Danielle Steel - Remembrance

“I don't know what you're talking about, and I don't think I want to hear it.” Serena turned away to make a pot of coffee. She knew exactly what Marcella meant.

“He loves you, Serena.” The voice was old and wise, and Serena wheeled to face her.

“I love him too. Enough not to destroy his life. He broke off his engagement with that American girl. He seems to think he had good reason to do it, and maybe he was right. But I will never marry him, Celia. Never. It would be wrong. And it would ruin his life. His family is very important to him, and they would hate me. They wouldn't understand anything about me. So, no matter what he tells you, or what you think, the answer is never, Marcella. I've told it to him, and I'm telling it to you. I want you to understand that. You have to accept it, just as I do, and I have accepted it, so I think you can too.”

“You're crazy, Serena. His parents would be lucky to have you.”

“I'm sure they wouldn't think so.” She could still hear Pattie's words. She handed Marcella her coffee and went back to her own little cubicle to unpack.

After that, life was peaceful all the way through November. She and Brad were happier than they had ever been, Marcella settled down, and it was as though nothing could ever go wrong with the world. She and Brad shared a private Thanksgiving dinner. He taught her how to make a turkey and stuff it. He had commandeered some chestnuts, and some desperately rare cranberry jelly, and Marcella made sweet potatoes and peas and creamed onions for them, and together they had a rare feast. It was Serena's first Thanksgiving dinner.

“To the first of many.” He toasted her happily with a glass of white wine with their dinner, while secretly she knew that this would be her last. Within the year he would surely be transferred home, and moments like this would not come again. Now and then she thought of that time and wished that she would become pregnant, but Brad was determinedly careful that nothing like that would happen, so Serena knew that when B.J. left Rome, that would be the end of it. There would be no Brad, no baby to remember him by, only memories like this one to keep her warm.

“What were you thinking about just then?” he asked her as they lay in front of the fire and he watched the brilliant emerald eyes.

“You.”

“What about me?”

“That I love you.” … And I'll miss you unbearably when you're gone.… She never said it, but the thoughts were always there.

“If you really loved me,” he began to tease and wheedle and she grinned, “you'd marry me.” It was a game they often played, but he knew he had months to convince her, at least he thought so, until the next day.

He sat at his desk, the envelope on the floor, staring at his orders, and fighting back a strong desire to cry. The idyll in Rome was over. He was being transferred. In seven days.

“You can't be.” Her face had gone pale, just as his had when he read it. “So quickly? I thought they always gave a month's notice.”

“Not always. Not this time. I leave for Paris a week from today.” At least it was only Paris. He could come back to see her. She could come to see him. But it wasn't all that easy, and they wouldn't have the normal routine of their life anymore, their nights in the big canopied bed, the early mornings together, the constant looks and glances throughout the day, and the stolen moments when he came to her quarters after lunch just for a kiss, for a word, for a hello, a joke, just to see her and feel her and hear her … they would have none of that, and as he thought of it he wondered how he would live. He looked at her frankly and asked her for the ten thousandth time. “Will you marry me and come with me?” Slowly she shook her head.

“I can't marry you and you know why.”

“Even now?”

“Even now.” She tried to smile bravely at him. “Couldn't you just take me along as your personal maid?” He looked angry as she said it and he shook his head as though to shake off what she had just said.

“That's not even funny. I'm serious, Serena. For chrissake, realize what's happening. It's all over for us. I'm leaving. I'm going to Paris a week from today, and God knows where after that, probably back to the States. And I can't take you with me unless we're married. Will you please come to your senses and marry me so we don't lose the one thing we both care about?”

“I can't do it.” There was a lump in her throat the size of a fist as she said it, and that night after he fell asleep in her arms she cried for hours on her side of the bed. She had to let him go, for his sake. She knew that she had to, if she really loved him, and she did, but she knew that it would be the hardest task of her life to peel her heart from his. She steeled herself for it daily, but when the last night came, she felt such a terror in her heart at the thought of losing him that she didn't know if she could bear it. For days Marcella had been hounding her, tormenting her, pleading with her, begging, and in his own way B.J. had been doing the same, but Serena was so certain that to marry him would ruin his life that she was unwilling to listen. She knew what she had to do, and however unbearable it was, she would do it, even if she died when he left, it wouldn't matter then. She had nothing left to live for anyway. There would never be a man that she loved as she loved B.J. And knowing that on the last night made it all the more bittersweet as she held him and stroked him, and smoothed a gentle hand across his hair, wanting to engrave the moment forever in her memory, as a way of holding on to him.

“Serena?” She had thought he was sleeping, but his voice was a whisper in the canopied bed and she leaned forward to see his face.

“Yes, my love?”

“I love you so much … I will always love you … I could never love anyone else like I love you.”

“Nor I, Brad.”

“Will you write to me?” There were tears in his eyes as he asked her. He had finally accepted that he was going to leave Rome alone.

“Of course I will. Always.” Always. Forever. The promises of a lifetime, which she knew only too well would dim in time. One day he would marry and he would forget, he would want to forget then, and it would finally be over between them. But she knew that for her it would never be over. She would never forget him. “Will you write to me?” There were tears in her eyes. There always was the threat of tears this past week, for both of them.

“Of course I will. But I'd rather take you with me.”

“In your pocket perhaps, or a secret compartment, or a suitcase. …” She smiled down at him and kissed the end of his nose. “Paris is so pretty, you're going to love it.”

“You're coming to visit in two weeks, aren't you? I ought to be able to get the papers for you as soon as I get there.” She was going to spend a weekend with him in his quarters if it could be arranged, and he had made her promise that she would come often, as often as she could. And he had told her to bring Marcella. He didn't want her traveling alone on the train. But it would be impossible for both of them to leave together, she reminded him. One of them had to stay behind and work at the palazzo. He had nodded then. For Brad the past week had sped by in a fog, and by the morning of his departure he felt drained. He sat up in bed before sunrise, and looked at Serena, lying in the canopied bed, beneath a vast fan of her silky blond hair. He touched her hair and her face, and her arms and her breasts, and then gently he woke her, and they made love again, and as he held her close to him in their bed he realized that he had just made love to her for the last time in Rome. In two hours he would be leaving, and all they would have left were the occasional weekends they would share in Paris, before he would eventually be shipped back to the States. As he held her close to him she felt him swell and hunger for her again and gently she touched him, at first with her fingers, and then with her deft tongue. She had learned a great deal with Brad in their bed of love, but most of it had come from her heart, or from instinct, as she sought to bring him pleasure and to give herself to him in every possible way. And so one last time he moaned softly and ached with the pleasure of her touch, of her kiss, of their longing for each other, and he pulled himself from her mouth and entered her again. It was she who realized then what had happened, and hoped that his last gift to her would be a son.