Forevermore

by Cristiane Serruya

  But then she was laughing—partly from embarrassment and partly from the absurdity of the moment—and couldn’t answer that she was okay, aside from feeling very stupid.

  He found himself smiling as he looked at her. The entire ridiculous situation, plus the contagion of her laughter and the incandescent gleam in her eyes, pulling him out of his dark cloud.

  “There it is again,” she whispered, with a genuine smile on her face.

  He stopped midway on starting to push himself up, rested on his elbows, and cocked his head. “What is?”

  “You’re smiling.”

  And with those softly breathed words, the world shrank around them, to the size of two heartbeats.

  It must have been the brandy. Because Aleksander rarely felt this way lately. Sharp. Intent. Powerful. And aware of everything at once.

  The petal pink flush of her face against her black coat.

  The sleekness of her body over his own largeness.

  Her blonde hair slightly dishevelled, strands escaping from the confining braid, that the breeze caught and twirled in a dance.

  The tender sugary scent of magnolias.

  Only there weren’t any magnolias around—or any other fragrant flowers which had survived the snow. Which meant he was breathing in the tender, narcotic sweetness of Ava herself.

  With sudden clarity, Ava could hear an owl calling out and the crickets chirping and feel the crisp winter air on her face. She could smell the snowy grass and a clean, manly scent.

  And more than anything, it was impossible for Ava to ignore the feel of his hands on her, impossible to ignore the need to be held, not lightly as he was holding her now, but closer, with his arms tight around her. Impossible not to want to renew the feeling of weightlessness of his kiss.

  It was the thrill of the moment that pushed her enough to recover and lift herself off of him. Brushing away the snow from her clothes, she stretched out her hand to help him up, saying, “I’m sorry. I’m not usually clumsy.”

  He took her hand and sat up, then froze for a second, not letting go. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt something like this. Leave it to him to finally find somebody he wanted, and have her be his daughter’s doctor—and a Viking Valkyrie doctor, at that.

  “I am sorry,” he said, letting go of her hand. He stood and surveyed her hugging herself and stopped on her soleless boot. “You’ve torn your boot. And you’re cold.”

  She shrugged. “Just a little.”

  He shrugged out of his coat and draped its weight about her shoulders.

  “Thank you,” she said, grabbing the lapels and pulling the coat tight around her. The wool was still warm with the heat of his body. But the best part was how it smelled—intensely wonderful and intensely male. She inhaled deeply, surreptitiously breathing in the scents of cigar and brandy, wood and snowy grass. And that faint musk that was uniquely his.

  She’d never been so thoroughly enveloped by another person’s scent before. It felt intimate. Almost like an embrace.

  A sweet melancholy crept into her heart.

  That was all she would get from him: an almost.

  Chapter 17

  “Can I help you, doctor?” Matthias asked when they burst into the warmth of the cottage. “I was about to go up to bed, but I—Oh.”

  “Thank you, Matthias, but I’m fine,” she said, her damaged boot making a squick-squick noise as she walked past him.

  Matthias’s horrified expression made her look down. There was a trail of pine needles and dirt on the gleaming wood floor. Ava winced. “I’m so sorry.”

  “No, ma’am, please. Why don’t I bring you something to warm you,” he offered, limping to the kitchen.

  “Hot chocolate,” Aleksander said, watching her peeling off her boot and torn sock. Her foot was red and her sole was scraped.

  “I told him to stay off that leg for a while,” she muttered.

  “Yeah, well, he’s dedicated. And I think he likes taking care of you.” Aleksander smiled at the thought of the injured man tending to the doctor.

  Matthias arrived with the mugs, which he handed to his master.

  Aleksander set both mugs on the table before disappearing for a moment.

  When he returned, Matthias was gone and Ava was sipping at the hot chocolate.

  He put a pair of socks on the sofa by her and a small SOS kit. “Let me see.”

