His lips went dry in spite of the misery which overwhelmed him, adding to his affliction.
“Nicolette,” he said thickly, in a voice which did not belong to him. “You must leave.”
His heartache was so raw he could not bear to have her in the same space with him.
“Why, Alejandro?”
“It has worked too well. Please, I beg you to go. I cannot bear it.”
And there was another problem.
He desired her. He would have desired the ravishing Nicolette regardless of the circumstances, but he was so wounded at the moment it enhanced his tendency to attempt to distract himself with his urges.
I cannot cheapen her with this disease.
Nicolette smiled reassuringly at him, as if to tell him his embarrassing display was their secret.
Her smile coaxed him, comforted him. She began to sing again, but now her body swayed and her hips moved provocatively. Somehow she looked even more enticing than he remembered, and that was saying something.
Nicolette was joy and torment, love and hate, peace and chaos, and she made him real. She brought him to life, like the puppet who had not existed before this moment in time.
He did not go on this journey alone. Her voice—her miraculous, marvelous voice—went with him, a heavenly guide and companion as he faced his demons.
“Una voce poco fa,” she sang. Blinking the moisture out of his eyes, his surprise overcame his thoughts for a moment.
A voice just now. She still wasn't singing the Habanera.
As he strained to listen, to connect to the words, the throbbing in his head lessened, the pain chased away by her siren's voice.
Of course. He knew the song: Goachino Rossini's The Barber of Seville, yet another opera set in Spain.
“The voice I heard just now has thrilled my very heart.” Rosina recalls the voice of her beloved, Lindoro. She writes him a letter, determined to win him over the objections of her guardian, the greedy Doctor Bartolo, who wants Rosina’s fortune for himself.
“I am docile, I am respectful, I am obedient, sweet and loving. I can be ruled, I can be guided.” Coy and demure in her mannerisms, Rosina appears to be meek and complacent. Only the gleam in her eye, the turn of her smile, and the tilt of her head indicates otherwise, revealing Rosina’s intelligence and self-determination.
As Nicolette expertly portrayed Rosina's subterfuge, Alejandro’s hands ceased shaking, a reluctant half-smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“But if crossed in love, I can be a viper.” She covered herself demurely with the lace shawl, behaving like a school girl, then let the shawl slide to the ground, slowly framing a shapely silhouette.
Alejandro watched her, transfixed, until he laughed out loud. She feigned airs of innocence and naivety while, at the same time, making it luminously clear she needed no assistance in baiting the big fish—nor in reeling it in.
“My heart already is pierced, and Lindoro hurled the dart.” Again she displayed the range of her trills and scales, astounding him with the beauty of her voice and delivery. She laughed and cajoled, and he was right there with her, completely immersed in her imagery, present with her in all respects, sharing her emotions.
Convinced Rosina would be victorious in the end, accomplishing whatever she set out to do, Alejandro felt the joy of knowing one's own power.
Nicolette played both parts of the same woman so expertly and with such believability, transitioning back and forth before his eyes, Alejandro was dizzy with amusement. She curtseyed, and he surprised himself: he rarely laughed, but he could not contain himself.
In an instant, she dropped the role. It was Nicolette now who leaned close to his face. He could feel her breath on his ear as she sang.
She pulled away, and Alejandro was sorry. He was perspiring at the same time he had some difficulty in suppressing his laughter. In only a few moments she had opened him raw, exposing hidden, entombed feelings. Once she released his purgatory, she replaced it with joy and hope.
He was flooded with bliss.
With only the slightest pause, while Alejandro still reveled in the feeling, she effortlessly picked up the black lace shawl from the terrace and draped it provocatively around her shoulders.
Alejandro felt his desire escalate.
“Love is a rebellious bird nobody can tame.” Nicolette began to sing the piece he had long awaited, moving sensually about the terrace as she sang.
Only this time, instead of being thirty feet away, she was six feet, four feet, two feet away. Teasing him, taunting him. He felt himself grow agitated and then…aroused.
“You call it in vain if it chooses not to come!” No, no, he couldn't do this, he wasn't supposed to desire her in this way. She was too precious for that, Nicolette…
She was giving the performance of her life.
Why? She is no man's puppet, and yet, for me, she is giving everything. The reaction of his body made it impossible to be unaware she was giving far more to the part than was required.
“If you don't love me, I love you.” This wasn't part of the bargain.
“And if I love you, watch out for yourself!” The realization that she was offering him everything touched him deeply, along with agitating him on every level, and the sentiment blended with and escalated the other strong emotions he was experiencing.
“Love is far away, you can wait for it. If you wait for it no more, it is there!” He was surrounded by her gift, fully aware she was giving from her heart.
It was unconditional love. A pure love. For him. He felt the barriers shattering.
A flood of feeling came to the surface. His hands shook. In connecting to Nicolette, in receiving, he began to connect to himself—and the source of her gift.
