A good meal, and everything looks brighter.

When they climbed over the last fence, David thought to ask, "How is your hand?"

"Okay." Milla absently scratched her injury and David took her hand in his.

"It's kind of red."

"It's all right."

"And what happened here?" he pointed to a long, fresh scrape on her palm.

"Oh, nothing. I still can't feel much with it. Sometimes I scrape it and don't notice because it doesn't hurt. I wasn't very careful the other day."

"Why is it streaky?"

"I guess maybe it could be infected," Milla said, unconcerned. She looked longingly at the snack stand. "Do you think we could get a bite to eat?"

"Yes. If you wash up, I'll take you for real food."

"Really? Where?"

"Wherever you want. But you need to be reasonably clean." David frowned at her. She'd been gone for more than a month. Where had she eaten in all that time? He nearly asked, but then didn't. Instead he nodded to the washrooms and said, "I'll meet you back here in a few minutes."

When Milla finally came out, she looked a little better. Still pretty dirty, but most of the dirt was on her clothes, not her skin. She'd dampened her hair, so it was reasonably tidy, and when they got in the car, she searched around for something to tie it back with. "What do you want to eat?" David asked.

"Everything," Milla said, confirming David's suspicions. There was a small restaurant on the way to Sorrento; they got a table outside, so people wouldn't stare at Milla's clothes.

She ordered a three-course meal and ate an entire loaf of bread before her pasta arrived. David had some pasta and watched while she devoured everything but the tablecloth. When she was finished, she sat back, dazed with food and wine and he barely got her back in the car before she fell asleep.

****************

Expect the unexpected.

"Nikita? Michael?" Sara slowly made her way to the interior courtyard, checking the kitchen and laundry room as she passed. They hadn't been on the patio and Dulcie, who was manning the front desk, hadn't seen them either. It was nearly 4. Teatime. Where would they take tea?

Sara hoped Nikita wasn't having another attack. She'd had one the other day that lasted longer than any of the others and left her completely exhausted.

"Nikita?"

Sara faintly heard water splashing. She put her hand on the courtyard door, wincing as another cramp knifed through her. When she got her breath back, she knocked on the door. "It's I. Sara. Are you there?"

After a moment, the door opened. Michael was drying his hands on a towel, but when he saw her pale face, his eyes narrowed and he reached out. "Come on. Sit down. Breathe. Remember the breathing exercises?" He suddenly looked panicked. "Do they teach those anymore?"

"Yes," Sara said shakily.

"Good. Sit there and breathe. I'll be right with you."

Sara sat as still as she could, concentrating on her breath. The bathtub had been pulled to the middle of the courtyard and Nikita was in it up to her neck. By her side was a chair and a small table covered with sandwiches and tea things. Nikita must not have felt well, Sara thought, so Michael had taken tea with her while she was in the tub. Plus, wet soap was too much for her to grip onto. It slid out of her hands. She either used liquid or needed help. Or maybe, Sara thought, looking at Nikita's tranquil face, Nikita had felt all right but Michael had been mother henning her again and Nikita had given in and allowed him to draw her a bath. Somehow, that made Sara want to cry, and when he went back to the bathtub and helped Nikita out, handed her a towel and helped her into her clothes, Sara felt a stab of longing for her own husband.

"All right, Sara?" Michael called out, and Sara nodded.

Nikita carefully picked her way over the uneven stones so she wouldn't trip over her own feet. She put a cool, damp hand on Sara's arm. "When did they start?"

"About half an hour ago. We still have loads of time. I think."

"Well, why chance it?" Nikita said soothingly. "We'll run over to the hospital just in case."

"All right," Sara said gratefully. "Sammy --"

"I'll call him," Michael said, reaching for his mobile phone.

"First call Andy," Sara said quickly. "He'll need to know ..."

Michael placed the calls while Nikita and Sara gathered their things. Then he put both women in the car and started down the mountain to the hospital.

******************

If you can, help.

Thank goodness it's Wednesday, Milla thought, as they walked across the patio of the Lucia.

It was deserted. On a Friday, the area would have been thick with guests, all of whom she would have shocked in her current state of filth. Milla yawned again and hugged Dulcie hello.

"Here she is, bella bambina," Dulcie crooned, crushing her close. "My prayers to St. Jude and St. Christopher finally are answered. We've been missing you so, Milla. Naughty child, to run away like that."

"Is Mami here?"

"They've gone to the hospital. Mrs. Sanderson is having her baby," Dulcie said, smiling and brushing Milla's hair out of her eyes. "I'm waiting to hear from Mr. Sanderson or your father. They just left about an hour ago."

"Oh. I better go --" Milla started for the door, but David stopped her.

"Why don't you take a quick shower first," he suggested. "I'll call the hospital and see what's going on. We may need to stay here if Sam is able to get a flight in tonight. Someone will need to pick him up from the train station."

"All right." Milla disappeared into the family quarters.

The phone rang. David picked it up. "Hotel Lucia."

A pause. Then, a woman's voice said, "I'm looking for ... that is, I understand Sara Sanderson has gone into the hospital to deliver her baby?"

"That's right. Who's speaking?"

