Rhapsody (45 page)

"If you get cold at dinner," Jason said, "you
can wear the hood."

Serena laughed. "Not a bad idea," she said.
Then she looked at him. "You're sure that Misha would like it?"

"You out of your mind, girl?" Jason said. "Of
course he will."

"That's settled, then," Serena said. "Thank
God."

"Thank God what?" a mellifluous baritone
asked from behind the two of them.

Serena turned around and saw Misha standing
there, suitcase and garment bag in hand, watching them with a smile
of amusement.

"You're here already," she squealed. She
dropped the dress to the floor and rushed into his arms.

"Yes," he said, setting down his suitcase and
laying his garment bag across it. He eagerly embraced her, reveling
in the feel of her body against his. He kissed her with abandon,
ignoring Jason for the moment, then drew back, looking into her
eyes.

"I'm so glad to see you," he said, gently
squeezing her shoulders.

"You can't be happier than I am," Serena
breathed excitedly.

Misha looked over her shoulder and saw Jason,
rescued dress in hand, watching them. The young man's face was
flushed with embarrassment, witnessing their intimacy. He quickly
averted his eyes and hung the dress on the armoire's open door.

"Hi, Jason," Misha said. He gave Serena a
peck on the lips, then went over and shook hands with Jason. "How's
the shoot been going?" he asked.

"I think I'd better let the boss lady fill
you in," Jason said.

"Ah-ha," Misha said, taking Serena's hand in
his as she joined them. "That bad?"

"Not really," Jason said. "Anyway, I'll leave
you two alone. I've got to start setting up for tonight." He
started toward the bedroom door.

"See you later," Serena said. "And
Jason?"

He turned at the door and looked at her.
"Thanks a lot. For everything."

"No problem," he said, grinning. He turned
back around and left, quietly closing the bedroom door behind
him.

"He's a nice kid," Misha said.

"Yeah," Serena said, "he is." She put an arm
around his waist and snuggled close to him.

With a finger Misha tilted her chin up and
looked into her eyes. His expression was solemn. "We've got to
talk," he said.

Serena frowned. "You look so ... so grim,"
she said. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," he said, reassuringly.
"There's just some things we need to discuss. Let's get comfy,
okay?"

"Sure," Serena said. She sat down on the edge
of the huge canopied bed, then scooted back against the pillows,
watching Misha take off his jacket and shoes. He joined her, taking
one of her hands in his.

"You're making me nervous, Misha," she said
anxiously. "What's this all about?"

He looked at her. "I've asked you before, but
I want to know for certain now." He took her other hand now,
covering both of hers with his. "Do you really want to be with me
all the time, Serena?" he asked. "Do you really want to get
married?"

Serena's breath caught in her throat, and for
a moment she couldn't respond. Then she slowly began to nod.
"Y-yes, Misha," she stuttered. "I—I really do."

"One last time," he said. "You're absolutely
certain?"

She nodded again. "Yes," she said with more
conviction. "Yes, Misha. Yes,
yes!
"

He pulled her to him then and kissed her
passionately, overjoyed with her words. "Oh, Serena, you can't
imagine what this means to me," he said breathlessly. "It makes me
the happiest man in the world to know that you love me."

"And I do, Misha," she said. "I do love you,
and I want to marry you. This is not a game. You're the only man
who's ever made me feel like a woman. You're the only man ...well,
the only man whose children I've ever wanted to have."

Tears sprang into Misha's eyes, and he hugged
her again. He could hardly believe his ears. To think that this
sublime creature loves me! And to think that she wants to have my
children!

He began to smother her with kisses, pulling
her bathrobe from her exquisite body in a frenzy of desire. Within
moments they both lay naked on the bed, frantically kissing,
licking, stroking, probing as he mounted her, their desire for each
other so profound and all-consuming that they reached that ultimate
wave of ecstasy almost instantly, their cries of pleasure mingling
with the juices of their love.

Later, cuddled next to each other, Misha
didn't think that he had ever felt so fulfilled, so wanted or
needed, or as ... powerful. It was a power derived from the love
that she felt for him, a power that meant he had conquered this
exotic, independent, sublimely beautiful woman.