  Surprised, Ava shook her head. “No, that’s all right. I don’t need…”

  Her polite refusal trailed off as he knelt at her feet and picked the right one in his palm, softly brushing the dirt away with the other hand.

  “Nothing serious, doctor,” he diagnosed, after cleaning it with cotton dabbed with rubbing alcohol. “But your foot is like ice.”

  Briskly, he rubbed it while Ava sat mute, oddly disarmed by the gesture. The warmth was spreading dangerously past her ankle.

  “Such elegant feet,” he murmured.

  Do you have a foot fetish? She was sharply aware of him running his thumb over the curve of her ankle.

  “Since I’m responsible for keeping you out in the snow,” he went on, as he slipped a sock over her foot, and pulling out the other boot and sock and repeating the gesture, “I’d best see to it you don’t cough and sneeze your way through your stay here.”

  She stared wordlessly at the top of his head. Snowflakes which had fallen from the trees still clung to and glistened in his chestnut hair and Ava found herself longing to brush them away and feel the texture of his hair beneath her fingers.

  Aleksander pulled on the second sock. His fingers lingered on her calf as he lifted his eyes. He wasn’t sure he wanted to remove them. Softly he asked, “Still cold?”

  Her eyes were darkened with confusion as they met his. As close as he was, he could have leaned toward her and kissed her. But despite his proximity and the huskiness of his voice, he didn’t do more than continue to trace—unconsciously?—eights on her calf.

  It doesn’t make sense. Even more senseless was the fact that she was still staring into his eyes and hadn’t answered his question. Ava moistened her lips and shook her head. “No. No, I’m fine.”

  “Good.” He pushed up to a standing position, lest he did something he regretted. Or maybe I’ll regret not doing it. “We’re buying you new boots.”

  Her eyes measured his while she waited for her pulse to calm. It was odd—wrong, and at the same time, so right—that he had such an effect on her. “We don’t need to do that. I can grab a new pair in town tomorrow.”

  “Proper attire for the weather and terrain was part of the deal, Ava,” he said that solemnly, yet his words held a hint of the challenge issued before, and it was all in the way he drew out the two syllables of her name, converting it from a mere appellation into a verbal caress. “Right?”

  His words jarred her back to reality. They weren’t a man and woman flirting or exchanging veiled promises.

  She knew that what he wanted was not proper, not part of the deal.

  It was fraught with danger.

  Yet, she agreed with him. “Right.”

  Why me? Turning in the bathroom, she studied herself in the full-length glass and trying to see in the mirror what had attract the sophisticated billionaire New Yorker.

  Gazing at her fair Viking complexion, common of the Nordic countries, Ava thought nothing of the smooth satiny sheen of her skin or thick blonde hair. The woman in the mirror was almost too-tall—although with the perfect height for a football linebacker such as Aleksander—with long, well-shaped legs with slim thighs; curvy hips and a slightly full bustline.

  She did note the honesty that shone from her blue-green eyes—but not the exotic appeal of them—and the strength in her chin—but not the sensuous promise of her full-mouth.

  The plain, practical workout clothes she slept in didn’t show the firm, lithe body underneath it.

  Yet, she remained unaware of her own appeal. More of a fierce warrioress than a slick socialite.

 
; She had met different kinds of men throughout her life. That was part and parcel of her privileged upbringing, and then later, attending medical school. Yet, her personal experiences with them were limited. Indeed, apart from Otto, her experience was non-existent on barely any kind of intimate level, but the cynicism that came from broken hearts and ruined relationships, which most young women would have considered just another part of growing up, was there.

  Though she could admit her interest in Aleksander privately, she could not find a clear reason for his apparent interest in her.

  She knew many women with more appeal and a dozen with more experience.

  He probably took a different woman to dinner every night before he married—and will take some many more after he settles into his new life soon. She was frowning as she pulled her thick mane of hair back and began to braid it.

  They’ll wear beautiful clothes and expensive perfume and have low, sultry, sophisticated laughs.