"This is her mother-in-law, Elena Sanderson. Do you have the number of the hospital? I need to call Sara's mother and tell her it's time. She's too far away to come, but she'll want to send flowers, so if it's not too much trouble --"

"I have the address and phone number right here." David rattled it off, then said, "Are you coming down? Because I'll be happy to reserve a room for you, if you like."

This time, the pause was longer. "I don't know," Mrs. Sanderson said uncertainly. "I'm not altogether sure a reservation is a good idea. Too much family can be a little ... stressful, you know. I'll need to talk to my son before I decide."

"Okay. If you decide to come, you can stay here, or there's another hotel not far away. We often use it for overflow. Do you want the name and number of it? Hey, there's another one that's closer to the hospital, too, let me find the number for it. That way you'll have a choice. You may need it, too, since it's holiday season here."

"Well ... thank you."

David gave her the numbers and told her which train she should take, then the woman asked hesitantly, "I don't suppose ... are any of the Samuelles there?"

"Just Milla, but she's ... unavailable. Everyone else has gone to the hospital."

She sounded relieved. "Just as well. Thank you for your help."

"No problem." David hung up the phone and immediately dialed Mr. Samuelle's mobile.

Busy.

He dialed Andy's mobile.

Turned off.

Finally, in desperation, he dialed Sam's number.

Busy.

So, Sam and Michael were talking to one another and Andy must be working. How fast did first babies come, anyway?

"Milla!" David called. "Get a move on! We need to get to the hospital."

******************

Apologize when you're wrong.

" -- fine," Michael was saying into his mobile, when he was attacked from behind by skinny suntanned arms that wrapped around his waist. He grabbed the arms, twisted her around and smiled. "Milla!"

"Hi." She hugged him tightly and Michael put an arm around her.

"Milla just got in, Sam," he informed Sam on the phone, and Milla stood on Michael's feet.

"Hi, Sammy," she called, and heard a tinny reply.

"Yes, I'll call when I know something. We'll see you in a few hours," Michael said to Sam, and disconnected, tucking the phone into his pocket. "When did you get here?" he asked Milla.

"Just a while ago."

Father and daughter looked at each other evenly, until Milla dropped her eyes. "I'm sorry, Michael."

"It's all right, Milla," Michael said mildly, palming her head and pulling her to his side. "I'm just glad you're back. Is everything ... all right?"

"Yes. I'm a stupid fool."

"Well, we're all stupid fools sometimes. When I was 21, I was blowing up things. Extremely stupid and very foolish." Michael led her the waiting room.

"What kind of things?"

"Post offices, banks." He shrugged. "And don't get me started on the things your mother did when she was 21. So, you see, being a stupid fool is all relative."

"You think so?" Milla asked doubtfully.

"Mmmm. Where did you go?"

"Pompeii."

"Ah. Did David come for you?"

"Yes," Milla said, puzzled. "How did you know?"

"It was a logical guess."

"Oh." Milla sat down in one of the molded plastic chairs and looked around. "Where's Mami?"

"In with Sara. Where's David?" Michael squatted down beside her, his elbows resting on his knees.

"He just dropped me off. Said Dulcie needed the evening off and he'd stay at the Lucia in case anyone else called about Sara." She gave Michael a small smile. "He left me these. In case I saw something nasty and fainted." She pulled out a pocketful of lollipops, and Michael smiled.

From behind them, a hesitant voice said, "Milla?"

Milla twisted around. Her mother stood uncertainly behind Michael. She looked tired and ill and suddenly Milla burst into tears. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Hush, Milla," Nikita hugged Milla, then scooted her over so she held her on her lap. "It's all right. It was a nasty thing to do to you, lying for all those years."

"I love you. I never should have left," Milla sobbed, her arms tight around Nikita's neck.

"Well, it's never good to run away from troubles," Nikita started, then Michael caught her eye and she saw his lips twitch. "Although, I have to admit, I've run away from troubles a time or two, myself."

"Why?" Milla sniffed and held out her hand; Michael sighed, produced a handkerchief, and waited for Nikita to answer.

"Because I was young and foolish," Nikita smiled, but it was Michael she looked at, not Milla. "And young, foolish women do young, foolish things. The trick is to learn from your mistakes and not repeat them."

"How?"

"You grow up, baby girl," Nikita said gently, smoothing Milla's cheek.

Milla swiped her nose again and got up. "I thought I was grown up."

"You're getting there," Nikita smiled. "Would you like to go see Sara?"

"Yes."

"Second door to the right."

"Okay." She hesitated. "Is there blood?"

"Not yet," Nikita assured her. Milla got off her mother's lap and walked down the hall, one hand in her pocket that had the candy in it.

Michael slid into the seat next to Nikita. "How are you?"

"All right. Ready to get this over with. You?"

He took her hand, careful to press her palm against his, since her fingertips were numb. "Being a father is hard work."

"Mmmm."

"You have to make a lot of phone calls and calm down hysterical relatives. And you have to be wise."

"Mmmm. It's not all ugly ties and lumpy art projects," Nikita pointed out, reminding him of all the Fathers' Day presents Milla had given him over the years.

"It certainly isn't," agreed Michael. He kissed her hand, then brushed her knuckles back and forth across his lips. "You know, there's a good chance Elena may show up in the next few days. She'll want to see the grandchild."

"Mmmm."

