Page 62 of Vienna Bliss

Alexander beat her to it. “Thank you, Alena. Without you I would never have known about Absolon’s actions.”

Thank you for helping me with my business? After everything they’d been through, that’s what he was going to say?

“You’re welcome.” Alena forced a bright smile. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Alexander.” She tossed in a wink.

His expression was stony, and he only nodded.

Alena turned away. She made it four steps before she stopped. She hadn’t made a conscious decision to stop. It was more like her heart had wrenched control of her body away from her pride.

Alena spun on her toes, raced back to Alexander, and threw her arms around him. She hugged him tight, bringing her lips to his ear. Her throat was already tight with tears, but she managed to say what she needed to. Say the words she’d been too scared to speak.

“You’re not a monster. You’re perfect. My black knight, my quiet man.” She squeezed him tight, one last time. “I love you, Alexander Wagner. Remember that.”

Alena released him and stepped back. She went to Rolf, who took her arm.

She didn’t realize she was holding her breath, hoping Alexander would call her name, stop her from leaving, until they were out the door. She’d hoped to hold off crying until she was at her hotel in Paris.

She didn’t even make it to the car before the tears fell.

Epilogue

She didn’t find the letter until she’d been home for nearly a week.

After a day debriefing in Paris, she’d finally flown back to her adopted hometown of Chicago. Though her accent would always give away that she was from the south, she had no desire to live anywhere her father had too much influence.

There were plenty of practical reasons to live in Chicago—and plenty of reasons why she often spent the worst of the Chicago winter either in Europe or her second home in Washington State. But she lived in, and loved Chicago, for the art.

When Alena found the envelope, tucked into the bottom of her suitcase, beside a flat jewelry box, she resisted the urge to rip it open right away. Instead she sat cross-legged on the floor and opened the box.

Inside was the pearl choker, the broken strand repaired.

And her broken heart began to hope.

She’d managed to keep her mind off Alexander since she’d been home, instead focusing on the minutia of life. The one thing she hadn’t done was unpack, afraid opening the suitcase would be the luggage equivalent of opening Pandora’s box.

Stupid, because this had been waiting for her.

Alena blinked, causing the first tears to fall, as she touched the pearls, then raised her hand and caressed the gold panels of the choker he’d given her. She’d added an extender, turning it into a short necklace rather than a collar-like choker, but she was still wearing it.

She hadn’t taken it off except to shower.

Alena rushed to dress and then slid the envelope in her pocket. She lived only blocks from Millennium Park, and once she made it through the perpetual wind tunnel that was Randolph Street, she cut quickly through the park to The Art Institute of Chicago.

It was one of her favorite places in the world. Depending on the content of the letter she would either rejoice in a place she loved, or find solace there.

She showed her pass and slid in, around crowds of tourists. Up the stairs, and then there was a quiet bench, under the skylight. Alena sat and took the letter from her pocket. She stroked the paper, and then smelled it, but it smelled like her suitcase instead of him.

Finally, she’d tormented herself enough—she really was a masochist—and opened the envelope.

Alena—

I’ve always preferred written communication to oral, which is why I’m writing this letter. As I write it I’m promising myself that I won’t give it to you. It would be unfair of me to do so, because once you leave Vienna you should be free of me, without having a reminder of our time together forced on you.

I can hear your voice in my head, berating me. Teasing me. The fact that I hear you so clearly, that you’ve become a part of me, is why I’m writing.

There’s something I need to say. Something I fear I would never manage to say elegantly if forced to say it aloud.

I love you.