As I lay there in the darkness, my back facing Aleksandr's, I began to cry. Life in Paris hadn't turned out to be what I'd expected at all. I was miserable, and I wanted to go home. My ruined party had been the last straw. My chest heaved in loud, gasping sobs. I didn't even care if he heard me.
"Carrie?" He had.
"Hold me, Alex." I longed to be held and comforted, even by him. I felt his arms encircle me and hold me tight, felt the warm softness of his body against mine, and my mind went back to the time I'd been standing with him on the pier in New York, how I'd told him I was cold and he'd held his arms out to me. Life with Aleksandr may never be exactly the way I wanted it to be, but I knew that my Russian would always be there to keep me warm when I was cold or lonely.
"Make love to me," I said. "I feel so all alone right now..."
He showered my face with kisses, then gradually moved lower, pushing my clothing aside as his warm, wet lips left a trail of moisture on my flesh. My fingers swept gently through his hair as I tingled all over, my aching center yearning for his touch, until suddenly he was there, the thrill of his touch sending me cascading right over the edge.
"Please...I want to feel you inside me..." I moaned.
"Patience, my dear," he chuckled, and when I couldn't stand it any more, he entered me and began to thrust. All memories of the loneliness and disappointment I'd felt since arriving in Paris simply melted away at his loving ministrations. I cried out in ecstasy a second time, and seconds later, I heard him moaning and grunting his own release.
Afterwards he held me and caressed me tenderly. "I'm sorry about your party," he whispered.
"It was my fault," I told him. "I knew how things were probably going to turn out at the exhibit. I should have left as soon as I realized you didn't need me there anymore."
"We'll talk more about it tomorrow, 'k?" he murmured sleepily.
I awoke the following morning to find myself alone in bed, but one red rose lay on Aleksandr's pillow. A scented note accompanied it. On the note was a brief message in my Russian's handwriting. "Dearest Carrie, You are never alone. Even when I can't be there with you physically, you are still in my heart. Love, Sasha."
I smiled as I closed my eyes again.