| Subject: À la Vie! - Chapter 54 |
Author:
Diane
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Date Posted: Wednesday, November 17, 09:13:40pm
In reply to:
Diane
's message, "À la Vie! - Chapter 41+" on Friday, November 05, 11:09:31pm
Walking into Michael’s loft was like stepping back in time. He still needed a decorator, she noted, although his new security system was extremely sophisticated. He had to show it to her several times before she caught on. There was also a system on the second floor to secure the living area while they were in bed. No midnight snacks from now on.
Nikita took her bag upstairs, and blushed when she saw her shampoos and cosmetics taking up most of the counter space in Michael’s bathroom. Either he was really sure of himself, or he really missed her. She had her answer when she commented on the second bath towel on the towel rack.
“I was hoping you would change your mind,” he said, eyes downcast. She turned to him and walked into his embrace.
“I’m glad I had the chance to,” she said, a shiver running through her.
“It had to be Vacek,” Michael pronounced. “No one else has any reason to want to get back at me anymore. The man is insane. He needs to be taken care of.”
“What do you mean, ‘taken care of?’” asked Nikita, brow arched. “Surely you’re not thinking turnabout is fair play?”
“Of course not,” Michael reassured her. “I’m sure Interpol knows by now what happened tonight. I’m anxious to see what they do about it.”
* * *
Unfortunately, Interpol didn’t perceive Vacek as a threat to world peace. He was not a terrorist, and therefore would remain Green-Listed.
Helmut Volker made an unofficial phone call to someone he thought he would never see again. A woman he had known briefly but quite well. His former wife. A woman known to him as Anna Guerner.
* * *
Michael showed Nikita how to arm the security system at the top of the stairs before they went into the bedroom. Walking to their respective sides of the bed, they slipped under the covers. Nikita reached up to the lamp and pulled the chain, plunging the room into semi-darkness. She noted that Michael was wearing his shorts, but not his tank shirt. She knew the shorts were for her benefit, and regretted that she had to cramp his style. Nikita looked over at Michael to see if he was sleeping. He was lying on his back with his arms folded beneath his head. His eyes were wide open.
“Michael?”
“Yes??”
“At the restaurant. What did you want to ask me?” She thought she knew the answer. She hoped she did, but she wanted to be certain.
“It can wait.”
“Maybe it can’t.” She rolled onto her stomach and put her left forearm on his chest, propping her chin on it so she could look him in the eyes. “What if one of us dies tomorrow, Michael? Not necessarily gets shot, but gets hit by a car, or gets mugged or something.”
Michael started to speak, but she waved him to silence. “Maybe there’s another option. I mean, we could live this day like it was our last.”
“It very well could be,” he replied quietly.
She shivered and nestled closer to Michael, her head over his heart. He held her for a few moments, then gently pushed her aside and got out of bed. Hurt, Nikita rolled back to her side of the bed, facing away from him, her eyes brimming with tears.
Michael returned to the bed, kneeling beside her. “Nikita?”
“What?” she snapped, a little too harshly.
“Look at me,” he said gently.
So now he wants me. I don’t think so. Nikita refused to respond.
“Nikita?” he asked again, a little more insistently.
Heaving a great “who cares?” sigh, Nikita rolled over to face Michael. He was holding something in his hand. Something that looked like—
“It was my mother’s,” said Michael hoarsely, looking into Nikita’s eyes. “I stole it from Aunt Josephine when I was a boy. It was supposed to go to Martine, but when she entered the convent, no one ever noticed it was missing.”
Nikita pulled the chain on the lamp, lighting up the room. The ring was beautiful. It was a small, emerald-cut sapphire, surrounded by tiny diamonds. The tears Nikita was holding back fell at last, only this time they were tears of joy.
“Put it on me?” she asked shyly.
Solemnly, Michael took her left hand and slid the ring on her fourth finger. It fit perfectly. “Nikita, will you marry me?
“Oh, yes, Michael!” She threw her arms around his neck and rained kisses all over his face, neck and shoulders. He grabbed her face and pulled her mouth to his, kissing her deeply. Their fingers tangled in each others hair—they couldn’t get close enough. Michael pressed her back against the pillows. She opened her legs and he lay between them, both reveling in the sensation.
Suddenly Michael sat up. Nikita grabbed his arm. Her eyes were shining. “Michael, I think I’m ready,” she said boldly.
“Not yet,” said Michael, trying to calm his breathing. “Not until we’re married. We’ll make it official on our wedding night.”
Torn between wanting to remind him of her ‘living this day like it was our last’ speech and wanting to honor Michael’s request, she chose the latter, slipping her legs demurely back under the covers. They each reached out to take the other’s hand, and this is how they slept until morning
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