where you've always been proud of me. Without that, I'm just the putain you're sleeping with. If she replaces me, what am I but a whore?”
“You're an artist, not a whore,” he protested.
“I know. I also know what you and everyone else thinks of me. Do you
honestly believe I lay with you because I have no morals? Do you know how many other men I've had in my bed?” she demanded.
He rolled to face her, taking in her expression. “How many?”
“Only one. Only my husband.”
He raised his eyebrows. “So there really was a Monsieur St. Jean?”
She nodded, her hand lifting as though to touch his face, but she hesitated and let her fingers slip back to the bed. “There really was. We married young, and he died young, but he left me a little money, and I used it to study music.”
“I never knew,” Alessandro said.
“You never asked,” she retorted.
“But if that's true, then why me?” he asked. “I'm old enough to be your father. Why are you here, Aimée?”
“I don't exactly know,” she replied, speaking slowly while she considered.
“When we started, you were so… comforting, so safe. Life is hard and
frightening, and in order to survive alone, a woman has to be strong. With you, I
could be soft again, be a woman. I wanted you, and then, after we came together,
and you still cared for and respected me, I never wanted to leave. I'm afraid, Alessandro.”
“Of what?” he asked.
“Of what comes next. If we separate, my heart will be broken, but if we don't… I've already buried one husband…”
“And I've already buried one wife. No matter what, life is hard, Aimée. Tell
me what you want.”
“What I can't have. You. All to myself, always. I would…” She broke off, her plump cheeks pink, her blue eyes averted.
“You would what?” Alessandro put one finger under her chin and lifted her
face, so she could look at him.
Whatever she saw in his eyes must have strengthened her resolve. “I would
marry you if you would have me. I wish we could. It would be so much better.”
“Better for whom? As you've said, there's a real impediment to us being
together.”
She nodded slowly. “There is, but I think I would still choose you, even knowing what's coming. I would rather have you while I can.” An odd note in her voice gave him pause.
“What are you not telling me, cara?” he asked, seeking answers in a face
whose expression he'd never seen before.
“You've given me more than a piano, Alessandro.” She looked at him
intently, urging him to understand.
Understanding warred with disbelief. “Dio mio, are you joking?”
“No.”
“But…” he sputtered. “Is this some kind of ploy to force me to forgive you?”
“Not at all. Look at me and see for yourself.”
He pulled back the covers and regarded her nude body. Her curves looked
rounder than ever, her breasts massively swollen, her belly full.
“How long?”
“Nearly five months, I think,” she replied.
