§ § § - August 25, 1996
Leslie stopped right there; her stomach went into a panicked free-fall, and the feeling radiated from the look she sent Roarke. He gave her a brief smile, meant to reassure, and nodded once, stepping back without a word and relinquishing her to Christian.
"Hello, Leslie," the prince said without expression or vocal inflection. She dipped her head, face now a frozen mask, looking over his shoulder.
Ironically, the dance was a waltz; the music seemed now to grate on Leslie's ears. For a few seconds neither spoke, until Christian finally asked plaintively, "Am I so hateful to you now, Leslie Rose?"
She winced inwardly but managed to maintain tight control over her icy expression. She couldn't think of an answer, so didn't bother to give him one. Despite herself, her heart was tripping crazily at his proximity; she was afraid she might faint from sheer sensory overload. His touch, his scent, his voice were all precisely as she remembered them, precisely as they still haunted her dreams most nights.
When she didn't speak, Christian tried again. "You seem to be doing well."
"Yes," she said tersely, without looking at him.
Their dance continued in this vein, with Leslie studiously watching other dancers around them, looking everywhere but at Christian despite his attempts to discreetly punch through her frozen façade. Eventually, with the waltz nearing its end, he grew desperate. "Leslie, for fate's sake, will you please look at me?" he begged.
His tone of voice surprised her into doing as he asked, and she was very startled to see that he looked drawn and tense, as though he might snap at any moment. Once he had her direct attention, he took instant advantage. "It's imperative that I speak with you in private, Leslie," he said, voice low and insistent. "I beg you: give me a chance to explain."
"What's to explain?" she demanded, her fragile mask cracking at last. "I know what happened—I saw your brother's press conference on television, showing off you and your wife for all the world to see. What more is there?"
"A great deal more," Christian shot back immediately. "I deserve the chance to tell you my side of the story. Can't you see fit to allow me that?"
His genuine anguish got to her, despite her best attempts to ward off the effects of his pleading, and she caved in, cursing herself mentally. "All right…I'll meet you outside." She broke abruptly away from him with perfect timing as the music ended and the dancers began to applaud, and hurriedly wove her way through the throngs till she reached the ladies'-room door. To her enormous relief, no one else was there, and she gave her reflection a thorough once-over, leaning on a sink for support. Am I crazy? she wondered anxiously. Do I have the strength to listen to him making excuses? Can I stand to be so close to him without wanting to give in and fall into his arms and let him fool me again?
But her sense of fair play wouldn't let her duck out on him, and a couple of minutes later she emerged from the restroom and resolutely headed for the main entry. No one impeded her progress, and shortly she stood in the middle of a small, very old orange grove at the side of the opera house. The trees no longer bore fruit, but they were evidence of some secret history that gave tantalizing hints of a time before this was Fantasy Island, when perhaps some ambitious colonist had hoped to make a fortune here. She thought she could still smell a citrus tang in the air.
"Leslie…" she heard Christian's voice then, and looked nervously around to see him approaching her at a half-run. Moonlight silvered his form, gleaming off his glossy hair, as he stopped before her and gazed hungrily at her, as though he wanted to touch her but didn't dare. "Thank you for this."
"Just get on with it," she said, more brusquely than she had intended.
Christian cleared his throat. "Leslie, I was tricked," he said without preamble. "My brother took me completely by surprise when he informed me that I was tied to a marriage contract that my father drew up with Marina's, six months after Johanna's death. I never knew about it until Arnulf called me while I was here on the island last month. Apparently my father signed my name to the document, despite my being of age at the time. When Arnulf told me about it, I was incensed, and I demanded that he get me out of it. I told him not to contact me again unless it was to tell me that the contract had been voided, and then I hung up on him. I meant every word of it, Leslie, but Arnulf didn't take me seriously. He never has and I expect he never will. He ignored me and proceeded to marry me to Marina by proxy. I found out almost as soon as I arrived at the castle."
She stared at him with a new sense of betrayal. "Why didn't you tell me about this?"
"I never expected to actually have to deal with it," Christian said. "It was a horrific shock to go in there and tell Arnulf my plans, only to have him blow them to dust by telling me I was already married to Marina. He decreed that I wouldn't be allowed out of the country till the marriage had been consummated."