He turned to Serena. "Next week, when I go
back to New York," he whispered, "I'm going to ask Vera to start
divorce proceedings."

Serena stared at him. "You're sure about
that?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, nodding. "Next week. I don't
know how long it will take, and I don't know what kind of a fight
she'll put up, if any. But I'm definitely going to tell her next
week."

Serena kissed him tenderly. "You won't lose
your nerve?" she asked.

"No," Misha said, "not now. Now that I'm sure
of the way you feel, and the way I feel."

"If you get cold feet," Serena said, "just
think of me. Waiting for you." She ran a fingertip around his face
delicately, lovingly.

"I will," he said, smiling.

"I don't want to move from this spot," Serena
said. "From you. But we'd better start getting dressed for
dinner."

She sat up in bed and leaned over, reaching
for her bathrobe on the floor. Then she slid out from under the
covers, got out of bed, and shrugged into the robe.

"Wish we could skip dinner," Misha said,
still lying back against the pillows.

"No can do," Serena said. "And we'd better
hurry. Really."

"Okay," Misha said, getting out of bed.
"Black tie, right?"

"Yes," Serena said.

Misha picked up his suitcase and put it on
the bench at the foot of the bed, then laid the garment bag across
the bed. He caught a glimpse of the newspapers on the Turkish
carpet where Jason had left them.

"Were you two looking at the reviews by any
chance?" he asked Serena.

"Oh, yes," Serena said, slipping out of her
bathrobe and taking the gown off its heavily padded hanger. "They
were fantastic, Misha. Jason and I got a big kick out of one of the
critics saying your playing was diabolical and erotic. And all that
stuff about you being a Romantic hero. Wow!" She giggled. "I didn't
know I was going with Byron!"

Misha looked at her curiously. She had never
shown quite this much interest in his concerts before. In fact, she
seemed to have very little curiosity about his professional life at
all. Perhaps that wretched vampire, Coral Randolph, had been wrong.
Maybe Serena really was becoming interested in his career.

He began slowly dressing, watching Serena as
she got into her bra and panty hose. Then he remembered something
else the vampire had said.

"Did you get into London at all?" he asked
Serena in a casual manner.

"What?" she asked.

"Did you manage to get into London at all?"
he repeated.

"Yeah," she said. "The night of your first
concert." She turned and looked at him, then shrugged. "But there
was no way I could get to it. I had the whole troupe with me. The
models, assistants, and so on. It was a night out for us to get to
know one another a little bit. You know, break the ice so the shoot
would be easier. Theoretically, anyway."

"What did you do?" he asked, putting on his
heavily starched white tux shirt.

"Went to Annabel's for din-din, then went
dancing at some gay bars. The kind of discos where they let
straights in. Then we ended up at these really sleazy sort of sex
clubs way off the beaten track that some of the kids knew about.
You know. The kind of place where you see every kind of freak on
earth. It was a blast." She giggled. "We did have fun, but I was
dead the next morning."

Just like the old vampire said, he thought.
But at least Serena told me about it. So where's the harm?

Misha adjusted his cummerbund, then slipped
on his dinner jacket. Finally he put on his black patent leather
shoes with the grosgrain bows. He turned to Serena. "Will I do?" he
asked.

"You look positively . .. Byronic!" she said,
laughing. "Oh, you look so handsome." She gave him a kiss on the
lips. "I'll just be a second."

She pulled on the glittering turtleneck, then
slipped into the gold, embossed lam skirt.

"Wow!" Misha said. "Beautiful!"

"Wait till you see the rest," she said. She
got the creamy silk brocade jacket with its hood from the back of a
chair and slipped into it, cinching it at the waist. "What do you
think?" she asked.

Misha looked at her long and hard. She was a
vision, he thought. She had never looked more beautiful or more
sophisticated. There was absolutely nothing of the girl raised in
the swamps or the runaway about this divine, ethereal creature.

"You're magnificent," he said simply.
"Magnificent."

"Thank you, sir," she said. "Ready, then?"
she asked.