"Do you mind, Nikita?"

She gave him a speculative look. "Are you going to ditch me and Milla and run off with her?"

"Nikita, no," he said, looking shocked. "Where would you get an idea --"

"Are you going to feel guilty and decide to join a monastery or something equally asinine?"

"No --"

"Will you stay right with me through this transplant thing?"

"Yes! --"

"Could I --" she glanced around at the busy waiting room, leaned closer and whispered something in his ear that made his face pale and his eyes dilate.

"Absolutely. Whenever you want to," he said.

"Will you say, 'Hullo, Elena, it's nice to see you again, you've done a great job raising your children, hope you have a nice life' without offering to do anything else for her? Like pay for therapy or --"

"She can pay for her own therapy," Michael growled. "I certainly left her enough money to do so."

Nikita cocked her head. "If you touch her, you'll be sorry."

"I'm already sorry and she's not even here. The only person I want to touch is you. Particularly if you ... ummmm ... do what you said you'd like to do. Which you can. Anytime. I won't mind at all."

Nikita smiled and she kissed him. "I do love you, Michael. More now than I did when we were younger. I love your steadfastness and your loyalty and the way you love me and Milla. I love your sense of humor, which, I have to say, was sadly lacking in our younger days."

"Well, there wasn't much humorous in our lives."

"Mmmm. That being said, just remember: If you stray, I'll kill you."

"You're the one who refused to marry me --"

"Which is a good thing, considering the whole polygamist issue."

"That wouldn't have come up. I'm dead, remember? Come to think of it, you are too."

Nikita kissed him again. "You look pretty good for a dead man, Michael."

"Who said the afterlife was boring?"

"Certainly not me."

*****************

All babies are beautiful.

Fourteen hours later, Michael held his grandson. John Samuel Sanderson.

A grandson. Unbelievable.

So tiny. Dusky. Not as dark as Adam had been as a baby ... though Michael hadn't seen Adam until he was a day or two old. Michael had been on a mission and missed the birth. Until now, he'd never been very sorry about it.

John opened his tiny, tiny mouth and yawned, wrinkling his little nose and squeezing his eyes shut. Then his eyes opened: bright, alert, curious.

Michael glanced up. Sara and Sam were talking quietly. She was still in bed and looked happy, but tired. In the other bed, Nikita was tired, too, but her fatigue was drug induced. She was being sedated for surgery and had insisted on being able to stay with Sara for as long as possible.

Michael quietly moved toward Nikita and bent down, showing her the baby. "Nikita?" he said softly. "Open your eyes if you can."

Nikita's eyes flickered open and focused on the baby. "So little," she breathed, and clumsily moved her hand. Michael took her fingers and put her palm gently on the baby's head. She smiled sleepily and relaxed, and when the nurse came in to take Nikita to surgery, Michael returned the baby to Sam. "I'll be back," he said.

"Of course," Sam agreed, handing the baby to Sara. Tiny hands reached out and Sara smiled.

"He's hungry. Can you --" she started, but Sam pulled the curtain around the bed before she got the rest of her sentence out.

Michael left, remembering how Elena had looked nursing Adam. What would Nikita have ... ?

No. He had more important things to think about now. The transplant should take a few hours. As soon as Sara had delivered, Andy had begun culturing the cells. In just a few hours, he had enough for a transplant. It would take six months for the cells to grow into nerves and a full year for Nikita to be well. But the success rate was high ...

Still worrying about things he couldn't control, Michael went to the waiting room.

***************

Live in sin, repent at leisure.

Nikita dreamed.

Her dreams were nightmares. Section. Madeleine. Operations. Bullets. Blood, always lots of blood, and scores of faceless dead people. She tried to focus on something good to pull her out of the nightmare, but the only thing she could grasp was Michael. And that wasn't good, because in her dream Michael was with Elena and Adam, and Elena was pregnant with another child of Michael's, while Nikita had nothing, not Michael, not a child, nothing. Then, somehow, Milla got into her dreams, but it wasn't her own sweet grown up girl, Milla was just another dead baby in Kosovo because Nikita hadn't gotten to her in time. And while Milla was just a baby in the dream and Nikita was a young operative, Nikita also knew what should have been: that she should have raised Milla and had a new life in Italy.

Thirsty. So thirsty.

"Here you go, open your mouth."

Dark. So dark. Nikita struggled to make sense of where she was. Med Lab? Where was Michael?

"Can you open your eyes?"

Nikita forced her eyes open. Bright light assaulted her, and the cheerful face of a nurse peered at her. "How about some more ice?" Little crushed pieces of ice were forced between Nikita's lips. Cool. Wet. Delicious. Nikita sighed and closed her eyes again.

"Come on. Don't go back to sleep. Wake up."

Nikita felt something around her arm tighten. She opened her eyes again and, making a supreme effort, turned her head. A blood pressure cuff. The last of the ice melted in her mouth, and she croaked, "Michael?"

"Waiting for you in your room. Nervous as a cat, if you don't mind my saying so. Your daughter's waiting, too. I understand your family's had a big day today. Congratulations on your grandson."

Nikita blinked, trying to make sense of the conversation, then gave up.

"All right." The nurse rose, poked another piece of ice in Nikita's mouth, and smiled again. "A few more minutes, then you can go to your room."