The implication of this hit Leslie with a force that induced nausea. "Well, I see you're here," she said bitterly, turning away from him.
"Between you and me and Marina, my Leslie Rose…it hasn't been," Christian said with quiet urgency. "She knows all about you, my darling, and what's more, she has given us her blessing. You see, Marina is dying. She has a terminal illness and doesn't expect to live more than a few years at most. She tells me it's hereditary, and for this reason she won't risk bearing children for fear of passing it on. She refused as well to have marital relations—she just won't take the chance of becoming pregnant." Christian raked a hand through his hair and blew out his breath. "She was honest with me, Leslie, enough that I took the plunge and told her about you. And that's when she astonished me by saying she already knew. I don't know how. I know only that she told me she was aware that I was in love with someone else, and that it was all right with her. We came to an understanding, and conspired to tell my brother that we had consummated the marriage when in reality we had done no such thing. Since Marina backed me up, he believed it. Then I told him in no uncertain terms that I wanted our wedding reception held here on Fantasy Island, because I knew it was the only possible way I could get to you." He leaned toward her, as if magnetized. "If you still love me, Leslie Rose—and I hope you do—will you wait for me? With my brother and her father watching the two of us, we can't annul the marriage or get a divorce, but she has accepted the situation and the fact of her death. For that matter, she's so serene about it, she frightens me a little. One day I'll be free once again, and that's the day I'll come back to you. Please, my darling, tell me you'll be waiting."
Leslie said nothing, still facing away from him, huddled into herself. She wanted to believe him, but she was too wary, too afraid of losing another gamble. She stared stonily into the night without speaking.
Desperation liberally laced his voice when he spoke again. "Please…I know it sounds morbid, but I need to know you'll be here." When she didn't reply, he released a frustrated noise that was half groan, half grunt. "You leave me no choice." With that, he abruptly tugged her into his arms and kissed her with rough intent.
She could have resisted anything but that. Christian's kisses had always been her weakness, leaving her breathless and dazed, her world reduced only to him. It was no different now. She collapsed against him, responding fervently, and he instantly gentled the kiss, clutching her closely against him. For a stolen few moments they forgot the dismal situation in which they were trapped, aware of nothing but each other.
But when he finally drew his head back, Leslie's eyes glittered with the tears that she had stubbornly refused to shed all these weeks. His own eyes welled up as if in sympathy, and he said, "I'm going to e-mail you."
"No," she whispered brokenly.
"You can't stop me," Christian replied, lowering his head till his lips brushed against hers as he spoke. "After all, I'm the one who created your e-mail in the first place, and I know your address, Leslie Rose." He kissed her again before she could protest further, and once more her senses wheeled out of her control. One of her tears found its way past her closed eyelids and spilled down her cheek; when they tasted it in their kiss, they broke apart.
Defeated at last, she choked, "I love you…so help me, Christian Carl Tobias Enstad, I love you so much…" The last of her control disintegrated and she wrenched away from him, fleeing into the darkness, sobbing.
"Leslie!" Christian shouted and started after her, but found himself unexpectedly restrained by a hand on his arm.
"Let her go, Christian," Roarke advised quietly but firmly.
He swung back to face Roarke, his frantic despair etched in his features. "How on earth can I convince her that I'm telling the truth?" he cried.
"She believes you," Roarke assured him. "If she didn't, she would never have admitted that she is still in love with you. But she's faced as much as she can possibly take, and she needs time to regain her equilibrium. Leave Leslie her dignity."
Christian sagged as if the entire planet had been placed on his back, and he nodded, head down. "Yes…I suppose I must put on my mask once more and rejoin Marina." He lifted his head and stared up at Roarke. "Thank you, Mr. Roarke, for giving me the chance to tell Leslie my side of the story. I am more grateful to you than you can know."
Roarke smiled and gave a slow nod of acknowledgement. "Go back to your wife," he suggested gently. He stood watching Christian trudge toward the opera-house entrance; after a moment's self-indulgence, the prince stopped, straightened and lifted his head, visibly donning the false stoicism that had become his public face, before continuing forward.