I spin slowly, taking in the transformation. The room still holds its original grandeur. The carved moldings. The velvet curtains. The ceiling painted with scenes from Greek mythology.
But now there's a California king bed sitting dead center like it belongs there.
"This room is supposed to provide art," I say, still laughing. "Culture. Sophistication."
Dmitri's hands find my waist. He pulls me back against his chest, his breath hot against my ear.
"Hell yeah, we're going to provide art."
"By putting a bed in it?"
"By fucking around it." His teeth graze my earlobe. "On it. Against every wall. Until this room knows exactly who it belongs to."
Heat pools low in my belly.
"That's not art, Dmitri."
"The hell it isn't." His fingers work at the buttons running down my spine. "The way you look when you come? The sounds you make? The way your body moves under mine?" He pops another button. "That's the most beautiful art I've ever seen."
The dress loosens around my shoulders.
His hands are sliding the silk off my shoulders. His lips are tracing the curve of my neck. His body is hard and demanding against my back.
"You planned this romantic scene," I breathe.
"I've been planning this since the day I bought this theater."
Another button. Another inch of skin exposed.
"You bought this theater months ago."
"I know." His voice drops to that dangerous register. "I've been imagining you in this bed for months. In this room. Under these lights." He spins me to face him. "In this dress."
The bodice of my gown hangs loose now, held up only by my arms crossed over my chest.
Dmitri's eyes are molten silver in the candlelight. Hungry. Possessive. Completely focused on me.
"Drop your arms."
It's not a request.
I hold his gaze. Let my arms fall to my sides.
The dress pools at my feet in a whisper of silk and lace. Underneath, I'm wearing exactly what he requested this morning. White lace lingerie. Garter belt. Stockings that end mid-thigh.
His breath catches.
"Bozhe moy," he murmurs. My God.
I step out of the dress carefully, leaving it in a puddle of white on the floor. My heels click against the hardwood as I move toward the bed.
"You wanted art?" I glance over my shoulder at him. "Come create some with me."
Dmitri
The orchestra swells as I spin Vittoria across the ballroom floor. Her pink dress—the second one she changed into after we finally made it back to the reception—flares around her ankles. The diamond on her finger catches the light from the chandeliers.
My wife.