  Ava lifted a brow at the reflection in the mirror and gave a light, low laugh. She wrinkled her brow at the hollowness of the sound.

  They’ll discuss mutual friends—the Blackthorns, the Camerons, and only God knows who else—over candlelight and expensive and rare vintage champagne. And when he takes the most beautiful one home, they’ll listen to Mozart and drink brandy in front of the fire. Then they’ll make love.

  Ava felt an odd tightening in her stomach as the image unfolded: a lovely, worldly, golden-skinned brunette in Aleksander’s powerful arms, both tangled in a passionate embrace amid the rumpled white sheets of a big bed. And when he leaves, she is not devastated, but mature. She doesn’t even care if he loves her or not.

  Not that it was any of her business what Aleksander Maximilian did.

  Remembering how he had kissed her, she pressed her fingers against her mouth.

  Strong and confident in so many ways, Ava was vulnerable in her sense of herself as a woman.

  What’s wrong with me? Ava stared at the woman in the glass. The body over which she had always held supreme control was journeying into frontiers her mind had not explored for some years.

  She had never experienced such a strong physical desire and, for a moment, she explored the sensation. There was a quiver in her stomach which was both pleasant and disturbing.

  The standard ethical concerns hammered on her skull, with the added complication of what it would do to him.

  Would it be helpful, lightening his load with flirtation, or would the complexity of it make things worse for him?

  Ava slipped between the sheets and stretched out her hand to turn off the bedside table lamp. A framed picture of a beautiful dark-haired woman, her eyes full of love and laughter holding a baby—certainly Rachel and Olivia—seemed to regard her with kind understanding before she turned off the lamp.

  Recalling the white stripe on Aleksander’s finger where his wedding band had been, a fathomless sorrow filled her, an ache twisting in the pit of her stomach. She felt as though she’d kissed and was desiring another woman’s husband and it reminded her of her position in Alexander’s house. Remember, as soon as Olivia is gone, you will part ways and he’ll probably hate you for not keeping her alive longer.

  So, it is better to let him remain what he is—just the father of a patient.

  Friday, November 13, 2015

  8:00 a.m.

  * * *

  When Ava arrived at Olivia’s bedroom, she was not surprised to find Aleksander already there, reclined on her bed with Olivia perched on his lap.

  Olivia was busily going through a clothing catalog with her father, who seemed to be indulging her excitement, though Ava had no doubt that he had little interest in little girl clothing.

  “Do you think red looks good on me?” she asked her father.

  “Undoubtedly,” he said. “That one is pretty.”

  “What about silver?” she asked excitedly, making Ava smile.

  Ava had forgotten how much fun little girls could be when they were excited about pretty clothes, but it was more than that.

  It had been nearly a week since her last chemo session. With the heavy drugs out of her system, the girl was lively—even more than her usual normal—and had a healthier look on her face, a sparkle in her eyes.

  Which saddened Ava, since she knew it was only a passing phase.

  “What’s this?” Ava asked, adjusting the stethoscope around her neck and tapping on the catalog. “Dress shopping?”

  Olivia bobbed her head.

  “Actually,” Aleksander said wryly, leaning back. “This was supposed to be a spelling test, but we seem to have taken a detour from our studies.”

  Ava gave a mock reproachful glance at Olivia and made a tsk-tsk noise. “Studies are important.”

  Olivia rolled her eyes and pointed at the catalog. “Beautiful. B-E-A-U-T-I-F-U-L. Beautiful.”

  The two adults both laughed.

  “All right, all right. What dress are you looking at?” Ava asked, peering over the pages of the catalog.

  Olivia flipped a page and laid it down flat on her lap. Somehow, seeing the child models with all their flowing hair hadn’t fazed her. She was still of such a young age that she thought dressing up, she could be anything, or anybody, even if she just wanted to be healthy. She beamed at a picture and pointed. “This one.”

  It was a gorgeous dress, layers of tulle underneath hundreds of silver swirls. The girl in the picture looked beautiful, but Ava could just picture Olivia in it, as it was already more Olivia than anyone else. It was a fairy dress, pure and simple.

