"Me, too," Serena breathed. "I knew I'd missed this— missed you—but I didn't know how much."
"I missed you, too," Misha said. "I swear I literally ached for you night and day. I couldn't stop thinking about you."
"I know exactly what you're talking about," she said. "I've felt exactly the same way." She kissed his lips and looked into his dark eyes. Then her voice dropped to an impassioned whisper. "I wish we could be like this forever. Here, together. You and me."
Misha's breath caught in his throat. He looked at her, his eyes widening. "Do you mean that?" he asked. "Are you really serious?"
"Yes." Serena nodded. "I really do mean it, Misha."
"Oh, my God, Serena," he said, almost moaning in rapture. He hugged her and kissed her urgently, deeply, suddenly swept up in a tidal wave of passion by what amounted to a protestation of love from Serena.
When he finally willed himself to stop, he drew back. "I never thought I'd hear you say anything like that, Serena," he whispered, searching her face, as if he could find there confirmation for the truth of her words. "You're sure it isn't just the sex?" he asked, still disbelieving.
"Oh, yes," she said, her voice earnest. "I feel that way, Misha. It's not just the sex, although I love that, too."
Her face took on a serious expression. "I've done a lot of soul searching since we ran into each other in Vienna," she finally continued in the same tone, "and I've come to the conclusion that I really want ... to be with you. That I really ... I really love you, Misha." With that said, she looked at him, a tentative smile hovering on her lips.
Misha returned her look, then hugged her again, as if by holding her she couldn't take back what she'd said.
"Oh, my God," he moaned again. "You do mean it, don't you." Then he reverently kissed her hair, her forehead and eyes, her nose and each cheek, her chin, and finally her lips.
"I'm the luckiest man alive," he said in a whisper.
Serena laughed lightly. "You didn't believe me in Vienna, did you?" she said. "When I told you that I love you."
"I didn't really know," Misha said honestly. "It was all so new and sudden and exciting after all those years. And we were both so ...so—"
"In a state of lust," Serena provided with a smile.
"Yes," he said, smiling back at her. "Definitely in a state of lust. So I wasn't sure what to believe. I wasn't certain about anything." He paused a moment, his eyes studying her face again.
Serena thought that he had never looked more like a happy puppy, so adoring, so obliging. So ready to offer his unconditional love. "But you're certain now?" she asked, ruffling his hair with her fingers.
"Yes," Misha said, his eyes brightening. "Oh, yes, Serena. I believe you really do love me, and I know I love you."
He pulled her closer again and began kissing her deeply. Serena responded with ardor, as ravenous for him as he was for her. It was only moments before they were savoring the delights of each other again. In that same rhythmic dance, only at a more leisurely pace this time, they lingered over the exquisite sensations they aroused in each other until ultimately, sated for the time being at least, they lay spent and exhausted on the bed.
The sun had begun its afternoon descent in the sky, and the light in Serena's bedroom had slowly shifted with it. Misha lay on his back, with Serena nestled next to him, her head on his shoulder, an arm thrown over his chest. They were quiet for a while, each in his own world, but at the same time very much aware of each other.
"What are you thinking about?" Misha asked her, stroking her back with his hand.
"How happy I am," she said softly. "How fulfilled and completely contented I feel. How ...alive."
Misha kissed her forehead. "You took the words right out of my mouth," he said quietly. "This has been one of the best afternoons in my life."
"Me, too," Serena said. "I don't want it to end."
"Neither do I," Misha said.
"Do you want to stay for dinner?" she asked. "We can call out for something or go—"
"Dinner?" Misha asked, a sudden look of alarm on his face.
"Yes, I thought—"
"What time is it, Serena?" he asked, his voice anxious. He sat up.
"Just a minute," she said. She rolled over and grabbed her watch off the nightstand on her side of the bed, then sat up and looked at it. "It's about five o'clock," she said.
"Oh, Jesus!" Misha groaned. "Oh, Jesus!"
"What is it, Misha?" she asked, a worried look on her face.
He slammed his fists down on the bed with all his might. "I missed my son's birthday party."
