Chapter 34
It was getting late by the time Hermione got home. Harry had stayed in her office for quite some time; it had felt wonderful to have a long chat with him again. She loved Ginny, but sometimes she missed being with just Harry. The war had brought them closer than ever. But now, she was ready to be with Viktor.
She leaned against the living room doorframe. He was nestled in the big armchair, reading. He hadn't noticed her yet. Softly, to get his attention, she asked, "What are you reading?"
He looked up, giving her a warm smile. "A Tale of Two Cities."
"English or a Bulgarian translation?"
His smile turned sheepish. "Bulgarian. I alvays cheat vith Dickens, but it is much easier to enjoy him in my first language. I tried him in English vhen you wrote to me that you vere reading him, but my English vas not so good back then."
She moved across to the room to him, and he opened his arms, welcoming her to his warm lap. She laid her cheek against the soft flannel of his shirt, breathing in his smell, with a faint floral scent still lingering beside it.
"I vill try him in English if you like."
She laughed. "Read Dickens however you best enjoy him, love."
He brushed a kiss across her hair. "Vould you like to try another picnic on the beach? I fixed dinner, and maybe ve can do it right this time."
"We're eating ramen on the beach?"
He gave her a playfully disdainful look. "Of course not. Vould not be proper."
"You stopped by a deli?"
"Vicked voman. Stop trying to steal my secrets. Go change into play clothes instead of vork clothes, so ve can go eat. You stayed at vork late; left poor me here starffing."
His laughter mingled with hers as she obeyed the demanding, thoughtful man ordering her around. She was so happy to be home.
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Viktor padded across the sand feeling very pleased with himself. With a flick of his wand, he lit the fat candles he'd placed in the sand earlier. A wind-shielding charm kept them from blowing out in the sea-scented breeze, and rocks weighed down the corners of the blanket he'd spread across the sand. He sat down and opened the basket. He placed two crystal goblets, purchased earlier that day, on the blanket and set a bottle of chilled champagne beside them.
Last night had been amazing, wonderful, and everything he could have dreamed of. It had also been extraordinarily spontaneous. Tonight he wanted to give her romance; he wanted to be the fairy-tale prince for her. She deserved everything, every little effort that a man could possibly make.
Skeptically, he looked at the scene he'd prepared for her. Candlelight, check. Champagne, check. Moonlight, the sound of waves, check and check. Food that was not ramen, check. What was missing?
Flowers. He didn't have flowers. What would she like best? The fairy-tale prince would have provided a dozen red roses in a sparkling vase. Somehow, with everything else so perfect, so typical, Viktor wanted something a little different—still suited for dream material, but a little less cliché. He waved his wand over the sand, and some of the grains became white daisy petals, scattering themselves over the blanket. Perfect.
He leaned back on his elbows to watch the house. In a moment, her silhouette appeared in the doorway. He watched her follow the pebbled path that led down to the secret beach. He knew the moment she saw him, and his haven of daydreams.
"Viktor!" she gasped. He smiled, pleased to have surprised her.
"Do you like it, svetlina?" he asked softly, standing up, taking her hand.
"It's beautiful! You did this while I was changing?"
"Some. Most of it I did vhile you vere vorking." Her caramel eyes were shining at him.
"I love it, Vitya. You didn't have to do anything like this, though, you know."
"I vanted to. Vanted to see your eyes shine for me, vanted to hear you gasp vith happiness." He pulled her into his arms, whispering into her hair, close to her ear. "Hermione, last night vas beautiful and perfect, and I vould never replace it vith anything. But I vanted to giff you romance and daydreams and fairy tales. You deserve to be treated as my princess."
"Thank you," she whispered, in a quavering voice, "I'm touched, Vitya, that you care so much."
"This is nothing. I love you more than…than stars in the sky, than sand on the beach. I haff alvays loved you and I know I alvays vill. I…" He paused, giving himself a moment to think. "I seem to haff loved you in numberless forms, numberless times, in life after life, in age after age forever."
"Rabindranath Tagore, right?"
He nodded. "Yes, is a quote, but he says it better than I can."
"Where do you get all these quotes?"
"I read. I read many books in English vhen ve vere together in school, so I could speak about them vith you. I kept reading them after I got your last letter, because I hoped someday I vould find you again."
