Nine. Eight.
Marisa gazed into Grigori's eyes, wondering if he felt the same magic she did, the same sense of wonder.
Seven. Six. Five.
He stroked her cheek with his fingertip, and she felt the touch clear down to her toes.
Four. Three. Two.
One.
"Happy New Year, Grigori," she whispered.
"Happy New Year, cara mia."
He kissed her gently. "Close your eyes."
"Why?"
"Close your eyes, cara."
She waited, excitement flowing through her, as he took her hand in his.
"You can open them now," he said, and she watched him slide a ring over her ringer.
"Oh, Grigori," she murmured. "It's beautiful."
She'd never seen a diamond so big in her whole life. She held her hand up, turning it this way and that, watching it reflect the lights from the ballroom.
"You like it?"
"I love it. I love you!"
"Ah, Marisa, when you look at me like that, I believe anything is possible."
"You're not having doubts about us, are you?"
Doubts? He had dozens, hundreds, but he shook them off. Marisa was here, in his arms. She had promised to be his wife, and that was all that mattered.
They spent the next few days shopping for furniture. Marisa was enchanted by the house Grigori had bought. The rooms were all large, with vaulted ceilings and hardwood floors. There was a large stone fireplace in the living room, smaller ones in all the bedrooms. There was a huge pantry in the kitchen, a solarium with large leaded-glass windows and a skylight, an old-fashioned music room.
Grigori approved of everything she picked out for the house: a beautiful antique oak bedroom set with a four-poster bed, a large round oak table and four chairs for the kitchen, another more formal table and chairs for the dining room, an intricately carved oak sideboard.
They bought sheets and towels, dishes and flatware. Money was never a problem. Several times, she by-passed what she really wanted and picked something less expensive, and every time Grigori insisted she buy the lamp or the table or the chair she preferred.
"You're a wealthy woman now," he reminded her. "Buy whatever you wish."
"You're going to spoil me," she muttered as they left an exclusive furniture store one night.
Outside, he took her in his arms and his lips brushed hers. "That, my sweet, is exactly what I plan to do."
Chapter Twenty-nine
The next few days flew by in a flurry of excitement. Marisa called her parents and her brother and listened patiently to their objections to her marrying a man she had known for such a short time. She spent three lunch hours shopping for a wedding dress; then she spent a Saturday afternoon with Linda picking out dresses for Linda and Barbara to wear. There wasn't enough time to order engraved invitations, so she sent out handwritten ones to a few close friends. She ordered a small cake, made arrangements for the church, made an appointment to get her hair and nails done. She spoke with Mr. Salazar, inviting him to the wedding and asking if she could have two weeks off for a honeymoon. He grumbled a bit, but, in the end, he agreed.
If her days were hectic, her nights were not. Grigori came over each evening and it was then, wrapped in his arms, that she found the peace that eluded her during the day. He never failed to bring her a gift of some kind: flowers - white roses by the dozen, yellow ones, pink ones, a single, perfect, bloodred rose; chocolates and perfume; a lovely silver filigreed heart on a delicate chain; a diamond necklace that was so beautiful it took her breath away.
"You don't have to bring me a present every time you come over," she chided one night, but he dismissed her objection with a wave of his hand.
"It pleases me to bring you things," he replied. And then he grinned at her, a sly, roguish grin that made her insides melt and her toes curl. "Besides, I like the way you express your gratitude."
Marisa shook her head. "Silly! I'd kiss you even if you didn't buy me extravagant gifts."
"Would you?"
"Of course. I kissed you tonight, didn't I? And you didn't bring me anything."
He lifted one brow. "Didn't I?"
"Did you?"
With a flourish, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a small square box. He handed it to her with a wink.
"What is it?" Marisa asked.
"Open it and see."
Stomach fluttering with excitement, she lifted the lid. A key rested on a bed of blue velvet. She looked up at him. "Let me guess. It's the key to your heart,