Part 23 (1/2)
”It's not important that we agree. What's important is that we listen.”
”He's going to marry that blonde.”
Roman laughed. ”And you know this how my love? Sebi has not even made that decision yet.”
She shrugged. ”I just know. I feel it. Here.” Anastasia took her husband's hand and laid it across her chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of her heart. ”Just like I know it will be a mistake. He knows that too.”
”Why would it be a mistake? To get the throne he needs a wife. Seems simple enough.”
”He doesn't even know her,” she protested.
”The way I hear it your father did not know your mother either. Without them there would be no you. I, for one, am forever in their favor for marrying strangers.”
”That's different,” Anastasia said, waving the thought away with her hand. ”Petrescu's, we love quickly and deeply. They had the spark; it was there when they first met, like when we first met. They were in love they just didn't know it yet. But he doesn't love her. He won't ever love her. It will be a mistake to marry her.”
Roman sighed. ”He marries her, his love life is doomed. He doesn't marry her, the loss of the throne. What would you have him do, Ana?”
”There is another way. Another choice.”
”Which is? What do you feel wouldn't be a mistake?” Roman asked.
”You already know the answer to that.”
His arms squeezed her tightly. ”The American.”
”There is not enough time,” she said, melancholy ripe in her voice.
”Time for what?”
”To convince them of that. They are both too stubborn and proud to open their eyes. He will get married in time, Roman. He'll just be marrying the wrong one.”
”Come, up with you,” her husband said, dragging her to her feet. ”You, Feyalka, while many things, beautiful being one of them, are not a mind reader or predictor of the future. You cannot know this. Didn't you feel much the same way about your life, driving down a country road straight into a blizzard?” He reached a hand up to cup her cheek. ”And look, my love, how that turned out. Did you ever consider you could be this happy?”
She smiled widely. ”No. Never.”
”There is hope. There is always hope. What will be, will be.” He placed a quick kiss against her nose. ”Come. I told the American I would teach her some card games.”
”Are you going to hustle her?”
Roman just winked at his wife, a cheeky grin. ”It's not my fault she's never played poker.”
Glancing out across the expansive moonlit view, Kat wondered, and not for the first time, how she ended up here, and not just physically. Her life always seemed to be in turmoil, this mountain to climb, that problem to solve, this brother to save, that creep to defeat. Until it all blended together into one long, unending stretch of work. Truthfully, she hadn't done much actual living.
And then Sebastian appeared out of nowhere and he laughed at her and teased her and got her doing things she never thought she'd do sleeping with strangers and attending operas and jet-setting around the world. Though he wasn't really a stranger anymore, was he? She wasn't a stranger either, no longer just a mystery. If anything she knew better now. She knew Kat's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door opening. She looked behind her; still alone on her balcony, French doors ajar. But she heard another sound and peered over the tall potted plant to the balcony on her right. And there was Sebastian, running his hands a bit restlessly through his hair.
She pulled the blanket tighter around her as she watched him reach his hand down into his own plant, riffle around, and come out with a box of cigarettes and a lighter. He lit one up, took a long drag, and let out a sigh.
”A closet smoker,” Kat called to him. He looked shocked for a moment, searching for the source of the voice before his eyes alighted on her. Half a smile appeared on his face.
”Balcony smoker,” he corrected, gesturing with his right hand as he flicked ashes to the ground.
”Those things'll kill ya,” she said, coming up on her knees to lean over the railing towards him.
”A lot of things can kill me Kisa. Can't avoid them all.”
”You could try.”
”Now where,” he started, mirroring her position and leaning over to look at her, ”would the fun in that be?” He held her gaze for a moment, for two, before continuing in an entirely different voice. ”What are you doing out here? You'll catch a death of cold, you know.”
”Me?” she protested, looking down at her pajamas, bathrobe, and blanket. ”At least I'm still wearing all my clothes.”
Sebastian, in the middle of removing his tie, threw it at her. She reached out to catch it and lost her grasp on the blanket, letting it slip through her fingers and then down off of her shoulders. Her bathrobe wasn't lashed, her top not b.u.t.toned, so he could see straight through all those layers to the camisole hugging her body like its life depended on it. For a moment he wished his hung on such an easy choice.
Looking at the black silk tie in her hand she missed the hunger in his eyes. When she finally caught up and followed his gaze she let out a sigh and scrambled to readjust her covers. ”Needlessly modest I think,” he murmured, not looking at her but instead his cigarette as he brought it to her lips.
”Really?”
”I have seen it all before.”
”This cow's milk isn't free,” she murmured.
”Cow?” he asked in confusion. ”Why would anyone compare a woman to a cow?”
”I a.s.sume you'd prefer a minx or a p.u.s.s.y cat?”
He considered that for a moment. ”I'd go with elephant,” he said, a ghost of a smile.
”Elephant?!” she asked in indignation, straightening away from him as the blanket slipped again.
”Elephant,” he nodded. ”They never forget, they're fiercely protective of their young, scary as h.e.l.l when they're angry.”
Kat just sat there looking slightly aghast. ”Thick-skinned. Pregnant for what seems like forever. Always making noises and talking to each other,” he continued.
Kat shook her head. ”We're an expert now?”
”When did you get so superficial Kisa? All you see is big and gray? I'm disappointed in you.” His eyes twinkled in merriment as he took another drag. ”You need to be more open. Stop judging books by their covers. It's what's on the inside that counts, you know?”
”Hypocrite alert. And you smell like an ashtray.”
”Ooh, afraid of mice,” he popped up, completely ignoring her comment, ”and ”
”Sebi,” a low, sultry voice sing-songed, ”where did you go?”
Their heads whipped around to his balcony door, his guiltily, hers in shock. One curvy, sensual arm came into view before Misha's head and torso followed.
”There you are,” she cooed, making Kat want to gag even though she couldn't take her eyes off of her pouty lips. Neither, it seemed, could Sebastian. She would never manage to pull that off she didn't ooze s.e.x like Misha did. Who must bathe in it.