Chapter Thirty-one
Vera paced the floor, arms folded across her chest, fingers nervously tapping her elbows. She had come straight from a meeting and was wearing a delft blue Chanel suit that harmonized with her eyes, an oyster silk blouse that matched the black and oyster braid trim on her jacket, and black Manolo Blahnik heels. Her necklace was a single strand of pearls that matched her earrings. A bracelet of thick gold links was on one wrist, her gold watch on the other.
From the couch, Sonia watched her daughter-in-law closely. Her face, she observed, was set in an expression that was at once thoughtful and tortured. Every waking moment for her is an agony, Sonia thought. She's living in utter hell, the poor child.
She cleared her throat. "Are you absolutely certain," she ventured, "that it's not something else?"
Vera abruptly stopped pacing and turned to her mother-in-law. Soma's white hair shone lustrously in the sun that poured through the double-height windows of the beautiful Central Park South apartment. Her posture, Vera noted, was as erect and regal as always. At seventy years of age. Sonia was still a striking woman, self-assured, strong, and wise.
"I'm certain that's it, Sonia," she finally said. "I don't have any real proof," she added, "but all the indications point to it." She thought, but didn't say, another woman. She walked over to one of the big comfortable armchairs near the couch and sank down into it.
"I ... I really hate to talk to you about this," she went on in an anguished voice. "I feel so ...so ...guilty about it. I mean, Misha is your son." She paused and looked over at Sonia. "But you're ...well, you're the best friend I've got, Sonia. You've been like a mother to me."
Sonia rose to her feet and took the few steps to where Vera was seated. Leaning down, she put her arms around her shoulders and hugged her reassuringly. "Darling, don't ever be afraid to bring your troubles to me," she said. "Problems with my son included."
Vera began to weep, heaving quietly against Sonia. "I'm ...I'm ...just so ...so ...sorry," she said through her tears.
Sonia gently stroked her back, as if she were a child. "You have nothing to be sorry for, darling," she said soothingly. "Nothing at all. I'm glad that you came to me." She continued holding her, trying to console her, until Vera had regained her composure.
"Oh, God!" Vera exclaimed. "I swore I wouldn't cry. I must be a mess. Let me get a Kleenex out of my bag."
Sonia straightened up and watched as Vera retrieved her black shoulder bag from the floor next to the chair. She rummaged in it until she found the Kleenex, then wiped her eyes and blew her nose.
"Please, Sonia," she said. "I'm all right now. Sit back down."
"Are you sure you don't want some coffee or tea?" Sonia asked. "It's no trouble, darling."
"Maybe just some water," Vera said. "I had too much coffee at the auction house meeting."
Sonia went to the kitchen to get the water, and Vera kicked off her heels and lay back in the chair, staring thoughtfully at the high ceiling. She'd been reluctant to discuss this problem with Sonia, but she didn't really have anyone else to talk to. After going down a mental checklist of friends, she'd ticked off one after the other, deciding there wasn't a single one she could trust with this secret. Besides, she could well imagine their advice.
There would be the Get Even Group, those who would tell her to try to get the "goods" on Misha, then run straight to the best divorce lawyers in New
York and stick it to him royally, in court. Revenge, they would happily inform her, is the best medicine.
The Psychobabble Bunch would tell her to discuss it with her analyst. She did have one, didn't she? Then, talk to a good marriage counselor. Get Misha to go with her, and try to work it out.
Then there would be the Boy Toy Bunch, that brittle, sophisticated set who would laugh it off and tell her she was lucky he had an outside interest—to get one for herself. Preferably young and hot and horny. Didn't everybody nowadays?
Sonia returned from the kitchen with a small tray. On it were two glasses of ice and a bottle of San Pelligrino. She set it down on the coffee table and filled both the glasses, then handed Vera one.
"Here, darling," she said. "A little sparkling water. Is that okay?"
"That's perfect," Vera said, taking the glass from her. "Thanks, Sonia."
Sonia took one for herself and sat back down. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, looking at Vera.
