The Last Dance (23 page)

“Always,” he admitted.

Georgina shook her head. “Careful what you wish for. It will be like pulling a ripcord.” She noted to herself that the elastic in her leggings was stretched a bit tighter than it had been when they met. It was barely recognizable even to her, but Maxim would have spotted it immediately. She popped the end of the pastry into her mouth, grateful that she would not endure his scrutiny again.

“Are you going to tell me where we are going yet?”

Roman had packed a suitcase for her. Wherever they were going, he was prepared. “No. You will see when we get there. Sleep. So you can enjoy it.”

Georgina pulled the faux-fur throw over her legs. She wanted to stay up and chat with Roman, but she was tired. She tried to keep her eyes open, but the pull of sleep was too strong. Maybe just a quick nap to recharge her batteries. Even after her lids closed she could still feel Roman watching her.

She was onstage again. But not with Sergei; Roman was her partner. The audience was a sea of lights as people flashed pictures. They should not be taking pictures, but no one asked them to stop. She could not see anyone in the audience, but she felt them watching her. Effortlessly Roman lifted her into his hold. She was high above his head, vulnerable and exposed, but she was not scared. He had her. From that position she could make out faces in the audience. Golden, soulless eyes bearing down on her: Pavel. She could not breathe. He was there watching her. He had come for her. She tried to scream to warn Roman, but words would not come out. Roman brought her down. Again she tried to warn him, but she could not speak.
Please.
She begged him to understand. To help her.
Please
. Frantically she pulled on him.
Please.
Roman nodded. He understood. Even without words he knew what she was asking. The lights went on. It was only Pavel in the audience. Georgina clung to Roman. But he tore her arms from around his waist. His face changed, went impossibly hard. His eyes narrowed, and then he shoved her offstage into Pavel’s arms.

Georgina woke with a start, her heart thundering against her ribs, her palms slick with sweat. She snapped her head to see Roman. He was there beside her, just the two of them. She was safe. She told herself over and over again that it was just a dream, but her body refused to believe.

Her hands shook as she reached for a glass of water.

He placed his hand on top of hers to steady it, stroking her finger with his.

She was safe. It was only a dream. Relief washed over her. Roman was here and he would keep her safe.

“We’ve landed.”

Georgina’s eyes narrowed. “We have only just taken off.”

Roman leaned over and kissed her temple. “It has been nearly three hours.”

“No. Really?” Georgina pulled his arm into her lap so she could examine the watch on his wrist. It was almost 9:00 a.m. She had indeed slept three hours. She had been so tired recently. Even now she could easily go back to sleep for another few hours. “Now can you tell me where we are?”

Roman shook his head. “No, but now you can guess. The first night we met, you told me if you had more time you wanted to come here.”

Georgina thought for a second. She could remember every emotion from that night, but a lot of the conversations were lost. She shrugged

“I will give you a clue. It isn’t the city you want to see. It is the art in the city.”

Georgina’s face broke into a broad smile “Munich? Are we in Munich to see
The Rape of the Daughters of Leucippis
?” Before Roman could even answer she had unbuckled her seat belt and climbed into his lap to hug him. “That is my favorite painting. I love…it. I love that painting.” Georgina corrected herself before she said the words she could not take back.

* * * *

Roman helped her down the stairs. A limousine met them at the tarmac. A member of staff from the airport was waiting in the car to check their passports and stamp them. Another perk of private jets—no long immigration lines.

Georgina smiled until her cheeks ached. The drive to the Alte Pinakothek was twenty minutes, but she managed to fill each of them, telling Roman about where her love of art and Rubens in particular came from. She told him about the book on her grandma’s coffee table:
Art That Changed the World
. Every Sunday they would talk and then have scones and tea and look at the pictures in the book, noting where each painting was located in the world and then plan fantasy trips to see them. It was their version of church.

They had a map on the wall with silver pins for all the places they wanted to go, and gold ones for the places they had been. Her grandma had never been able to afford to leave Montana, but she was desperate to travel, and for Georgina to see the world. Georgina had seen so much. Every new sight brought back the memory of her grandma and strengthened their connection. Even in death, she felt her. The map would be covered in gold pins now.