  “It’s perfect, Pixie,” she breathed, glancing at Aleksander and winking.

  “Say no more,” Aleksander grumbled, plucking the catalog out of her hands. He reached for the phone in his back pocket and started to dial as he left the bed. “I’ll put in a rush order.”

  “Silver shoes, too!” she called after him.

  He turned back, phone cradled between his chin and ear. “Anything else?”

  Ava winked at her and pointed to her head.

  “The silver headband!” she added.

  Aleksander closed his eyes and shook his head. “Shoes. Headband. Got it.”

  “Do you know what sizes?” Ava asked, impressed that he was tackling this as a pro.

  Aleksander rolled his eyes at the two females and huffed, “Of course.”

  “Of course…” Ava raised her eyebrows at Olivia. “Well, we do hope so. Because, you know…men. ”

  Olivia grinned and showed double thumbs-up and then held her palms up high where Ava slapped them with hers.

  Aleksander playfully acted put out, but of course, he loved every minute of the abuse they inflicted on him.

  He stared at their figures, Ava chatting with Olivia, as an older sister—or a mother—would, even as she went through the morning medical routine of checking her vital signs. A warmth unfurled inside his chest.

  Why now? Why her?

  As he made the requests for everything Olivia asked for and added a few surprises, he wondered how he, a man who prided himself on knowing the answers, now only had questions.

  When Ava finished her procedure, he picked up the magazine again, sat back in the same place he was before, and opened another page. And just before he started teaching Olivia again, he glanced up at a smiling Ava waving from the door and promising to be back later to help Olivia choose her attire for the day.

  Why not?

  Perhaps, he did indeed already know the answers.

  The problem is the time is so not right.

  Chapter 18

  9:55 a.m.

  * * *

  Aleksander locked himself in his office and opened a Skype session for his appointment with Dr. Medley.

  It wasn’t a moment too soon. The questions were piling up in his mind, tangling with the answers, muddling with his desire, confounding him.

  At a time when everything around him was crashing down, he needed to concentrate on his daughter, on making her end-of-life plans. In
stead, though, he was spending too much of that time being a hedonistic piece of crap, thinking of Ava. Thinking way too much of Ava, and what it would be like to slowly undress her, to take her peaked nipples into his mouth… Stop. Just stop it.

  He needed to talk these feelings out with someone, needed someone to tell him it was wrong.

  “What is on your mind?” the doctor began, as she usually did.

  He let out a bitter laugh. It was funny, that with everything he had to think about, he’d been so consumed by this one thought. He’d wager what money he had that the gods were laughing their heads off at him.

  “Sex,” Aleksander said curtly. “My sex drive has returned in full force.” With a vengeance.

  “Ah.” Dr. Medley tilted her head. “Sex is life.”

  Her words stung him. “And you want me to think about my life when my daughter is dying?”

  “I never said that.” She leaned forward, studying him closely. “You look like you haven’t slept, which tells me you’re in turmoil. What do you want, Aleksander?”

  “I want to get these damned thoughts out of my head,” he muttered. “Thoughts I shouldn’t be having right now.”

  “What makes you think you shouldn’t be having them?”

  “I am obsessed with Ava—my daughter’s doctor—beyond understanding,” he blurted out. “Last night, although I was tired, I made myself available for a night stroll. And the night before, a night cup.”

  “I see.” Dr. Medley raised her eyebrows. “And?”

  “I want to make myself available to Olivia! Our time together is finite. I’m not sure if I’m doing enough. If I can ever do enough in the time we’re allowed.” He had never felt so conflicted. The joy didn’t replace the heartache; rather, they tensely coexisted each day, fighting for his undivided attention. As did his lust for Ava and his anticipatory grief for Olivia. “But I can’t deny that I want this woman.”

  “I see. But Olivia doesn’t expect you to be with her all the time? She’s sick. She naps often?”