Nikita shut her eyes. Had the transplant been successful? Michael will know, she told herself. Michael will know.

Nikita drifted back to sleep. When she woke up, she was in a hospital room. She turned her head; Sara was still in the bed next to her, and she was asleep. In the chair next to Sara was a huge blond man, also asleep and snoring lightly.

"So beautiful," said a woman, and Nikita glanced toward the soft voice.

Elena. It had to be. She was holding Sara's baby and smiling down at it. Next to her was Michael, wearing an almost identical expression on his face. "Doesn't he remind you of Adam?" Elena said, glancing up at Michael.

"Yes," Michael said softly. Michael reached out and touched a finger to the baby's cheek. "A little bigger than Adam was, though."

Elena laughed softly. "Adam made up for it later on. He got his height from you. And his handsome looks."

"Well, I don't know about that."

Elena continued to hold the baby, smiling down at it, then she said to Michael, "Feels strange, doesn't it? Being grandparents? I don't feel old enough to be a grandmother."

"You aren't," Michael assured her.

Elena's lips twitched. "You have to say that. I'm your son's mother. It's in your good interest to keep me happy."

No! Nikita wanted to shriek. It's not! Michael --

"I don't see what I've got to do with it anymore," Michael said mildly. "From all accounts, you're the happiest woman in London."

Elena chuckled. "Who told you that?"

"Your whole damn family. Except your daughter. I've not met her yet. But I expect I probably will," Michael said, sounding resigned.

Elena adjusted the baby, then said slowly, "I have to tell you, Michael, I was not at all pleased to hear you were alive."

"I'm sorry that --"

"I didn't mind about Section. Sam explained it all to me, and I ... well, maybe I don't understand it, but I can accept it. But what I absolutely could not accept," Elena said firmly, "Was for you to come back and tear my family apart."

"I would never --"

"You'd better not." Elena's previous softness was gone and she gave Michael a hard look. "I don't mind sharing my grandchild with you. And I don't mind that my sons have helped Nikita. But if you ever even think of --"

"I won't," Michael said hastily. "I promise."

"Huh." Elena's eyes narrowed, but she accepted his words. "I don't know why I should believe you. After all, you let me think you were dead."

"I explained about that, I couldn't --"

"I know, I know, you couldn't help it. Still." A little grudgingly, Elena said, "We did appreciate the money. It came in handy. Ian wants to pay you back."

"I don't want Ian's money," Michael said. "He doesn't owe me anything. If anything, I owe him."

"Whatever for?"

"Never mind," Michael sighed, then said reluctantly, "I suppose you are wondering about Nikita."

Nikita could have sworn his eyes darted to her; the room was shadowed, but she lowered her eyelids a fraction.

"Well," Elena said, adjusting the baby's blanket. "I guess I did. For about three seconds."

"What do you mean?"

"Michael, it was obvious there was something between you 30 years ago. At the time, I thought it was just ... you know, a close family relationship, like a special cousin. Then I fell in love with Ian."

"What does Ian have to do with it?"

"We have the same kind of bond you and Nikita had. I daresay you still have it."

Michael's eyes narrowed. "My relationship with Nikita doesn't ... bother you?" he asked skeptically.

"I suppose it would be too much to ask whether, while you and I were married, you and she ..."

Michael was silent, and Elena shrugged slightly.

"It doesn't matter, Michael. If I had been in your place and Ian had been there, I wouldn't have been able to stay away from him, either."

"You're being awfully magnanimous about this," Michael said cautiously.

"I can afford to be magnanimous," Elena pointed out. "Our marriage has been over for 30 years. And I'm happy now. You're a possessive man, Michael, but you must understand I will never leave Ian," she said certainly.

"I would never ask you to," Michael said quickly. "Ever."

"Good."

The baby opened his eyes sleepily, and the two grandparents peered at him. "He does look like Adam," Michael said, sounding surprised.

"I thought we already agreed on that," Elena said.

"We did. But I was really just being polite."

"Ah. That's what you were being. I wondered." Elena jiggled the baby, who yawned and closed his eyes again. "Speaking of polite: I met Milla earlier in the waiting room. You've done a nice job raising her, Michael."

"Thank you. Sam and Andy have turned out well." Michael paused, then said truthfully, "In fact, I wonder what would have become of Andy had you not raised him."

"We all wonder that occasionally," Elena said cheerfully. "But the truth is, I had good material to work with. Here." She handed the baby to Michael. "Support his head."

"I remember," Michael said, sounding slightly irritated.

"Well, it's been 32 years. You can forget a lot in 32 years. I'm going to wake my husband and make him take me to the hotel."

"Do that. You're more than welcome to stay at the Lucia."

"Mmm. I'll ask Ian. I do have to tell you, though, he wasn't too keen on coming on this trip. He wanted to see the baby but when he heard you were part of it ..."

"I have my own family," Michael shrugged, snuggling the baby closer. "I don't need his, too."

Elena considered him, then nodded. "Thank you, Michael." She leaned up to brush a kiss across his cheek. Michael jerked back and she raised her eyebrows.

"It's Nikita. She wasn't too ... keen ... on you visiting, either."

Elena shook her head. "Take some advice, Michael: Make an honest woman out of her."

