Simone opened her eyes, instantly aware. She was lying on her back. It was fairly dark, but she could make out all manner of details. The ceiling above her was low. Fashioned from wood. Fleur-de-lis embellishment had been carved throughout it. Further scrutiny revealed fringed material edged the surface, making a partition. The material was a blue satin. It was interwoven with a lot of gold thread, the exact match to the fringe.
She was alone; the area so still, the void of silence had a presence. Then she heard a methodic swishing sound. Sounded like a Grandfather clock pendulum, swinging back and forth as it continually ticked off the march of minutes. Hours.
Years.
Hadn’t Reynaldo called time something man had created in order to produce stress? Right now that had an uncomfortable accuracy. It just occurred to her that she hadn’t called in absent to the lab last night. That was a removable offense. If she was lucky however, she’d just receive a remonstration, followed by a probationary period.
More weirdness.
She was using big words...just like him.
Simone took a deep breath. Her nose detected the scent of roses. Fresh. Sweet. Underlying that was an aroma of spices blended together. Warmed. Her sense of smell was astounding. She could pick out cinnamon. Clove. A hint of vanilla...
This was so strange. Her senses had never been this acute. She filed that fact into her subconscious for research later. She had enough trouble at the moment. She was still stuck in a maze of insanity, and apparently she’d taken another wrong turn, gone down another dead-end. Simone turned her head. And lost her breath.
There was a blood-red rose on the pillow beside her.
She lifted the rose with a trembling hand, and brought it to her nose. Her action disturbed a note card that had been placed beside it. Simone inhaled the flower’s perfume, while her other hand lifted the missive. Her name had been written on the outside in such beautiful script, it should be framed. She slid the card open with her thumb. And she should have known what it would say.
‘I love you.’
His initial covered the bottom half of the note. Drawn with a lot of scrollwork, it was another work of art. Simone closed her eyes. Fought a wave of tears.
Damn it.
The man was so romantic! She’d have to add that to all his other attributes, and then try to ignore it, too. Because anything else...
Was crazy.
Simone sighed, pressed the note to her breast, and received the unfamiliar sensation of satin material against bare skin. Nakedness shouldn’t worry her. She hadn’t been wearing anything when he’d brought her here. It should bother her if he’d dressed her while she’d been unconscious.
Somehow, knowing he’d carried her naked, and then placed her in this bed sent a wave of delightful sensation. It lifted shivers. Sent tingling. She really didn’t need a reminder of his sexual prowess.
Not if she wanted out of here.
Simone sat. The sheet slid from her, but she snatched it back. It was reflex action. Completely unnecessary. Oddly, it hadn’t required any effort to sit. That was another bewildering fact she’d have to research.
Later.
When reality reared its ugly head.
The room wasn’t completely dark after all. Drapery had been pulled back on a large window to her right. Weak moonlight sent a slice of light through the slight opening, as if illuminating that spot for her. Just as she’d surmised, there wasn’t anyone in the room with her. She was in another massive chamber. Settled into a bed that dwarfed the earlier one. This bed was different, however. It had a flat canopy top, carved from the same dark wood. The blue satin that lined it matched the coverlet atop her. Light blue. Satiny.
This bed was also on a dais, however, placing her above everything in the immense room. Lumps of shadow turned into wardrobes and chairs, settees and tables. More items. The room resembled her chamber, except everything was done in dark-toned wood, while the color scheme was blue and gold, and—.
Uh oh.
She’d just referred to the other chamber as hers.
Simone looked down at the red rose in her hand, the note in the other. She swiveled and carefully placed them both back on the pillow. She had a choice to make. Search out some clothing, preferably from her luggage. Find her way to the front door. Arrange transportation. Return to Paris.
It sounded daunting. Beset with pitfalls.
Or she could stay in this bed languorously awaiting whatever happened next.
Almost reluctantly, Simone scooted to an edge of the mattress. Long locks of hair trailed her shoulders, while the majority of her hair was a tangled mass down her back. She altered her plan slightly. Finding a comb was going high on the list. Perhaps even before clothing.
She slid her legs out from beneath the covers, dangled her feet out over the platform edge. She still wore stockings. That was surprising...and oddly comforting. She lifted each leg and pulled the lace tops back into place, took a breath, and jumped down to the floor.
And that’s when she saw it.
Her cello stood in a shadowy area cast by the moonlight. It rested upright against the padded seat of a high-backed chair, her bow propped beside it. The instrument should have looked incongruous. Instead, it looked perfect. Simone shook her head. This was senseless. He’d brought her cello. Taken it from its case. Set it up. For what? He didn’t truly wish her to audition still, did he?
