You Don't Own Me 2 (The Russian Don 2)

To my shock he starts telling the audience about me!

About a woman who secretly found her boyfriend’s music notes and took them to a fellow musician. He made it funny by adding in the bit about the masseuse connection.

‘It’s a tale of great love. This brave woman while trying to save him fell into a coma that lasted a year. The doctors thought she might not make it, but against all odds she is here today. Please welcome Dahlia Fury.’

He raises his right hand and waves it towards me. Every eye in that place settles on me curiously as they clap.

Heat flames up my neck and face. How on earth could Andre Rieu know I’d be here? In my confusion and embarrassment I look to Zane. He smiles at me as if his heart would burst with pride. I turn my head to look at Noah, and suddenly I know. Oh, Noah. Silent, strong and loyal to the bone. You told Andre Rieu.

‘Now … for the first time ever … in his debut performance, ladies and gentlemen: Aleksandr Malenkov.’

The entire audience erupts into applause.

Zane’s composition is beautiful beyond words, but so familiar to me it is as if I have heard it a thousand times. Even though I fight the cloak of sleep with all my might, I slip back into unconsciousness halfway through. I have no awareness of how I get home.

I come back again to the blurred sight of Zane sitting beside me in our bed.

‘You’re awake,’ he says, and it feels like no time has passed. Was it not yesterday I took his notes to Eliot’s apartment? The rest is fuzzy. I was running. Fast. Nearly falling. There was an explosion. A ball of fire. I flew. Then blackness. I frown trying to remember.

‘What is it?’ he asks.

‘Someone was trying to kill you,’ I whisper.

He nods.

‘Who was it?’

‘It doesn’t matter now. It is all in the past. The only true regret I have is what happened to you. Especially since I know it was because of me.’

‘No, it does. I need to know. Who was it?’

He sighs. ‘It was Lenny.’

‘Oh my God. I knew I never trusted him. What if he tries it again?’ I ask worriedly.

He looks at me, a hard light entering his eyes. ‘He can never hurt you or anyone again. I’ve walked away from it all. You’re all I need now. Thanks to your ingenuity and bravery, I am a musician now.’

‘You were wonderful tonight,’ I whisper. ‘Like I always knew you would be.’

He shakes his head. ‘No, you were wonderful.’

‘I’m sorry I fell asleep halfway through.’

‘Oh, baby. I love you.’

‘I know you do,’ I say with a smile.

He touches my face wonderingly. ‘You do?’

I smile. ‘Yeah. I heard you telling me while I was asleep.’

‘Good. Did you hear the bit about how worthless life was without you and how much I missed you?’

‘Maybe, but tell me again.’

‘I want to show you how much, but I’m almost afraid to touch you.’

‘Why?’

‘What if you fall asleep halfway through? I might never recover from the hurt.’

I laugh gently. ‘Oh, Zane. I am so lucky.’

He sighs.

‘So are we going to have sex or not?’

‘We’re going to make love, endlessly. I’m going to rediscover and reclaim every inch of your body again, but not tonight. Let’s get the doctor to look at you tomorrow first.’

‘But what will we do tonight? I don’t think I want to sleep.’

He grins, boyish, beautiful, and irresistible. ‘I have so many things to show you and tell you. You missed a whole year.’

‘What did I miss?’

He takes his phone out of his pocket. ‘To start with, one night while you were sleeping, a vixen and her cubs came to visit. Let me show you.’

I watch him scrolling through the videos he has made for me and I know. It’s going to be all right.

Forty-three

Aleksandr Malenkov

Methinks I lied all winter, when I swore

my love was infinite, if spring make it more.

-John Donne, Love’s Growth

I undress her. Slowly. Dragging each garment across her skin. I’m not going to rush this. I did it wrong before. This time I’m going to do it right. With love. With the kind of love that holds, cuts to the soul, and heals with just one touch, one look. She is mine and I am hers. And this: this is ours. Just ours.

Her top. Her skirt.

‘Hurry,’ she pleads, her voice low and urgent.

‘Shhhh,’ I say, but I don’t increase my pace one tiny bit. Love is torture. I know.

Her bra. Her panties.

Her impatient gaze meets mine, locks. I let her look at me while my eyes roam her body hungrily, possessively. Let her see what I kept locked away for so long.

This is me, little fish. Adoring you.

Her eyes glaze over as I circle my tongue around one deliciously pink nipple. I draw that beauty into my mouth. My body burns for her.