"She is honest."

"You know what I mean."

Michael's eyes narrowed. "I thought you were leaving."

"I am." She leaned over and shook Ian. "Ian? Sweetheart? Come on, darling, let's go to the hotel."

Ian snorted and came awake with a grunt. "I'm not asleep."

"Of course not. But it's getting late and I'm getting tired. And we need to call Indira."

"Oh. Right. Come on, then." Ian rose to his impressive height -- like Andy, he towered over Michael -- and he touched Sara's hand. "Sleep tight, princess," he said softly. Then he nodded to Michael, putting a possessive arm around Elena. "Thanks for taking care of Sara," he said.

"Not a problem," Michael said. Then he held out the baby. "Do you want to tell your grandson goodnight?"

Ian took the baby, who suddenly looked much smaller in his huge hands. "G'night, Sport," Ian crooned. "See you in the morning."

Ian and Elena left, and Michael placed John in his plastic crib next to Sara's bed. He leaned over Nikita, brushed her hair out of her eyes, and kissed her. "How do you feel?"

"Thirsty. How was the transplant?"

"Andy is very positive. He came by when you were asleep."

Michael handed her a cup of water with a straw in it and sat down while she greedily drank. When she was finished, she handed the empty cup to him and asked, "Where's Milla?"

"I sent her home with Sam when you came out of surgery and it was clear that everything was going to be all right. Sam wanted to work on her hand -- it's infected, apparently. She was very tired. Sleeping in Pompeii isn't as romantic as it sounds."

"To me it sounds a lot like camping. That's where she was?"

"Yes." He laced his fingers through hers. "Are you tired?"

"A little. I don't hurt as much as I thought I would."

His lips twitched. "Perhaps it's relative."

"Well, it certainly is better than those attacks. When will they stop?"

"Andy thinks you'll have a few more, but as the new nerves grow and become stronger, they'll replace the damaged ones. Eventually, you'll be pain-free."

"Sounds good to me."

"Me, too." He hesitated, then said, "You heard my conversation with Elena."

"Yes."

She didn't elaborate, and finally Michael said, "So, what do you think?"

Nikita considered. "I think she's right."

"About ...?"

"You have done a good job with Milla. And maybe ... it is time to make an honest woman of me."

Michael's eyes narrowed. "Every year I ask you to marry me. Every year you turn me down."

"I've changed my mind," Nikita explained.

"I see." Michael nodded, then said, "I'm going to forget this conversation ever happened. Clearly, you've still got some of those drugs in your system."

"I'm sober," Nikita grumbled.

"You want to get married." He raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"Yes! Whenever you want. I'm ready."

"Why the change of heart?"

"My heart's never changed," Nikita argued. "Until now, I just never thought it was important."

"What's different now?"

"Elena's married. Sara's married. Why can't I be?"

"I can't think of a single reason," Michael said honestly. "I'll marry you right now if you like."

"You would?"

"Absolutely."

She smiled at him, then yawned. "That seems like it would take a lot of energy. Maybe, instead of getting married right now, you could just climb in here and we could go to sleep."

"I don't think they'd approve of that in this hospital," Michael said, smiling slightly.

"Come on, Michael. We used to do it in Med Lab. Remember?"

"That was different."

"Because you had to be sneaky? I always loved it that you were willing to risk so much just so I could go to sleep without worrying they were going to do something experimental on me. Come on in. Please? You won't hurt me."

"Nikita ..."

"Please?"

Michael sighed, kicked off his shoes and took off his belt. He'd discarded his jacket long ago. "Can you slide over some?"

Nikita moved over a few inches, and Michael gingerly moved her over until he could stretch out beside her. She smelled of fear and sweat and blood from her surgery and Michael pulled her hair off her neck and kissed her above her bandage. "I'm so tired," Nikita sighed.

"You've had a long day."

"Not just today," Nikita said, yawning. "This living in sin takes a lot out of a girl."

Michael smiled, then said, "Something puzzles me, though."

"Mmmm ...."

"Elena thought I was going to take her away from Ian. Why would I do that?"

"She was afraid," Nikita murmured. "When you were married to her, you were a different person."

"People were afraid of me?"

"Well, I wasn't. But you took what you wanted, Michael. And you've always been possessive."

"I'm possessive?"

"Yes." Nikita brought his hand up to her mouth, kissed his fingers, and tucked them underneath her chin.

"Being possessive ... is that a bad thing?" Michael asked.

"Depends on what you're possessive about."

"Do you think I'm possessive with you?"

Nikita chuckled. "Michael. You tracked me down to Italy 20 years ago, you moved in and you haven't left. Every year, you ask me to marry you and when I say no, you try to change my mind by making love to me until I can't breathe. Yes, you're possessive. Lucky for you, I don't mind."

"Do you still want to get married?" he asked.

"Will you still make love to me until I can't breathe?"

"Yes."

"And can I do that thing we talked about earlier? In the waiting room?"

"Absolutely. Whenever you want."

"Okay, then."

Nikita yawned again and relaxed back against him. Michael kissed her cheek and felt her fall asleep in his arms. "I am lucky," he decided, whispering so he wouldn't wake Nikita or Sara.

"Mmmmm," Nikita agreed sleepily.