That was fickle.
Whatever had happened to the marriage proposal?
She snickered. The sound blasted through the air as if she’d loudly guffawed. Simone instantly stopped, but the remnant of her amusement took a long time to fade. That was perplexing. She added that to facts she’d research later.
The tiles were cool against her feet. The air should have been the same on her nakedness. It wasn’t. She felt secure, safe, and weirdly cocooned in an aura of warmth. She took a step toward the cello and a moment later, was there. Simone looked back over her shoulder at the span she’d just traversed. She couldn’t recall any steps after the first one. That wasn’t just disconcerting. It was borderline alarming.
And this was just wasting time. She had a plan of action to follow. Find a comb. Clothing. Search out the front door. Get to Paris. Instead, she lifted cello and bow, moved the chair into the moonlight, sat, and adjusted the height bar. The cello went between her split legs. Her left fingers caressed the throat. She selected a chord, pressed her fingers into strings, lifted the bow, and started playing.
Simone was an adequate cellist, but no master. That took years of study and practice and dedication. But most of all, it took passion. She loved playing the cello, but music had never been her passion.
Right now, it was.
She played better than she’d ever done. Her bow flew across strings. The fingers of her left hand moved effortlessly, pressing strings with a magic touch. Without resorting to sheet music, she moved through the quick notes of Bach’s Cello Suite #1. Eased into the slow vibrato notes of Chopin’s Cello Sonata; right into Grieg’s Cello Sonata 1st movement; and more. And then she started into uncharted territory. Composing on the fly as if born to it.
Her eyes closed. A light appeared all around her. She was no longer sitting in a chamber. She was soaring through a sky as blue as his eyes, her bow stirring wisps of clouds filled with reds, blues. Violet.
She played for him.
And she knew it.
Originating from somewhere in the sky-world, a choir of voices came into being, singing softly at first, then growing in volume. An orchestra of musicians also started, playing pianissimo to softly accompany her solos. Music flowed and swirled, sometimes dancing. Other times, lengthy and somber. And some of the times, the notes drifted with lightness as if they had wings.
The cello not only played for her.
It wept right along with her.
Simone lifted her chin. Paused a moment. Then sent a euphoric note into existence, with a vibrato beyond anything she’d ever attempted. The note’s length required the entire bow. Then it was finis. She lifted her bow. Held her breath. The tone clung to the air. Then there was silence. Perfect. Silence.
“Bellissimo.”
Simone opened her eyes at the whispered word. Reynaldo was standing just inside the moonbeam, his coat held open by a hand on his hip. The other rested on the hilt of a sword as if posed. His hair was pulled back into a queue, putting his features on full display. Her heart stuttered.
Damn.
He was already gorgeous. Pulling his hair back only made it much more noticeable.
His presence brought reality. With it came chill and the impression of air on her nakedness. Goosebumps lifted all over her. She shifted.
“Simone, wait! Please. Do not move,” Reynaldo spoke quickly. “I beg of you.”
“But—.”
“Oh, Simone. Sweet, perfect Simone. I have spent centuries enduring the passage of time, watching the minutes constantly tick away. They became hours. Then days. Weeks. Years. I did not realize how priceless time could be.” He stopped. Cleared his throat. When he continued, his voice had hoarsened. “Not until this perfect moment. I am committing it to memory...so that I can treasure it.”
And that’s when it hit. With a combination of sensations: The electricity of a lightning bolt, the heat of a bonfire, the shock of an ice bath, the softness of a down-filled bed. Her heart beat with the strength of his. Their every breath synced. She’d hidden her romantic side for so long it had become dormant. Shriveled. Weak.
And with Reynaldo...it was set free.
Simone didn’t obey his request consciously. She followed it because she was stunned into immobility. Reynaldo wasn’t just easy to fall for. Simone had already plunged. To a scale that frightened and astonished at the same time. What she felt wasn’t rational. Or sane. Or logical. But it was undeniable.
She loved him!
Playing her cello had sent her into another realm. One imbued with fervor. Passion. Greatness. The experience had overtaken her emotionally, but right then she understood. Love was the only thing of any value. It even superseded reality. It no longer mattered if Reynaldo thought he was a fictional entity, or even if – by some undiscovered anomaly – vampires actually existed, and he really was one.
What mattered was bigger.
So...much bigger.