
woman filling it.
The mattress sagged. Familiar arms slipped around him.
“Alessandro, my love,” the sweetly accented voice washed over him, “I'm so
sorry. So very sorry. It was so bad of me. Please, please forgive me. Please don't
throw me out. I never meant to hurt or embarrass you.”
“Aimée,” he shook her off, “why was claiming my piano so important to you
that you put my granddaughter through all of that?”
“Why do you think?” she demanded, fiery as always. “You have so little for
me. The music room is one place where I have always been able to please you,