“Sorry, I’m talking too much.”

Roman pushed a lock of hair off her face. “No. I like it. She sounds lovely. What was her name?”

“Margaret. And she was lovely. Oh, I miss her so much.” Georgina’s heart constricted painfully.

Roman laced his fingers through hers, kissing the groove between her knuckles. Instantly the gloom that had settled on her lifted, replaced by something else, something stronger. Her breath caught in her throat. God, she loved him. What she felt before didn’t even compare to this.

“We’re here.”

Georgina turned to look at the museum. It was so much smaller than the Hermitage, but it was still a huge building in its own right. It was a long, narrow stone building two stories high. The second floor was dominated by an almost solid row of arched windows reaching from floor to ceiling.

Unlike the Hermitage there was not a line wrapping around the corner, and inside of a cobblestone square in front was a manicured lawn with contemporary sculptures. She and Roman were able to walk straight in. A curator in a black suit jacket with a name tag met them at the entrance, handing Georgina a map of the museum. A circle had been placed around the hall with the Rubens.

“Would you like me to join you?” the man asked.

Georgina shook her head a bit too emphatically. “No, thank you.”

She laced her arm through Roman’s and pulled him along the corridor. She couldn’t believe she was actually going to see her favorite painting. They passed a class of schoolchildren holding notebooks, frantically scribbling notes as their teacher spoke. She didn’t speak German, but the teacher was animated enough to hold her attention.

At last they were in the Old Masters room. The walls were painted a deep raspberry, which made the gilded frames pop. She held her breath when she saw it. The painting had pride of place in the center of the room, exactly where it should be.

Beautiful, just like she imagined. The paint strokes were invisible. She held her hands tight to her side so she would not be tempted to touch it. It was just so beautiful. The expressions on the faces…perfect. She stood for ages, taking it in. The rest of the world disappeared. She wasn’t even aware of Roman standing next to her until he ran his hand over her cheek.

She stared up at him in question before she realized the pad of his thumb was wet. She had been crying. Her hands flew to her face, another tear to replace the one Roman had wiped away. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. She hadn’t cried in a decade, and a painting had her weeping.

“Don’t apologize, angel.”

She stood up and pressed a kiss to his scarred cheek. “Thank you, Roman. Thank you for today. Thank you for giving me a good day.”

He smiled down at her. “What other paintings do you want to see?”

“All of them.”

“We don’t have time for all of them.”

Sadness tugged at her. The day could not end, not yet. “I don’t want to go back to Russia today.”

“We’re not.”

Georgina relaxed. “Well in that case let’s go see the city.”

“We’re not staying in Germany either. If I wanted a cold, gray country, we would have stayed in Russia.”

“Please don’t say we’re going to Switzerland.”

Roman leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I promise we are not going to Switzerland until next week. We’re spending the night on my yacht off the Amalfi Coast.”

“We’re going to Italy?”

“Yes, angel. I would like one day without you shivering.”

Georgina beamed. “I love Italy. Never been to the Amalfi Coast, but I’ve been to Venice with Lev—” She realized immediately she should not have mentioned her former lover. Roman’s posture changed, went rigid. She no longer got a thrill out of making him jealous. There was nothing fun in upsetting him. “Never mind. That was a long time ago. Venice smells bad anyway.”

A small smile tugged on Roman’s full mouth. “Yes, Venice is awful. Not a romantic city at all. Can’t see what people are talking about.”

“Me either. I far prefer Munich.”

“Do you?” he asked in all seriousness. The smile had slipped. They both knew what he was asking. He was asking if she preferred him to Lev. They never discussed their feelings. They operated under the pretense that neither of them had any.

But she did. “Yes.”

Roman turned her chin so she was facing him. “Munich is my favorite city too.”

The pressure built again behind Georgina’s eyes. There was no holding back the tears. “I’m sorry. I never cry. And now twice in one day…over nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.” Roman leaned over and kissed her cheeks, first one, then the other, kissing away the tears.

