Cameron finally comes to a stop in front of my most beloved painting here,The Madonna Litta.
My Russian stoicism deserts me as rapturous tears come to my eyes. I stand, ignoring his anxious grip on my arm. “This was painted by Leonardo da Vinci. See the tenderness of the mother, feeding her baby? The curve of her head and the light on her face as she looks down at her little one?”
His arm comes around me, cradling me and perhaps holding me up just a bit as we stand together, looking at the beauty of this painting in silence.
“I’d always pictured my mother and me like this painting, if she’d lived, but now when I look at it, I see myself with our child,” I whisper.
Leading me over to a nearby bench, he kneels, kissing my ring finger. The scrape from where they tore it off me is nearly healed by now.
“I’m sorry they took the ring,” I say sadly.
“It’s all right. It’s just a ring,” he kisses my finger again. “But I would like to do this again, properly.”
“We’ve already been married three times,” I laugh quietly.
“Let’s start with a proper proposal, aye? I would very much like to marry you.” He kisses my hand with a gentleness that makes me weak. This hard, harsh man who is capable of unspeakable violence, yet at this moment can show such tenderness.
“I’m a clever man,” he continues, “so I was certain I’d find something romantic to say to you, something to curl your toes and make you throw your arms around me saying ‘Yes, yes!’ But instead, I see a woman who I likely don’t deserve, and… you would likely agree. I also see the mother of my child and now, like what you’ve seen in this painting, I have a vision, too of the three of us together. Morana MacTavish, would you marry me?”
He holds up a glimmering diamond ring with a huge center stone and a scattering of violet-colored stones around it.
“Of course!” I sob, “Of course I would!”
Cameron grins, looking relieved as if my answer was ever in question and he slips the ring on my finger. “It’s not too harsh on your sore finger?”
“No,lyubov',love. It’s perfect.” When he helps me to my feet, I see that a beaming, expensively suited man has entered the hall with Hamish.
“Cameron Cian MacTavish, Morana Ivanova MacTavish, I am Aleksey Komarov, Governor of St. Petersburg. It would be my honor to re-marry you and your husband today.”
I look down at the pretty white dress Cameron helped me into this morning. That makes sense. “Your Excellency Aleksey Komarov, it would be a great favor to us both. We are honored.”
He conducts the service in a mix of Russian and English, and when we both say “I do,” he nods as if nothing could be better than this moment.
And I agree with him.
Chapter Thirty-Four
In which life is like Downton Abbey, but with semi-automatic weapons.
Morana…
I don’t think even Beyonce has an entourage this outrageous.
“Get the wheelchair out,” Cameron barks into the phone, “I want it waiting when we pull up.”
“Pleaselyubov',love,” I groan, “I don’t need a wheelchair. I didn’t lose function in my legs.”
“You’re unsteady on your feet,” he frets, “let’s just use the wheelchair for right now, aye? I’ve already had the staff renovate one of the downstairs rooms into a bedroom for you right now so you don’t have to climb the stairs.”
“I am not an invalid!”
My protests fall on deaf ears, of course. We pull into the driveway and… oh,he has the entire staff on the front stairs? This is so ridiculous!
“Thisislike Downton Abbey but with guns,” I groan.
“Bollocks!” Cameron scoffs, “We’re nothing like that English poncery.”
We pull up to the front steps, trailed by two SUVs, one is carrying a disgruntled Dr. Blanchet, who was informed that he would be spending a week at our home as an ‘honored guest,’ whether he wanted to or not. I’m hoping to convince Cameron that he’s turned into a tall, gorgeous bag of crazy and he’s got to calm down. He’s already forced poor Dr. Greer to be waiting for us so he can give me an immediate examination.