And something else. Something invaluable. A sense of himself. As if he were meeting himself for the first time. He felt the fog lifting. He began to see things clearly.
Involuntarily, he envisioned himself being held in the Creator’s arms as a child. His vision became the Virgin Mary holding him as a baby, an image which made God’s love real to him as a Catholic. The light flowed through his being as he felt the parental love he had lost.
He saw a lantern behind the Mother of Christ illuminating the scene in his mind’s eye.
The lantern and the light began to merge. The lantern was not separate from him.
Mother Mary pointed to the light. She said, “It is not separate from you. You are the light.”
I am a child. A man.
And I will be king.
And suddenly Alejandro de Bonifácio, the crown prince of Spain, no longer had the need to run from who he was.
Those who had erased him were wrong—and had not had the right to do so.
In denying himself, he had been half a man.
I choose to be a whole man.
His imperfections did not loom so terribly, did not threaten his very existence. He saw now he had a connection to something or Someone greater than himself.
It had always been there. He had been guided all his life. He had Esteban, who truly loved him, and now, when he needed her, this extraordinary woman had come into his life and shown him joy was within him. Hope was within him. Life was within him.
There was a magnificence to his life and to his existence he had never grasped. He saw his own strength, determination, sense of responsibility, and loyalty.
38
A woman makes her mind up
“When a woman
Makes her mind up
Nothing ever can distract her
Nothing else can interfere.”
- The Barber of Seville by Gioachino Rossini
Alejandro was brought forcibly back into Nicolette’s performance. She was drawing a line down his lips, then his chin, with her fingertip. She was touching him in the middle of this stunning music.
What is she thinking? Did she wish to make him lose all control?
“Nicolette,” he murmured, “don't, I beg you . . .”
She increased her efforts, swaying and singing to perfection, the range and intensity of her voice devastating to him at this range. Her sultry voice reverberated through his blood.
I have always desired her. From the moment he first laid eyes on her her. Why did he pretend otherwise? She absolutely awakened every part of him.
I can control my impulses. Did he not understand discipline above all else? He had no incentive to do so with other women.
But with Nicolette, I must.
She is my treasure.
And then she did something unexpected, and Alejandro thought he would explode: she sat in his lap, one leg draped to the side. She then ran her hands along his muscular arms.
“What are you playing at, Nicolette?” His eyes opened wide. “This is more than I can bear.” This was too much. There was such a thing as making the audience feel one was on the stage with the singer, but this went beyond the illusion.
He was in a dream, his desire was raging.
She stopped singing and she kissed him. Gently at first.
But Alejandro could not be gentle with her. He put his arms around her waist and forcefully pressed her close to his chest. She put her arms around his neck, running her fingers through his hair, as she kissed him back, as desperate for him as he was for her.
I never thought she could feel this way for me. Alejandro plunged his tongue into her mouth and she responded in kind.
“Nicolette,” he whispered. “I am certain I will go mad.” He felt the fullness of her breasts against his chest as if it were the first time he had ever had such a sensation.
“We shall go there together, Alejandro.”
It was heavenly to hear his name from her lips. He stared at her. She was so beautiful in his arms, her black hair falling all about her shoulders, her beautiful breasts visible to him.
He began tenderly kissing those exquisite breasts. She gasped and then pulled his lips to hers. He longed to take her breasts into his mouth and tease her into ecstasy.
I am insane for this woman. He ran kisses along her cheek. She leaned her head back and gasped.
He tore off his cashmere cutaway jacket and threw it to the ground, the white rose boutonniere flying from the jacket. She loosened his maroon silk tie and threw it as well to the ground, unbuttoning his shirt. He ran his hands along her hips and her outer thighs, slowly caressing every inch of her hips, desperate to rip the dress which separated them and to caress the inside of her thighs.
He took her hips into his hands and pushed them closer. Her eyes opened wide, startled at first, before closing them blissfully.
She was on fire. She was the fire to his ice. Only Alejandro didn't feel so cold this evening.
Oh, God, what am I doing? Nicolette could not be a release for him, a game. She had either to be his wife or nothing at all.
And she could not be his wife.
“Nicolette, why are you doing this?” he grunted, hating himself, leaping from the chair and placing her in it in one swift movement. “I never wanted to debase you.”
“Because I want you to feel fire.” She appeared dazed, as if she were coming out of a dream.
“I do, believe me Nicolette. You have no idea.”
“First you were so involved in the music, and then I saw you drifting away, once again unreachable.” She shook her head. “I thought if I could make you feel desire, I could bring you back. Bring you back to yourself. Bring you back to me.”
“You did.” He paced the room, running his hand through his hair, even as he kept his eyes glued to her every curve.
“And then—I can't explain it myself—I thought I might like to know sensual passion…rapture…as well.” Her lips formed a quivering smile even as she placed her hand on her ivory cheek. “I am ashamed to admit it, Alejandro. I forgot about my performance! Never before have I ever compromised my performance, even as a child.”