Georgina wiped her face with the backs of her hands. “I was up too early. Lack of sleep makes me weepy.”

Thankfully Roman did not mention that she had slept the entire way on the plane. He let her pretend.

They spent a few hours sightseeing in Munich before flying to Italy and boarding Roman’s yacht. Munich was beautiful, but she would have loved it no matter what because she was with Roman. Being away from St. Petersburg gave her room to breathe. It was like Pavel Ivanov did not exist; that other life was just a bad dream. This, right now, was reality.

Georgina held on to the ship railing and looked out on the horizon where the pink sky kissed the sea. The sun was just dipping into the water…so beautiful and so warm. She was only wearing a paper-thin sundress, and she was not shivering. She could get used to this.

She glanced over at Roman. He had changed into chinos and a light blue polo shirt. She had never seen him in anything other than business suits. He looked handsome in whatever he wore, but there was something nice about the relaxed attire.

“Are you hungry?” Roman asked.

“A little,” she lied. She was starving. Her appetite had woken up after a decade of being starved into submission. It was probably all the carbs.

Roman took her hand and guided her to the back of the ship where a table had been set, complete with candles and yellow roses.

“Our color.” She smiled.

Roman pulled out the chair for her and then sat down opposite. “Steamed fish and vegetables.” He pointed to the covered silver platters.

Georgina tried to bite back her disappointment. She had gone off fish, and vegetables for that matter.

Roman chuckled. “Your face. I would not do that to you. Remember you said you only have to be thin enough for me to lift you. I’m very strong.” He took off the lids to reveal thick strands of pasta covered in creamy Alfredo sauce and a side of tomato and mozzarella salad. Not a green vegetable in sight.

“Oh, thank God.” She giggled.

“I’ve never heard you laugh.”

Georgina stuck her fork into the mound of pasta and twirled until the strands completely covered the prongs. She thought for a second. “No, I guess you haven’t. I haven’t laughed in a long time. I suppose the last time—”

“Don’t say with Lev. I will have to find him and hurt him.”

Georgina laughed again. “No, I was not going to say that. I was going to say when I was at school. You will never believe me, but I was lighthearted once. I used to laugh a lot.” She waved her finger for effect. “I was positively optimistic at one point. Well, as optimistic as a dancer can be. We are half-empty people by nature.”

“So are Russians.”

Georgina nodded in agreement. “I think that is why we get along so well.”

Roman gave her a dubious look. “Really?”

Georgina shook her head and laughed again. “No, not really. I have no idea why we get along so well. We shouldn’t, by all accounts. But we do.”

“Yes, we do.” Roman uncorked the bottle of Gaja and poured her a glass. It was the same wine they’d had at the Four Seasons.

She held up her hand. “Water for me please. I have never been much of a drinker. The first night with you was the most I have had in years.”

“That and a sedative. That was a very eventful night for you.”

She nodded. “Yeah. Sorry for trying to drug you.” Funny, she realized, that she had not apologized until now.

“Sorry for actually drugging you.” Roman laughed.

“I’m not. I got a good night’s sleep followed by a great orgasm. So all in all, it ended well for me.” And she realized she could love again. She took another bite of pasta. “Ooh, this is delicious.”

“Will you have room for dessert?”

Georgina put down her fork. “I don’t know. Just in case we better have it first. Just kidding. I’m full. We can have dessert later. I just want to sit here and be warm. This is bliss.”

“I’m glad you are having a nice time.”

“No, I am having the best time,” Georgina corrected him.

“Then why are you yawning?”

“’Cause I am tired. Not because you are not delightful company. I really don’t understand how you got such a horrible reputation. I mean underneath the vicious, mercenary, coldhearted, murdering exterior is a thoroughly likable man.”

“Don’t tell anyone. My entire fortune is based on my reputation.”

“Trust me, I am telling no one. Nobody would believe me anyhow. And it’s kind of nice, you know. That I got a part of you other people don’t know about.” Tears welled in her eyes again. She could not keep them in.

“Oh, angel. Why are you crying?” Roman reached across the table and wiped her cheek.