Vera took a sip of the water, then set her glass down. "I don't know where to begin," she said, "but I'll try." She took a deep breath, then gave Sonia a quick rundown on Misha's increasing restlessness and inattentiveness. She told her how it had been going on for a long time, and was getting much worse lately.
"Missing Nicky's birthday party was a good example," Vera said. "He didn't even bother making excuses. He just said he'd been tied up."
Sonia nodded thoughtfully. "Have other things like that happened?" she asked. "Since then?"
"Oh, yes," Vera said. "It's getting a lot worse. It happens all the time now, in fact. He'll be practicing, then suddenly get up and say he has to go over to Manny's. He'll be gone all afternoon, and Manny will call for him while he's gone."
"Stupid man!" Sonia said. "That's so sloppy! Not even covering his bases!"
Vera couldn't help but laugh. "Not very clever," she agreed. "If I ask him about it, he'll say he got waylaid.
Be very vague. Then sometimes he'll be late for dinner or miss dinner entirely. He'll make really lame excuses or he won't even bother. It's as if he doesn't care."
"This does not sound good," Sonia conceded. "It ...it reminds me of the way he used to behave when he was defying us for some reason or other. Or"—Sonia looked at her daughter-in-law—"keeping guilty secrets from us."
"Exactly," Vera said. "That's the way it seems to me, and that's what has me so worried. He's never been like this before."
Vera took a sip of water and cleared her throat before continuing. "Another highly suspicious thing is the way he'll sometimes lavish attention on Nicky and me. Suddenly. From out of the blue. For absolutely no reason." She shrugged. "It's as if he were trying to make up for something."
"Uh-oh," Sonia said, arching an all-knowing brow. "I smell a fish. Yes. I most definitely smell a fish."
Vera looked at her mother-in-law, then began twisting her wedding band and engagement ring around her finger, an unconscious nervous tic Sonia recognized all too well. She took a deep breath and expelled a heavy sigh. "But the worst thing," she finally said, "is that he . . he doesn't want me anymore. Not ...sexually." She looked down at her hands for a moment, then back up at Sonia. Her face was etched with grief. "That's so hard to live with," she said miserably.
"Oh, darling," Sonia said, "that must be truly humiliating for you. You must be devastated."
"Yes," Vera said calmly, "I am. I feel utterly abandoned and ...unloved." Her voice choked. "It ... it makes me feel like a failure, Sonia. I'm flooded with a sense of failure." Tears came into her eyes again, and she wiped them away with a Kleenex.
"Vera," Sonia said. "Come here." She patted the couch with her hand. "Sit next to me."
Vera got to her feet and did as Sonia asked, sitting on the cushion next to her. Sonia took Vera's hands in her own and looked directly into her eyes.
"Listen to me," she said in a stern but caring voice.
"And you listen hard. No matter what's going on, whether all of your suspicions are right on the mark or not, you must not think of yourself as a failure, Vera. Under no circumstances. You have done nothing wrong here. You've been as good a mother and wife as I've ever seen."
"But I—I—" Vera began.
"Let me finish, Vera!" Sonia said emphatically. "Nicky alone is proof of what a wonderful mother you've been. You haven't let your job or Misha's work interfere with raising him. As far as Misha goes, you've made him extremely happy in the past, Vera. You've traveled with him, sometimes at the drop of a hat, and you've made a marvelous social life for him. His work— his whole life!—has been greatly enriched by you. All of our lives have been."
She gave Vera's hands a gentle squeeze, and Vera started to speak again.
"Sonia, I—"
"Hear me out!" her mother-in-law said. "You work wonders for the auction house. You work on committees and boards. And even with all that going on, you run the household extraordinarily well. Everybody knows that. Dmitri knows that. Your parents know that. I know that better than anyone."
Sonia paused and took a deep breath, then leaned forward and kissed Vera on the cheek and released her hands. "Now," she said, "I've had my say."
Vera, though teary-eyed, smiled at her formidable mother-in-law. "Thanks, Sonia," she said softly. "I really do appreciate your vote of confidence, and I guess what you're saying is true. But still ... I feel like I must be doing something very, very ...wrong. Don't you see?"