"Ready."

"Shall we?" She held out an arm, he took it,
and they swept out of the stately bedroom, and began the long, long
walk through hallway after hallway to the dining room.

"That was a
hoot
," Misha exclaimed as
he and Serena stumbled into the bedroom, both of them intoxicated
by the evening, the wine, and each other.

"A hoot?" Serena echoed, swirling around in
her Galliano gown, enjoying its silken movement against her body.
"That's what you really thought?"

It was after two in the morning, and the
dinner and after-dinner drinks and conversation were finally
over.

"Ah, yes!" Misha enthused, untying his bow
tie and dropping it into his suitcase with a flourish. "An
extraordinary hoot at that. It was wonderful!" He laughed and took
Serena into his arms.

"It reminded me of the dinners with some of
the dotty old European aristocrats I have to go to a lot. These
kids are just younger versions of the same people. Their children
or grandchildren. But at the fancy dinners I go to, they don't
usually pass around a vial of coke or whatever to snort, along with
the food."

Serena laughed. "No, I bet they don't." She
freed herself from the silk brocade hooded jacket and laid it on a
chair, then began sliding off the gold lame embossed skirt.

Then he became more serious. "You know what
though, Serena?"

"What?" she said, sliding her panty hose down
her long, trim legs.

"It was a beautiful evening. Extraordinarily
beautiful," Misha said, his voice wistful. "The fabulous couture
clothes, the candlelit chandeliers and candelabra, the flowers from
the greenhouses, all the old table linens and family china and
silver and crystal. It was magnificent, really."

"Yeah," Serena said. "Too bad the food
sucked."

Misha looked at her with an irritable
expression. "Well, the food was typically English," he said. "I
expected nothing more or less. But what a room to serve it in! The
family dining room is phenomenally beautiful. The carved moldings
and doors and those gigantic carved marble fireplaces. All that
precious gold silk damask on the walls, with paintings, one on top
of the other!"

"Yeah, I guess so," Serena allowed, shrugging
into her bathrobe. "But did you see how there're tears in the silk?
Even in the curtains. This whole joint is coming apart at the
seams."

"I think that's part of its charm," Misha
said. "All the shabby grandeur. The wear and tear of the centuries
has given everything a patina that only time can."

"They can keep it, if you ask me," Serena
said.

"You love all your glass and steel and chrome
better, don't you?" Misha said.

"You bet," Serena said. "If I had this old
dump I'd get rid of it."

"Serena!" Misha said with surprise in his
voice. "You're talking about one of the most historically important
houses in all of the United Kingdom. You ate dinner surrounded by
exquisite paintings of some of the greatest Englishmen and women of
the past."

"Well, I'd get rid of them, too," she said
emphatically.

"A lot of those paintings are very fine,"
Misha protested. "Some of them are Van Dycks."

"I don't care what they are. They're ugly, if
you ask me," Serena said. "No wonder this country lost its empire.
It's so wrapped up in the past."

Misha felt an angry impatience rising within
him. He checked himself before he snapped at her, but he really
didn't like her attitude one bit. A Van Dyck painting ugly? How
could she say such a thing? Was this grand house nothing more to
her than a "set" that had served as a chic backdrop in a fashion
shoot?

He supposed so. He reminded himself that
she'd wanted to wipe out her own past, so it made sense that she
had no respect for the past in general. Could she not see that this
evening had been a truly magical one, set amidst all this beauty
and history? He suddenly felt saddened by the disdain she held for
what had to him been romantic and inspirational in its beauty.

"I'll be back in a minute," Serena said,
heading for the adjoining bathroom.

As Misha slipped into his bathrobe, the
newspapers, now neatly folded and placed on a table, caught his
eye. The maid had straightened up. He picked them up and made
himself comfortable on the big canopied bed. First, he began
thumbing through the Times, looking for the review of his
performances at the Royal Albert Hall.

Suddenly a familiar name jumped off the page.
He felt a flutter in his chest, and his hand trembled slightly.
Like a ghastly flashback to a terrifying nightmare, the name
riveted his attention.