still steaming from the pot. Country vegetable, thick enough to eat with a fork. So she did, using the bread to soak up every last drop of delicious, savory broth.
Afterward, she stared into her bowl, goggle-eyed. “I can’t believe I actually finished it.”
“I can.” Simone snorted, giving her a swift, appraising up-and-down stare. “You’ve lost weight again. Must be that awful American food.”
“More like me sweating off a pound or two every night I was onstage. Those heavy costumes were sheer hell.” Of course, all the bedroom exercise she’d gotten on this trip probably had something to do with it too, but she wasn’t about to confess that to her housekeeper.
Simone put the dishes in the sink to soak, poured herself some wine and sat down at the table. They often dined informally like this, just the two of them and sometimes Henri, when Aleks wasn’t at home. It reminded Colette of her childhood in Canada, when she’d sit at the kitchen table doing her homework and talking with her mother while she cooked dinner. “It’s been a somber time around here while you were gone,” Simone went on. “The maestro’s missed you terribly. Oh, he always does, but this time was different. He seemed…depressed. Withdrawn. He spent hours in his study with the door shut. That’s not like him at all.”
No, it wasn’t. Aleks usually left his office door wide open, filling the apartment with music whenever he sat down to run through an orchestral score at the piano. He also had a tendency of filling the air with choice Russian invective when he talked on the phone with his agent or the orchestra’s manager. Most of the time Colette was grateful she could only understand every fourth or fifth word.
Alarmed, she sat up straight. “That’s strange. He seemed perfectly fine when he came for my opening night. And I’ve spoken to him on the phone at least once a week since I left. Nothing sounded amiss.”
“He’s his old self when he’s in company. It’s when he’s alone that the Russian bear comes out. But now you’re home, I’m sure everything will be back to normal.”
Oh wonderful , Colette thought, stifling a sigh. Thank you for upsetting me for no reason.
* * * * *
When she awoke the next morning, Colette vaguely remembered stumbling back to the bedroom, yanking off her robe and falling into bed. Everything after that was a blessed blank. Nevertheless, she was both puzzled and disappointed to discover the sheets beside her rumpled and still warm from Aleks’ body. Even when he got in late, he’d usually wake her for sex, especially when it was her first night home after a trip. Tired as she was, she’d still been looking forward to it. So where was he?
In the dining room, having his morning coffee, reading the newspaper. Wearing his plum-colored silk robe and slippers. Behaving as if it were any other day. As if she hadn’t just returned from a six-week absence.
A huge, toothy grin split his face the moment he saw her standing in the dining room doorway. When he held out his arms she ran to him, raining kisses on his lips, his cheeks, his eyelids, rememorizing his face.
He’d always had a few fine lines around his eyes and mouth, but now—was it her imagination, or had they deepened? His hair had definitely grown longer since she’d last seen him, curling softly around his earlobes. He’d let his beard grow out too, as he normally did in the winter. It was fuller and bushier now, with a few flecks of gray, but no less satanic, thank God. His dark good looks and sparkling, devilish green eyes were what had first attracted her to him well over a decade ago. That, and his huge, gorgeous devil’s prick.
Which reminded her… “Why didn’t you wake me when you got in?”
“I tried, but you were far too exhausted. I thought it best to let you sleep.”
“Too bad. You know how much I love drowsy sex.”
“In this case, it would’ve been tantamount to fucking a corpse.
Afterward, she stared into her bowl, goggle-eyed. “I can’t believe I actually finished it.”
“I can.” Simone snorted, giving her a swift, appraising up-and-down stare. “You’ve lost weight again. Must be that awful American food.”
“More like me sweating off a pound or two every night I was onstage. Those heavy costumes were sheer hell.” Of course, all the bedroom exercise she’d gotten on this trip probably had something to do with it too, but she wasn’t about to confess that to her housekeeper.
Simone put the dishes in the sink to soak, poured herself some wine and sat down at the table. They often dined informally like this, just the two of them and sometimes Henri, when Aleks wasn’t at home. It reminded Colette of her childhood in Canada, when she’d sit at the kitchen table doing her homework and talking with her mother while she cooked dinner. “It’s been a somber time around here while you were gone,” Simone went on. “The maestro’s missed you terribly. Oh, he always does, but this time was different. He seemed…depressed. Withdrawn. He spent hours in his study with the door shut. That’s not like him at all.”
No, it wasn’t. Aleks usually left his office door wide open, filling the apartment with music whenever he sat down to run through an orchestral score at the piano. He also had a tendency of filling the air with choice Russian invective when he talked on the phone with his agent or the orchestra’s manager. Most of the time Colette was grateful she could only understand every fourth or fifth word.
Alarmed, she sat up straight. “That’s strange. He seemed perfectly fine when he came for my opening night. And I’ve spoken to him on the phone at least once a week since I left. Nothing sounded amiss.”
“He’s his old self when he’s in company. It’s when he’s alone that the Russian bear comes out. But now you’re home, I’m sure everything will be back to normal.”
Oh wonderful , Colette thought, stifling a sigh. Thank you for upsetting me for no reason.
* * * * *
When she awoke the next morning, Colette vaguely remembered stumbling back to the bedroom, yanking off her robe and falling into bed. Everything after that was a blessed blank. Nevertheless, she was both puzzled and disappointed to discover the sheets beside her rumpled and still warm from Aleks’ body. Even when he got in late, he’d usually wake her for sex, especially when it was her first night home after a trip. Tired as she was, she’d still been looking forward to it. So where was he?
In the dining room, having his morning coffee, reading the newspaper. Wearing his plum-colored silk robe and slippers. Behaving as if it were any other day. As if she hadn’t just returned from a six-week absence.
A huge, toothy grin split his face the moment he saw her standing in the dining room doorway. When he held out his arms she ran to him, raining kisses on his lips, his cheeks, his eyelids, rememorizing his face.
He’d always had a few fine lines around his eyes and mouth, but now—was it her imagination, or had they deepened? His hair had definitely grown longer since she’d last seen him, curling softly around his earlobes. He’d let his beard grow out too, as he normally did in the winter. It was fuller and bushier now, with a few flecks of gray, but no less satanic, thank God. His dark good looks and sparkling, devilish green eyes were what had first attracted her to him well over a decade ago. That, and his huge, gorgeous devil’s prick.
Which reminded her… “Why didn’t you wake me when you got in?”
“I tried, but you were far too exhausted. I thought it best to let you sleep.”
“Too bad. You know how much I love drowsy sex.”
“In this case, it would’ve been tantamount to fucking a corpse.
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