*****************

You can catch more flies with honey than vinegar.

Bandaged. Again.

Milla looked at her hand in disgust. If it wasn't one thing, it's another, she thought. But at least the bandage was smaller this time, and Sammy promised she could take it off tomorrow.

Milla looked out over the sea. It was mid-morning and she was on the public terrace at the Lucia. The early morning guests had been checked out and whisked away in taxis or buses to the train station or for a day of sight-seeing and Milla was waiting for David.

She took another drink of tea. David. Sly, Milla thought darkly. Making her agree to come home. Still, she didn't regret it. Maybe she regretted that he'd had to fetch her back, she thought, trying to be honest. After all, it was demoralizing to have someone point out your faults. And Milla had a lot of faults. At this rate, David would reduce her to less than nothing. She'd have to be very, very careful, she decided, drinking the last of her tea.

"Ready?"

Milla glanced up. David had his car keys in one hand and he looked ... cheerful. Suspiciously so, and Milla, who was by nature a suspicious person, frowned. "For what?"

"To go to the hospital. Dulcie just came back from her visit. They're releasing both Sara and your mother this morning. I thought I'd drive in to pick them up."

"Michael has his car."

"I know. But Sara's got a lot of family ... and they've all sent loads of flowers. They'll need help getting them home."

"All right." Milla got up reluctantly, still scowling.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

David led the way to the elevator, but Milla remained stubbornly silent. Finally, he said, "I'd like to stop by the post office on the way back, if you don't mind. We need more postcard stamps and I want to get this in the mail." He held up a small, white envelope.

"What is it?" Milla asked, more from politeness than curiosity.

"The RSVP for my mother's wedding."

She blinked, and this time when she spoke, her voice was a little warmer. "You're really going?"

"It was my understanding that my going was part of our deal," David said, eyes narrowing. "Why? Did you think I'd renege?"

"No," Milla said, sounding unconvinced. The elevator doors opened, and the two went into the parking garage. David unlocked the passenger side and held the door open for Milla. After a brief hesitation, she got in and fastened her seat belt.

"It's in Canne," David said, putting the key into the ignition.

"What is?"

"The wedding. It's in two weeks."

"Oh."

David pulled out of the garage, squinted in the bright sunlight, and turned toward Sorrento. "Of course, I could always say I'm going, then go somewhere else instead."

Milla blinked, and put on her sunglasses.

"You'd never know the difference," David said blandly.

Milla looked out the car window. Her side had the view: bright blue sea, clear cloudless sky, rocky gray shore.

"Unless ..." David let his voice trail off, and finally Milla looked at him.

"Unless what?"

He shrugged. "Well, you could always come with me."

Her mouth dropped open. "Why on earth would I want to do that?"

"To make sure I fulfill my part of our bargain. Besides, Canne is nice this time of the year." David carefully pumped the brakes as they went along the curvy road.

"Are you insane? It's full of tourists in the summer. Mostly Americans. No offense."

"None taken," David said mildly.

"Besides, what would I do?"

"Drink champagne and stay at someone else's hotel," David suggested.

"Thanks, but no." She turned back to the window.

"I've heard they've opened a brand new museum dedicated to an obscure painter named Gerald Murphy. It's between Canne and Nice. Near Cap Antibe. Of course, I don't know whether you care for Murphy. He -- "

"I know who he is. He didn't paint many pictures. Not enough for an entire museum."

"The museum is not large. Murphy's works are always on show, but they have rotating exhibits. For the next two months, it's going to be devoted to very large works, things that other museums have difficulty hanging. I believe ... it seems to me like one of Murphy's pictures is nearly 20 feet across."

"Boatdeck. And it's 18 feet by 20," Milla said automatically.

"And I thought you were only interested in ancient works," David said.

"Big. I like anything that's big," Milla corrected him. "Mosaics. Frescos. They really have Boatdeck?"

"I think so. Very prominently placed, I believe." David slowed down as they got to a more congested part of town, then he pulled into the parking garage for the hospital. "Why don't I go ahead and RSVP for you, just in case?"

Milla felt her breath stop in her chest, then finally said, "I don't think --"

"You don't have to go. But if you should decide to, well, then, there won't be any problem."

"What if I decide not to go?" Milla asked, getting out of the car and slamming the door a little harder than necessary.

"Well, then, I'll just have to drink more champagne and eat two dinners. And you'd miss the Murphy museum. I'm going to spend at least a day at the museum."

A whole day. She'd studied Murphy in school and had always longed to see Boatdeck. Lost for decades, this would be the first time in nearly 80 years it had hung anywhere. But ... Milla frowned at David again. "I don't like being trapped."

"No trap, Milla," David said, his hands up in surrender. "It's just a wedding and a trip to a new museum over a long weekend. Of course, we'd have separate rooms."

"Of course," Milla said cautiously, wondering why she felt suddenly so odd.

"I just thought you might enjoy a little time away. Before you go back to Egypt."

"Oh." Milla frowned again, but this time, she looked a bit more introspective. And when she glanced up at David, instead of looking irritated, she looked ... uncertain. "I'll think about it."

"Do that." David punched the elevator button, and they stepped in. Milla prudently stood as far away from him as she could.

David kept his mouth in a firm, straight line to keep from smiling.

