The Wrong Sister(67)
Fiona’s spirits dimmed a little. His scarlet woman? Was that what he had in mind? She turned away with the dress. No underwear was necessary for the role he’d assigned her.
Minutes later there came a discreet knock. Christian answered the door and ushered in two waiters with a wheeled serving trolley. With swift efficiency they plugged the trolley into a wall socket, laid a snowy cloth over an antique table, drew two chairs up to it, and produced plates and silverware from a credenza. With a final flourish, the waiters set out champagne flutes and an ice-bucket with a napkin-necked bottle.
They made little secret of admiring Fiona’s flamboyant skin-tight dress, accepted their proffered tip, and left.
“A tuxedo?” she gasped, only then registering what Christian wore.
He stood by the table, easing the cork from the champagne, magnificent in his formal clothes.
“You dressed for me. I dressed for you.” A faint smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “I have something special to show you, Blondie. This is not an ordinary occasion.”
He poured the wine and lifted both glasses. Fiona stepped closer to take hers.
“To us—I hope.”
“To us then,” she repeated, unsure of her ground. She sipped and swallowed the heavenly liquid.
He reached into his inside breast pocket and drew out two envelopes, glanced at the name written on each and handed one to Fiona. Jan’s distinctive handwriting snared her total attention and set her heart hammering.
“I finally cleared out the desk in her study,” he said as Fiona set her champagne aside.
“And she left this for me?”
The flap had been securely stuck down. Her fingers trembled as she prized it open.
She was so fearful of what the envelope might contain it took far too long to extract the single stiff sheet of paper inside. It crackled loudly in the silence as she unfolded it.
Very little was written there, and the shaky words were difficult to decipher.
Dearest Fiona,
Please read Christian’s. Brain still fine but body too weak now.
Best sister ever.
All my love,
Jan.
Fiona gave a huge sob of desolation. Jan had died almost four months earlier, but her loving presence suddenly surrounded them again.
She dropped the letter on the table and hurled herself against Christian, burying her face against his chest. She wept without restraint, not caring that her careful make-up smudged against his shirt, that her eyes grew red and raw.
His arms enfolded her and pulled her close. After the worst of her weeping subsided, she felt his warm hand stroking over and over down the long sweep of her back exposed by the glorious red dress. Slow soothing caresses, full of tender consolation.
A short time later, he leaned sideways and raised her letter.
“She was saying goodbye,” Fiona hiccupped, pulling away slightly and turning her ruined face up to his.
“And more than that,” Christian murmured. “She wants you to read mine as well.”
He continued to hold her close as he shook his own letter from its envelope and smoothed the two pages out, one-handed. He held them so she could see.
Fiona read, and trembled, and gazed wet-eyed up at him.
As suddenly as that, her whole world changed.
The magic trolley held a selection of delicious Venetian specialties in its mini-fridge and warming-drawer. It should have been the best dinner of her life, but the food took second place to the taste of Christian’s satiny skin and the musky fragrance of his body, and the sensation of his hands and lips roaming over her in a thousand kisses and caresses.
Next day she could remember with certainty only the huge out-of-season raspberries they’d dipped in sweet thick cream and hand-fed to each other in the tumbled bed.
Fiona came awake to the pealing of bells. Sunshine slanted in between the embroidered curtains. She recalled how sometime after midnight they’d parted them to make love with the Venetian moonlight spilling over the bed. Slow drugging love that chased doubts and uncertainties into the furthest shadows.
“Awake at last.” At the sound of Christian’s whisper, she smiled and turned toward him, stretching luxuriously.
“Good morning, lovely man.” She quirked an eyebrow. “Have you been watching me?”
“Not for long. Just a few minutes. I’ve been planning how we’ll spend our morning.”
“And?”
“You haven’t changed your mind?” he asked with sudden concern. “You’ll still marry me?”
Fiona reached up and touched his mouth.
“In the bright light of day, with no champagne and no amazing red dress, you still want me?” she teased.
Christian nipped her fingers.
“I love you. I want you. Always. Simple as that.”