“What were you thinking of instead?” he asked quietly, moving closer to her.
“I forgot about everything but my need for you.” She stood and move to him, running her palms slowly across his chest, causing a sensation to strike through him.
He closed his eyes, willing her to stop. All he wanted in the world was to be needed the way she needed him. Nicolette was pure and wild at the same time: an independent woman who desired him.
Bloody Hell! I wish I were not destined to rule Spain! It felt like blasphemy to even think the words. Many times Alejandro had wished not to be royal, but never so much as this moment.
“Anything so strong it could make me forget my obligations to music, I wanted to experience.”
Mesmerized by her exotic, elongated eyes framed by black hair flowing over her shoulders, Alejandro blinked to ground himself. After that performance, it was difficult to believe. “Let me understand this. You have never been with a man before?”
The flame returned to her eyes, and Alejandro saw the answer in her expression even before she spoke it. She raised her hand to slap him, which he grabbed. “How dare you!”
“How dare I put words to the fire you ignited in my soul? It is a fair question, and the answer determines my course: I cannot take advantage of you.”
She lowered her hand though he kept his hand on her wrist, but the fury was still in her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous! Here I am, thinking of something besides music, thinking of you. I was the one who was mortified!”
“Then why did you proceed as if to seduce me?” And, believe me, I have never experienced a more effective seduction.
“All in an instant, I truly felt I had not forsaken my performance at all. I somehow knew, just as my mother knows things she shouldn't know.”
“You knew what, Nicolette?” he managed to utter, taking her hands in his.
“I felt that…our needs are…one and the same.”
He groaned. She could not have a greater impact on him were she the most experienced courtesan in all of history. He released her and moved to lean on the railing, wishing he might jump from the seven stories.
“What is the matter, Alejandro?” Puzzlement was written all over her face, visible in the moonlight.
“Everything. And nothing. I cannot marry you, Nicolette. I am promised to Spain.”
“Marry me?” She laughed, tilting her head and looking up at him through lush, dark eyelashes. “I never expected that, nor do I wish it.”
“Then why would you…?” He demanded. “You cannot wish to lose your virginity to a man who will not make you his wife?”
“Naturally I would not in a perfect world. But it is my only option. I find that I would like to make love with you.”
Passion had caused her to imagine she had feelings for him.
“Do not throw yourself away on a man who does not love you enough to marry you,” Alejandro said, surprising even himself at the steel in his voice.
“It is my decision to make,” she retorted, raising her chin. “I'll have you know that the city's most eligible bachelors throw themselves at my feet, Alejandro.”
“I have no doubt of that, but I have more experience in this arena.” Damnation! He was throwing away the experience of a lifetime with a woman who had utterly captivated him.
“I am attempting to remedy that.”
He shook his head. “No, mi amor. Let us retire to the living room. It is getting chilly out here.”
That is a lie. His heart still pounding, he placed her shawl back on her shoulders and led her into the living room where a fire was now blazing. He handed her a sherry, which she accepted, sitting on the couch. He poured a cognac and joined her on the opposite end of the couch, forcing himself to keep some distance from her.
“Nicolette, you are a passionate woman.” He sighed heavily. “You live only for the momen
t and for your own pleasure. You would regret this tomorrow. I expect it seems romantic to bed a prince, but I am no different from any other man.”
He expected her to be furious, but he saw only cool assessment in her eyes, which moved along the full length of his body and then returned to his face. “My eyes tell me otherwise.”
Somehow he found the strength to stay where he was. Glad to have the cognac in his hand, he took a sip.
“Alejandro, how do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“In an instant your discipline took over and you became a statue again. One minute you are a living, breathing man and in the next you are dead. How do you do it? Why can you not stay with me?”
“I assure you, Nicolette, I am not dead. I am very much alive…and hurting.”
“Alejandro,” Her voice created an ache in his heart. “I want you to make love to me.”
“I cannot. It would be like defiling a saint.”
“You know very well I am not a saint. I am a woman of many faults.”
“I cannot take this from you without marrying you, Nicolette.” He leaned into his chair, wishing he might disappear into it.
“I would not marry you if you asked me, Alejandro! There is nothing in the world which could induce me to do so. Do you hear nothing I say? Or is everyone a mere puppet in your imagination? I wish only to feel your passion. Your desire for only me. I ask only for now. And you cannot even give me that.”
“Nicolette, your virtue is too important to discard for one night of…” He let his eyes take in every inch of her.
“One night of what?” she demanded.
“Ecstasy.”
“It seems a fair trade for my virtue.”
“When you meet the man you wish to marry, he may not think so.”
“Then may he burn in hell.”
“You might wish me in hell at that moment.”
“It’s very likely. I do now.”
“Nicolette, you know very well I am speaking of your reputation. You are not one of my ladybirds who knows full well what she is doing.”
The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren Page 30
