‘Now for the secret ingredient,’ he says and adds a dash of peppermint schnapps.
We go outside and cuddle up on the outdoor seat that is big enough to be a double bed. The weather is beautiful and the sky is full of stars. He gets on it first and pats the area next to him. I climb in carefully holding on to my mug and curl up to his big warm body. We drink in silence, a delicious feeling of languor spreading through my body.
I put our mugs on the ground and stretch and yawn lazily. I feel safe, cherished and protected, but I want him to feel that too. I know he has demons and I want badly to be that formidable woman who holds them at bay.
‘God, I could stay here forever,’ I whisper.
I feel his hand tighten fiercely around me. ‘I’m sorry about Silvia.’
I look up at him. There is tenderness in his eyes. ‘It’s OK. You don’t have to be sorry. I understand how she feels. I would feel the same in her shoes.’
He looks down at me, his brow creased. ‘So why did you push me into the pool?’
He thought I had shoved him into the pool because I was mad about Silvia. Well … I grin evilly. ‘Revenge. Remember when you chucked me into the pool back in England?’
He throws his head back and laughs, a low sexy rumble. ‘Remind me never to cross you,’ he says.
‘Yes, I’d strongly recommend that course of action.’
He touches my cheek as if it is as fragile as a soap bubble. ‘You’re driving me insane, rybka.’
‘Good,’ I say staring up at him. There are stars behind his head. Heavy lidded he looks at me. Heavy lidded he takes me.
I feel him leave my body and, very gently, so as not to wake me up, slide out of bed. Quietly, he pads across the bedroom and opens the door. The click of the door closing is soft. I breathe quietly. I already know where he is going. I let a few minutes pass then I sit up and go to the door. I open it a crack and listen.
Nothing.
I walk out into the landing and I hear the first strains of music. Quietly, I go down the stairs and sit on the bottom step listening to him playing the piano. I close my eyes and get lost in his dark and brooding music. Oh, Zane. If only you will allow me into your world.
It gets cold but I don’t move. I huddle up, eyes closed and listen. I don’t know for how long I sit there listening to song after song, but suddenly I feel I am no longer alone. My eyes snap open and see him standing there.
I spring up, one foot on the first stair, ready to run.
‘Don’t go,’ he says.
I stare at him.
‘I don’t want you to be afraid of me.’
‘I’m not,’ I whisper.
‘Then why are you running away?’
I shake my head wordlessly.
He comes up to me and touches my face. ‘You’re freezing,’ he murmurs.
I realize how cold I am. He lifts me into his arms and carries me upstairs and lays me on the bed. I hang on to his shirt.
‘Who taught you to play the piano?’ I whisper.
His eyes become bleak. ‘Don’t get too close, Dahlia.’
‘Let me in,’ I beg. ‘I’m always open and naked for you.’
‘If I wanted to hurt someone, the first thing I would do is take someone important to him, his wife, his child, his mother. If I let you in you will become all those things to me. You will also become the target, and I will become vulnerable.’
‘Do you know the saying, “just when the caterpillar thought his life was over he became a butterfly”? Why can’t you give up this life? We don’t have to live in England. We can live here, or we can go somewhere else. I’d go anywhere with you.’
He shakes his head sadly.
‘What is the point of all this money and wealth if you’re not happy?’ I ask desperately.
‘But I am happy,’ he says and begins to take my nightgown off. He stares at my naked skin. ‘You look like the teardrop Beauty shed,’ he says wonderingly.
A smile trembles on to my lips. I love this man so much it hurts. ‘Really, you’re just a musician and a poet at heart, aren’t you?’
‘If I was a poet I would have said your eyes are two smears of chartreuse in the dark.’
‘Exactly my point.’
He moves to kiss me.
I hold his face between the palms of my hands. ‘Do you know when your lips touch mine you make me feel like I am flying?’
His lips touch mine. ‘Then, fly Dahlia fly. Fly as high as you can.’
Twenty-three
Aleksandr Malenkov
‘Mama, I wrote a piece of music for you.’