“It was a pleasure to run into you, but we need to find our seats. If you will excuse us,” Demyan said, his tone brooking no obstacles and implying the exact opposite to his words.
Madeleine said nothing as they walked away.
When they reached their seats Chanel understood how the other woman had thought she might be included in their evening. Demyan had a box.
Although there was room for at least eight seats in it, there were only two burgundy-velvet-covered Queen Anne-style chairs. A small table with a bottle of champagne and two-person hors d’oeuvres tray stood between them.
Demyan led her to one of the seats, making sure she was comfortable before taking his own.
He looked out over the auditorium, stretching his long legs in front of him. “She’s wrong, you know.”
“Madeleine?”
“Yes.”
“About what?”
He turned his head, looking at her in that way only he had ever done. As if she was a woman worthy of intense desire, of inciting his lust. “You know the man at the base of my nature.”
“I hardly know anything about you.” The words came from the scientist’s nature even as her heart knew he spoke the truth.
That man who lost his control when he tried so hard not to, that man was the real Demyan.
Demyan shook his head, his dark eyes glowing with sensual lights she now recognized very well. “You know the most personal things about me.”
“So does she.”
“No.”
“You had sex with her.” And even though she now knew that Madeleine hadn’t been married at the time, Chanel realized it still bothered her a little.
She knew he’d been with other lovers. Probably lots of them, but she really didn’t want to keep running into them.
“She never saw the more primal side of my nature. No other woman has seen it.”
“You think I know you better than anyone else because you don’t show absolute control in the bedroom?” It’s what she’d thought only seconds before, but saying it aloud made the very concept seem unreal.
“Yes.”
“I want to know about your past. Not names of every woman you’ve been with. I hope I never meet another one, but I don’t know anything about you.” Except that to him, she was special.
She kept that to herself. She wanted more.
“It’s the future that counts between us.”
“But without a connection to the past, there is no basis for understanding the future.” Historians made that claim all the time and scientists knew it to be true as well, for different reasons.
“I thought scientists were all about progress.”
“Building on the discoveries of the past.”
“Not making something entirely new?”
“Nothing is new, just newly discovered.”
“Like your sexy fashion sense?” he teased.
“That’s all Laura.”
“I don’t see Laura here now.”
“I’d like you to meet her.” If they had a future, they had to share their present lives.
Even the less-than-pleasant bits, which meant he’d have to meet her mother and Perry, as well.
“I would enjoy that very much.”
“You would?”
“Naturally. She is your sister.”
“A part of my past.”
“And your present and your future.”
“Yes, so?” she prompted.
He gave her a wary look she didn’t understand. “You want to meet my family?”
“Very much. Unless… Do you not get on?” Maybe his relationship with his parents was worse than hers with Beatrice and Perry.
“I get on very well with the aunt and uncle who raised me.”
“What happened to your parents?”
“Ambition.”
“I don’t understand.”
“They gave me to be raised by my aunt and uncle to feed their own ambition.”
There had to be more to the story than that, but she understood this was something Demyan didn’t share with everyone. “Do you ever see them?”
“My aunt and uncle? Often. In fact, that’s where I spent the last three days.”
“I thought it was business.”
“I did not say that.”
“You didn’t say anything at all.”
“You did not ask.”
“Do I have the right to ask?”
“Absolutely.”
That was definitive and welcome. “Okay.”
“My parents come to family social occasions,” he offered without making her ask again, proving he’d known what she meant the first time around.
“And?”
“They do not consider me their son.”
“Or their beloved nephew.”
“Not beloved anything.” His expression relayed none of the hurt that must cause him.
“I am sorry.”
“You don’t have it much better with your mother and Perry.”
“I’m not sure I have it better at all,” she admitted.
“Your parents do not understand you.”
“They don’t approve of me. That’s worse, believe me.” It would have been so much easier for her if her mother and Perry simply found her an enigma.
Instead, they considered her a defective model that needed constant attempts at fixing.
“I approve of you completely.”
“Thank you.” She grinned at him, letting her love shine in her eyes. She had a feeling the words weren’t far from her lips, either. “I approve of you, too.”
“I am very glad to hear that.” He picked up the champagne bottle and poured them each a glass.
“Why champagne?” s
he asked.
If it was his favored wine of choice, she wouldn’t ask, but he’d shared with her he drank champagne on only very special occasions.
He handed her a glass. “I’m hoping to have something to celebrate in very short order.”
Goose bumps broke out over Chanel’s skin, her heart going into her throat. “Oh?”
He reached into his pocket and brandished a small box that was unmistakable in size and intent.
“Isn’t this supposed to happen after a five-course dinner and roses, and…” Her breath ran out and so did Chanel’s words.
“I am not a man who follows other people’s dictated scripts.”
She had no trouble believing that. “Just your own.”
Something passed through his eyes, almost like guilt, but that didn’t make any sense. He might be bossy outside the bedroom a bit, too, but it was nothing to feel guilty about.
Chanel was no shrinking violet that she couldn’t stand up to him if need be.
He moved, and suddenly he was on one knee in front of her, the ring box open and in his palm. “Marry me, Chanel.”
“You… I… This… How can you want… It’s only been a month…”
“Is longer than three dates. I knew I wanted to marry you from the beginning.” There could be no questioning the truth of that statement.
It was there in his eyes and voice. Nothing but honesty. He’d known he wanted her, had never wavered in that belief.
“What about love?”
“Do you love me?” he countered.
She nodded.
“Say it.”
She glared. “You first.”
“I may never say the words. You will have to accept that.”
“If I want to marry you.”
“Oh, you want to.”
She did, but she didn’t understand. “Why can’t you say the words?”
“I can promise you fidelity and as good a life together as it is within my power to make for us. Is that not enough?”
The syntax change was odd and then she realized that as a native Ukrainian speaker, he was using the sentence structure of his first language. Did that mean he was nervous despite how calm and assured he appeared?
She looked at him closely and saw it, that small strain of vulnerability she knew he’d rather she never witnessed. “I do love you.”
“And I will always honor that.”