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Sylvie barely noticed, she was so shocked. ‘What are you doing?’
His hands were on his jeans now. He looked grim. ‘I’m trying to prove to you that I’ll do whatever it takes to make you trust in me.’
He was starting to undo his top button, and Sylvie realised that he fully intended to strip completely. She put out a shaking hand. ‘Stop.’ And then she shook her head. ‘Why...?’
Arkim dropped his hands, and now he looked bleak. ‘Because I need to show you that I’m willing to bare myself totally for you. And that if you wanted me to stand in front of Notre Dame and do it, I would. I need you to know that I won’t ever judge you again. I’m proud of you, and of everything you’ve achieved with such innate dignity and pride. You shame me. Everything I’ve been aiming for my whole life is empty. Meaningless. Without you.’
Sylvie was struck dumb.
He seared her alive with the intensity in his dark gaze. ‘Don’t you get it yet? I love you... But it took me a really long time to understand it because I’ve never loved anyone, so I didn’t know what it felt like...and I’m sorry.’
To her absolute shock Arkim proceeded to get down on one knee in front of her. He took something out of his pocket. A small velvet box. He opened it up and took something out, held it up between his fingers. She could see that his hand was trembling.
He took her hand in his and said, ‘Sylvie Devereux, I know I’ve given you every reason in the world to hate me...but will you please consent to be my wife? Because I love you, and without you I’m just an arrogant, uptight prat.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘Whatever it is you want to do in this life I will support you, and I will take a thousand blows for you if that’s what comes my way. Because you’re mine to protect and cherish and love, and I pledge to do this for as long as I have breath in my body.’
Sylvie felt dizzy, anchored to the earth only by Arkim’s hand wrapped around hers. She wasn’t even looking at the ring, glinting with a green flash of colour in her peripheral vision. She wanted to believe...so badly. And then she realised that she was just as guilty as he of wanting to protect herself. She had to trust or she’d never move on from her old hurts.
She spoke with a rush. ‘I’m not really taking Pierre’s offer... I just said that to try and make you see how inappropriate I was for you. I’m only performing tonight as a favour, because we’re stuck for an act. My modern dance teacher is putting together a company, here in Paris, and he wants me to be a part of it—as one of their lead dancers. I won’t be taking my clothes off, but I still won’t be perfect.’
He smiled a crooked smile. ‘You are perfect. If you want to ride naked on a horse through the streets of Paris then I’ll take off all my clothes too and join you.’
Another voluble sigh came from someone nearby. Sylvie ignored it.
Arkim’s hand gripped hers. ‘I just want you to be happy...’
And finally it sank in, and spread through her whole body like a warm glow, lighting up the dark corners that had been filled with pain and uncertainty for a long time.
Sylvie realised that Arkim was looking a little strained... He was still waiting for her answer. Unsure.
‘Yes,’ she said softly, her heart swelling. ‘Yes, I’ll marry you.’ She got down on her knees and faced him, touching his face, tracing his mouth. She looked at him and said shakily, ‘I love you so much... I think I’ve loved you for ever. And I knew it the moment I saw you, even though I couldn’t understand how...’
For a second Arkim looked stunned, as if he truly hadn’t known what she would say. Then she felt him push the ring on her finger, and glanced down to see a huge emerald flanked by smaller blue sapphires and diamonds. Like her eyes.
She reached for him just as he reached for her, their mouths fusing, bodies pressed close enough to hurt.
And then a very loud and obvious cough from nearby made Sylvie jerk in Arkim’s arms. The theatre and their surroundings filtered back into her consciousness as if she were coming out of a particularly delicious dream.
She looked around to see a sea of faces and a lot of suspiciously shiny eyes. Pierre, however, looked familiarly stern. But she could see the glint of affection in his expression.
He eyeballed Arkim. ‘If you’ve quite finished with my dancer, Mr Al-Sahid, I have a theatre to run and a show to put on in less than an hour...’
Arkim had a tight grip on Sylvie’s hips and he was still unashamedly half naked. Something Sylvie was becoming more and more burningly aware of. The ring he’d put on her finger felt heavy and solid. A happy weight.
Arkim, totally unfazed by Pierre, looked at Sylvie. ‘There’s nothing I want more than to take you home right now...but do you want to do the show?’
The Arkim she’d first met might have carried her out of here over his shoulder. Or paid Pierre to release her.
Sylvie looked between the men and then back to Arkim. Her voice was husky when she said, ‘Yes, I’d like to do it. It’s to be my last performance, and it’s thanks to Pierre I got a place with the modern dance company.’ Sylvie grinned. ‘He only offered me the bigger role because he knew I’d say no and that it was the push I needed to move on...’
Arkim looked at the older man, his eyes suspiciously bright. He stood up and, bringing Sylvie with him, reached out to shake the man’s hand. ‘Thank you for taking care of her—and for seeing her potential.’
Now Pierre looked suspiciously emotional. Sylvie fought back her own tears and pulled away from Arkim. She had to finish getting ready. He let her go with a look that told her he’d be in the front row, waiting for her. For ever.
Just before Sylvie went out of earshot, though, she thought she heard Pierre say hopefully, ‘Mr Al-Sahid, are you sure you don’t have any dance experience...?’
EPILOGUE
THE PRIEST’S EYES widened as he took in the spectacle approaching down the aisle. There was the slim figure of the bride, dressed from head to toe in white satin and lace, her face obscured by a gauzy veil. Her arm was tucked into the arm of the young woman who was giving her away. She was blonde and very pretty, dressed in dusky pink, and—the priest frowned—very familiar. Because, he realised, he’d watched her come down the aisle dressed as a bride only a few short months before. To stand with the same groom.
