A tentative hope lit her expression. “Since when do you want to be like everyone else?”
He acknowledged that with a flick of his brow, but the tiny flame in his chest grew bigger and warmer.
“Since when do I tell you or anyone what I want? Is that what you’re really wondering?” He wanted so badly to hold her. Gather all that healing warmth she radiated against him and close up the final gaps in his soul. He made himself give her what she needed first. “I want you, Vivi. Not just for sex, but for things I can’t even articulate. That scares me to say, but I want you to know it.”
She sucked in a breath and covered her mouth with both hands.
* * *
This can’t be real, Viveka thought, blinking her gritty eyes. She pinched herself and he let out a husk of a laugh, immediately trying to erase the sting with a gentle rub of his thumb.
His hand stayed on her arm. His gaze lifted to her face while a deeply tender glow in his eyes went all the way through her to her soul.
“I was terrified that if I let myself care for you, someone would use that against me. So what did I do? I pushed you away and inflicted the pain on myself. I was right to fear how much it would hurt if you were out of my reach. It’s unbearable.”
“Oh, Mikolas.” Her mouth trembled. “You inflicted it on both of us. I want to be with you. If you want me, I’m right here.”
* * *
He gathered her up, unable to help himself. For a long time he held her, just absorbing the beauty of having her against him. He was aware of a tickling trickle on his cheek and dipped his head to dry his cheek against her hair.
“Thank you for saying you want me,” she said. Her slender arms tightened until she pressed the breath from his lungs. “It’s enough, you know.” She lifted her red eyes to regard him. “I won’t ask you to say you love me. But I should have said it myself before I left Paris. I’ve been sorry that I didn’t. I was trying to protect myself from being more hurt than I was. It didn’t work,” she said ruefully. “I love you so much.”
“You’re too generous.” He cupped her cheek, wiping away her tear track with the pad of his thumb, humbled. “I want your love, Vivi. I will pay any price for that. Don’t let me be a coward. Make me give you what you need. Make me say it and mean it.”
“You’re not a coward.” Fresh tears of empathy welled in her eyes, seeping into all those cracks and fissures around his heart, widening them so there was more room for her to come in.
“I was afraid to tell you I was coming,” he admitted. “I was afraid you wouldn’t be here if you knew. That you wouldn’t let me try to convince you to stay with me.”
Viveka’s heart was pattering so fast she could hardly breathe. “You only have to ask,” she reminded.
* * *
“Ask.” Mikolas smoothed her hair back from her face, gazing at her, humbly offering his heart as a flawed human being. “I can’t insult you by asking you to stay with me. I must ask you the big question. Will you be my wife?”
Viveka’s heart staggered and lurched. “Are you serious?”
“Of course I’m serious!” He was offended, but wound up chuckling. “I will have the right woman under the veil this time, too. Actually,” he added with a light kiss on her nose, “I did the first time. I just didn’t know it yet.”
Tears of happiness filled her eyes. She threw her arms around his neck, needing to kiss him then. To hold him and love him. “Yes. Of course I’ll marry you!”
Their kiss was a poignant, tender reunion , making all of her ache. The physical sparks between them were stronger than ever, but the moment was so much more than that, imbued with trust and openness. It was expansive and scary and uncharted.
Beautiful.
“I want to make love to you,” he said, dragging his mouth to her neck. “Love, Vivi. I want to wake next to you and make the best of every day we are given together.”
“Me, too,” she assured him with a catch of joy in her voice. “I love you.”
EPILOGUE
“PAPA, I’M COLD.”
Viveka heard the words from her studio. She was in the middle of a still life of Callia’s toys for the advanced painting class she’d been accepted into. Three years of sketching and pastels, oils and watercolors, and she was starting to think she wasn’t half bad. Her husband was always quick to praise, of course, but he was shamelessly biased.