She raised her lips to his, murmuring against his mouth, "Thank you for not giving up on me."
"You are move than velcome, svetlina," he answered, and his stomach growled. She laughed, and with a smile, he said, "So much for fairy tales."
"I don't expect perfection; never think I do. All I want from you is love and life and happiness, and it'll never be perfect, but it will be paradise. Now, let's feed your poor growling tummy, assuming you really do have something besides ramen noodles in there."
"Hey, I like ramen noodles."
"Only because they're quick and easy."
"True. But I haff steak for us tonight."
Her eyes were wide. "You really did go all out. Please tell me you didn't cook it yourself?"
He gave her a haughty look. "Of course I did. Stole a couple of spells from Mayka instead of using stove, but I made it myself. I vould not be Prince Charming if I didn't."
"I doubt you could be anyone else."
He felt his face pinken slightly, glad it was dark enough she couldn't tell. He uncorked the champagne and fed her steak, chocolate-dipped strawberries and soft, slow kisses. Soon the food was gone and they were snuggled on the blanket in one another's arms. He reached up and let her hair loose from the bun she'd worn to work.
She was fingering his shirt buttons. "Would you be cold if you take this off?"
"Not if you keep me varm," he murmured in her ear, and her fingers went to work on them.
"Want to know a secret?"
"Sure, vhat?"
"After my first trip to Bulgaria, when we sat in the sand and talked, I had a slightly naughty and very vivid fantasy about you."
"Oh, really?" he asked, voice taking on that confident masculine tone a man uses when he knows he is passionately wanted.
"Mmhmm…making love in the sand," she said. Her voice was cocky but her eyes were shy. She was so beautiful, so uncertain. How could she still wonder if he wanted her, when he'd made love to her over and over again last night, and he grew hard from just watching her walk into the room, like some sixteen-year-old kid? Sweet, sweet girl. He pushed a curl back from her cheek and kissed where it had been, tracing her jaw back toward her ear.
"Vould you like to?" he murmured, voice low and gravelly.
Her arms circled his neck and her lips met his, passionately, unyielding. It was a kiss to drown in. He broke away and pulled his old sweatshirt over her head, unhooked her bra, and cradled her tenderly in his hands. So perfect, such pale, creamy skin, with a freckle here and there, almost too pale to call freckles. He would love someday to search her thoroughly and count every non-freckle freckle on her body. Her lips recaptured his, becoming more insistent, more needy, and his thoughts started swirling like smoke in his head.
When they were both wearing only flushed skin, he grabbed her hand and pulled her down to the wet sand and the lapping waves, cool in the night air. With moonlight shining on the daisy petals tangled in her hair, and moist sand clinging to her curves, Viktor watched her. His heart was so full he thought he'd burst from it and achieve nirvana right here, tonight. He watched as her eyes went from shining pools of love to deep caramelized need and then passed into passionate, beautiful euphoria.
Afterwards, lying in the sand, learning how to breathe all over again, Viktor knew that in this moment he had everything he ever needed out of life. He pulled his princess into the cool water of the Black Sea to rinse the sand and sex off their bodies, and knew his every fantasy was now reality.
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Hermione woke, cold. Where was she? She curled against Viktor, naked in the sand. His eyes were closed, and she could hear that little snore she loved. Gently, she shook him. "Vitya, wake up. We need to go inside."
After a moment, and a few more urges, he opened his eyes. "Vhy?"
"I'm cold. We can't sleep on the beach."
"Sure ve can." His eyes roved across her body, skin rough with goosebumps. He smiled slowly, wickedly. "I bet I could varm you up."
She laughed, loving the attention, feeling as though she were the most desirable woman in the world. Before these nights with Viktor, it had been years since she'd made love throughout the night, and she'd never felt like this before, like she was Aphrodite and he couldn't resist her.
"Only if you promise to summon a blanket for me afterwards; I left my wand inside."
In the moonlight she could see the primal male confidence fill his dark eyes again. His rough hands began their exploration again, softly caressing her body, already filled with a pleasant ache from the night's previous adventures.
Later, curled under a blanket, she drifted asleep in Viktor's arms, in the sand, under the stars. This new world was full of things she'd never done before, and she was thrilled to experience them all.