*****************

Rejoice when others are happy.

A weekend? With David?

Milla chewed her bottom lip as they strode down the hospital hall toward her mother's and Sara's room. She tapped lightly on the door but there was no answer. Milla cautiously turned the knob and blinked.

There were too many people in the room and all of them were talking at once. She counted at least three doctors, plus Andy, who took up a lot of room. A slight, plump, dark woman -- Elena, Milla had met her the other day -- another huge giant of a man -- Ian, Elena's husband and Sammy's father -- and Sara and Sammy and little John -- plus dozens and dozens of plants. Potted plants and cut flowers of every variety, all giving off a powerful perfume.

Milla sneezed and her mother looked up. "Milla!" She held out her hands, and Milla went to her.

"They're releasing us both," her mother said cheerfully, holding out her feet for Michael to put her shoes on. She was dressed somewhat haphazardly and Milla leaned over and rebuttoned her mother's sweater. "Thanks, darling," her mother said, kissing her quickly.

"How do you feel?" Milla asked.

"Fine. Still a little ..." her mother waved her hands in the air.

"Fuzzy?" Milla guessed.

"From the anesthetic." Her mother shrugged. "The incisions don't hurt at all, though."

"Why did they have to sedate you?"

"I could have had another one of those attacks in the middle of everything, and the work they were doing was delicate. It wasn't that bad, Milla."

Michael helped her mother up. "It's over and done with," he said flatly, looking relieved and irritated at the same time. "And you'll start improving soon."

"Of course, I will," her mother said, looking at Michael strangely.

Michael saw David in the doorway. "David."

"Yes sir?"

"The Sandersons may need some help with their things. Would you mind ...?"

"Of course. I'll start taking the plants down now."

Elena smiled at David and began directing him, and Michael turned to Nikita and Milla. "Come on."

"But --" Nikita started.

"David will take care of it," Michael said firmly.

"Maybe I should help --" Milla took a step toward David, but Michael pulled her back.

"No. You're riding with us."

"But --"

"Milla. Get your mother's suitcase and let's go," Michael said sharply, and Milla obeyed quickly.

Michael hustled them out of the hospital and into the car. "I don't see why --" Milla grumbled, but Michael cut her off.

"We have to make a stop before we go home."

"A stop. What kind of stop?" Nikita asked.

But instead of answering, Michael pressed his lips firmly together and drove to the older part of town.

Milla blinked when he pulled the car over and stopped beside the church they sometimes went to for Easter or Christmas services. But she could remember no holy day that was in June and opened her mouth to say so, when Michael said to her mother, "Are you sure?"

"Yes, of course," her mother said, sounding irritated. "I thought we settled this last night."

"I wanted to make certain you weren't drunk."

"I told you before, I was perfectly sober," Nikita sighed.

Milla looked from one to the other. "What's this about?"

"Your mother and I are getting married," Michael said positively.

"What?!" Milla hadn't meant to shriek, but her mother winced and a passer by looked curiously at the car.

"Milla, calm down," her mother said. "It's not a big deal --"

"Again?!" Milla asked, her voice rising. "Don't tell me you're getting married again?"

"We've never been married," Nikita said. "Calm down --"

"Maybe not, but everyone else thinks you were. It was embarrassing enough to find out you weren't ever married in the first place. But to get married now -- it's ridiculous," Milla said angrily. "As a matter of fact, everyone thinks you were married twice already. How can --"

"Third time's a charm," Michael said cheerfully, looking at her mother.

"I don't believe this," Milla muttered, getting out of the car and holding the door for her mother. Michael came around the car, took Milla's place, and helped her mother out of the car. He leaned over and said something to her mother in a low voice, and her mother grinned at him.

"Unbelievable," Milla said, rolling her eyes. "What's the point of getting married? Everyone already thinks you are, anyway!"

Michael opened the door of the church and Nikita went in. He cocked an eyebrow at Milla. "Coming, princess?"

"No," Milla scowled at him. But he continued to hold the door, and after a few moments, Milla reluctantly entered the dim church. "No one would ever believe this," she said.

"That's why," Michael said cheerfully, "We only invited you. A big wedding would be ... tacky. Or so your mother thought."

"Well, she was right," Milla mumbled. She looked at Michael suspiciously. "Why are you smiling so much? You never smile."

"I've been waiting a long time."

"Then by all means, don't let me keep you waiting any longer," Milla said sarcastically. "Let's get on with it."

"I knew you'd come around." Michael led her to the front of the church, where the priest was waiting. Nikita explained that they wanted to renew their vows and while the ceremony was performed -- short, to the point, and completely devoid of sentimentality -- Milla studied her mother.

This is what she'd always wanted. Her mother to be happy and well. With someone who loved her. Someone like Michael. And five minutes later, when her father kissed her mother, Milla hugged them both hard.

"If anyone ever finds out about this, I'll never come home again," she said.

"It will be," Michael said, palming her head and pulling her close, "Our secret."

And somehow, the thought of another secret -- one that she was part of this time -- didn't seem so bad to Milla.

******************

Blood boils without flame.

Quiet.

From far below, the surf pounded on the rocks. The moon was out, huge and bright and illuminating the entire patio with silvery light.