"No, I don't see!" Sonia snapped in exasperation. "I don't think you've done anything wrong. But I strongly suspect that Misha has!" She sighed heavily. "He could never keep it in his pants."
Vera didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She looked at Sonia in surprise, even though she knew the truth of her words. Her mother-in-law, she thought, always seemed to hit the nail on the head.
"You're right," she said calmly. "I've always known that. I guess I just hoped that ...that all that would end when we got married." Her face looked stricken, and her voice acquired an edge of panic. "If I only knew what to do," she cried.
Sonia took hold of her hands again. "If he keeps behaving this way, there'll come a point, I think, when you'll have to confront him one way or the other." She sighed again. "Oh, darling, I wish I could be of more help. You know I'll do anything I can. I'll certainly keep my eyes and ears open. In the meantime, try to make the best of it—easier said than done, I know. But try to stick with it. Act like nothing is out of the ordinary. Maybe that would be the best policy right now. For Nicky's sake—and your marriage. Do you think you can do that?"
"I honestly don't know," Vera said. "I'm very busy and that helps. But I ... I feel ...abandoned." She looked into her mother-in-law's eyes. "Oh, Sonia," she said, her voice cracking, "without him I'm so ... lonely."
"You're a worse fool than I thought," Coral said harshly. She was seated rigidly in a chrome and black leather Le Corbusier chair, eyes flashing emerald fury. "No. Scratch that," she snapped. "You are, bar none, the biggest fool I know."
"Oh, Coral," Serena said, her voice almost a little-girl whine, "I just can't help it!" She flopped down on the Le Corbusier chair's matching sofa, stretching out her long, shapely legs. She glanced over at her furious agent, her eyes expressing the bewilderment she felt. "I love him, Coral," she said softly. "I really love him."
For a moment Coral looked like she was going to be sick on the new loft's expensively finished floors. Even beneath her mask of ghostly white powder, Serena thought she could detect the blood draining from Coral's face. She quickly regained her composure, however.
"Love?" she spat. "What on earth do you know about love, Serena?"
"I know what I feel," Serena said defensively. "And I really believe it's love. I've never had feelings like this before, Coral."
"Feelings!" Coral glared at her with imperious hauteur, and her words came in a staccato torrent. "Don't make me laugh! It was feelings that got you hooked up with that lowlife rock and roll star, Rick ...Rick ...Whoever! The one who liked to beat up on
you for his amusement. It was feelings, young lady, that got you mixed up with that stoned-out drummer who liked passing you around to his friends! Or was he the one that liked to tie you up? Who remembers? They're only two in a long line of major creeps. Your feelings, as you call them, Serena, have taken you to some pretty awful places. I think I would be just a little bit leery about trusting them if I were you."
"Oh, Jesus!" Serena groaned. She leapt to her feet and made a beeline for die glass and steel drinks table, where she splashed a generous portion of Jack Daniel's into a glass. "Do you want something, Coral?" she asked petulantly.
"No, thank you," Coral said, watching her. Then she added: "I thought you were laying off the booze with this new diet of yours."
"I was," Serena said, tossing two ice cubes in the glass. She gulped down half the drink in one large swallow, then shuddered from its fiery passage down her throat. She walked back to the couch and sat down, placing the drink on the coffee table.
"Why do you always have to bring up all that old shit, Coral? It's ancient history, and you know it." She glanced at her agent, who was drumming her fingernails on the armchair, as if she were impatiently indulging a wayward child.
"I'm a different person now," Serena claimed in a strident voice. "I've done a lot of growing up since then. Hell, I'm thirty years old."
"Then try to act it," Coral said. She looked at Serena quizzically. "Don't you see a pattern in your behavior, Serena? It's as plain as the nose on that beautiful face of yours."
"What?" Serena asked.
"You've gone from one impossible relationship to another," Coral said. "From one abusive man to another."
"Misha is not abusive," Serena said angrily. "He's gentle and kind and—"
"And married!" Coral said with emphasis. "Married! With a child, for God's sake! Have you given that any thought?"
Serena took a sip of her drink, then stretched out on the couch again, holding the drink on her stomach and staring up at the ceiling.
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