The wind picked up, breezing across the sea, the mountain and finally, the patio of the Lucia. A cat lay his ears back, taking into account the wind while he planned his attack on a mouse foraging under the patio tables. He crouched, tensed, sprang and killed the mouse instantly.

Pleased with his prey, the cat stalked toward the hotel, the unfortunate mouse clamped firmly in his jaw. It was very late now and everyone was asleep. He wouldn't be able to show off his kill to them. But maybe he could put it somewhere they'd see it when they woke. That would be best.

The cat easily jumped up on the windowsill, then through the open window. He crossed the laundry room, the interior patio, then leapt up to another window.

He lay his dead mouse on the windowsill and looked with interest at the two people twined around each other. They were awake and talking, so he announced his presence with a polite meow.

"Oh, Michael -- he caught something --"

"I'll get it." The man came toward the cat, patted his head and scratched under his chin. "With such an excellent mouser, we'll never need traps," he said, and the cat purred, butting his head against the man's hand. "We appreciate your diligence."

The woman snorted, but tried to cover it up with a cough. The cat twisted around the man's hand, then picked up his dinner and hopped back outside to eat in peace.

"Was it ... mangled?"

"No," Michael replied. "But I'm glad he didn't take it to Milla. I'll go wash my hands. Do you want anything?"

"No, I'm fine."

Michael washed the mouse from his hands and slid back into bed with Nikita. His eyes automatically went to the place over their dresser where their marriage license hung. He knew most people didn't frame their marriage license, but Nikita had it mounted and framed and then hung it where they'd both see it the first thing in the morning. "Just in case you forget," she'd murmured to Michael, and he'd leaned down and kissed her neck, right where the faint healed seam from her surgery was. "I'll be sure to remember," he said politely.

Now, Nikita smiled and rolled over, nudging herself into him. "I forgot to tell you," Michael said, one hand on her hip. "I bought you a wedding present."

"You what?" She twisted around, and Michael settled his hand across her stomach, his thumb fluttering over her belly button.

"A present. I was going to give it to you the last week, but Milla seemed ..."

"I know." Nikita sighed and put her hand on top of his. "She doesn't respond well to change. The wedding was enough."

"That's what I thought."

"So ... what did you get me?" Nikita smiled at him and laced her fingers through his.

"I'll show you tomorrow."

"I can't have it now?"

Michael was silent for a moment, then, apparently having come to some kind of decision, he said, "It's a house."

"What?" Nikita stared at him, confused.

"A house. I bought you a house. It's nearby, but further up the mountain."

Nikita lay back, and Michael came up on an elbow, studying her face. "Are you angry?" he asked.

"No ... of course not. But ... a house? Why?"

"I thought it might be nice to have more room. And one day, you might get tired of managing the hotel."

"Well, maybe, but --"

"Besides, we could use the extra room."

"We could?"

"Yes," Michael said firmly. "We could. And the extra privacy."

"We need privacy?"

"Yes. We do."

"We didn't need it before."

"We weren't married before."

"Something tells me that you'll be glad when the Sandersons finally leave," Nikita said, smiling at him. "Sam will only be here a few more days, till Sara's ready to travel. And Andy's gone until next month, when he comes back to check up on me. Of course, that still leaves Ian and Elena."

"Mmmmm." He kissed her nose instead of answering.

Nikita held his face in her hands, then slowly brought him down for another kiss. "I wonder if David would like to buy the Lucia?"

Michael went rigid in her arms and he said stiffly, "He invited Milla away next weekend."

"Yes, I know. She told me. She's very worried about what she should wear."

"Milla was worried about clothes?"

"Mmmmm," Nikita murmured. She kissed his ear, then his neck. "Don't you like David?"

"I like him fine," Michael said crossly.

Nikita's hands moved down Michael's body slowly. "Michael? You know ... I didn't get you a wedding present ..."

"It's ... unnecessary," he said, with difficulty.

"Are you sure?" Her hands curved up to his ribs, her thumbs pressed lightly into his muscles. "You married me last week. You've made love to me till I couldn't breathe. And you got me a house. Surely I could do something in return."

Michael was finding it a little difficult to breathe himself. Then Nikita's hands began moving down, down, down, and his breath shuddered to a stop. "Hospital --" he croaked.

"I know. I was thinking the same thing. You did say whenever I wanted, you'd be willing ..."

Michael muttered something unintelligible, but he put his mouth to hers. She was almost purring. Just like the cat. Michael's last coherent thought was, I did this to her. Then she reached around him and in exquisite detail began to put everything she'd described to him in action.

Michael gave up sensible thoughts altogether.

Outside, a wispy cloud obscured the full moon. The wind came up again, blowing through the lemon trees and scattering errant leaves across the dark patio. Occasionally, there was a distant sound of an infrequent automobile passing on the mountain road below. Somewhere, a dog barked. One of the guests flipped on a light in his room; it spilled across the patio in a bright yellow square. There was a crying sound -- a cat? No, a baby -- but in a moment, the child stopped crying and the light blinked out again.

The cloud moved away from the moon and bathed the patio in cool light. In the morning, when the sun rose, the patio would be a warm golden yellow. But now, it looked as if it had been gilded with silver. The wind blew. The sea murmured below.

And everything was very quiet.

***************

The end