Part 32

"You did what?" Madeline asked.

Her hands halted in their nightly ritual of applying anti-wrinkling cream to the delicate skin by her eyes and mouth. Her eyes followed Paul's movement about the room as he prepared for bed. "Do you have any idea what that'll do to Nikita?" she asked.

Paul removed the dark blue robe he wore to reveal matching pajamas. "I think I do," he replied dryly, "but it's for her own good, Madeline. This romance has happened too quickly for my comfort. The three months will give her and Michael time to cool down and think things out. If after three months they feel the same -- I'll give them my blessing."

Madeline lowered the bottle of cream onto the dresser as she turned her attention back to her reflection. She leaned closer to the brightly lit glass and carefully scrutinized her flawless skin -- searching for any new lines. Her dark hair contrasted sharply against the white silk of her nightgown. "You should have spoken with me before you made your decision, Paul."

Paul sighed in exasperation as he lifted the covers and climbed in. "I thought you would be pleased, Madeline. What do you want me to do? Stand by and watch her run off and get married to a man we practically know nothing about? Besides, how was I to know that he was going to ask for her hand in marriage."

"She would never run off and you know it," Madeline argued. She noticed a tiny, almost imperceptible, ghost of a line just below the corner of her right eye. Instantly she picked up the cream, dipped a finger in, then meticulously applied it to the spot. Satisfied, she covered the bottle and returned it to its rightful place and clicked off the cosmetic lights surrounding the mirror. She stood and walked toward the bed. Paul was already tucked in, his reading glasses perched upon his nose, as he scanned the latest stock-market report.

"You're her father," Madeline uttered, as she climbed in on her side, "she loves you." Sliding down beneath the sheets, she lay gently back against the pillows. A look of total peace settled upon her features as she rested her hands upon her stomach, and closed her eyes.

After a moment, she continued in a calm rational voice. "Nikita has done everything you've asked her to over the past four years. She's pulling more than her share at the office. She's taken on the responsibilities of overseeing the sub-sections. She's sacrificed enough, Paul. Haven't you seen with your own eyes how happy she is? She loves Michael. How many times have we seen that happen?" She paused, her eyes still closed. "I'll tell you -- none." Madeline opened her eyes then and turned to look at her husband.

"She adores you," she stated, "don't turn her away from you -- us -- now."

Paul sighed as he reached over and gathered Madeline to him. "I'm not, darling. I really am doing this for her benefit." Madeline lay quietly in his arms as she thought of her daughter.

"Give her the week off from work."

"What?" Paul asked. "That's impossible. There's too much to be done. They've already got Christmas day and New Year's off."

Madeline stiffened as she pulled back and glared at her husband. "This isn't just anybody we're speaking of," she whispered, her voice dangerously low. "This is our daughter. Surely as the boss's daughter she's entitled to some benefits. Isn't that why we've worked so hard all these years? For our children?"

Paul could see the dangerous warning look flashing from his wife's dark eyes. He reached out for her, trying to console her, but she pushed his arms angrily away. "Don't you dare patronize me, Paul Marcus Wolfe," she hissed. "If you insist on this three-month trial period, then I insist that you give her time to spend with Michael before he returns to France."

"And if I don't?" Paul asked, his own anger beginning to stir. He watched as Madeline sat up in bed and stared down angrily at him.

"Then not only is your daughter not going to be speaking to you, neither will I. And, you can find another bed to sleep in!" She reached over him and pulled the covers back for emphasis as she waited for him to climb out.

Paul stared back at her in shock. "Madeline! You're overreacting!"

"NOW," she whispered angrily.

Paul dropped back against the pillow with a scowl upon his face and folded his arms across his chest. "All right," he muttered, "you win."

Madeline's expression softened and a small smile played across her lips as she lowered the blankets and snuggled up to him once more. Leaning up she kissed him tenderly before settling her head next to his on the pillow, her hand glided across his chest.

Paul took hold of her hand in his and placed it above his heart as he sighed in resignation. "Women . . ." he grumbled, and began to drift off to sleep.

Next to him Madeline smiled and closed her eyes.

Part 33

Paul lowered his newspaper slightly and took a peek at the two women in his life sitting across from him at the breakfast table. He hated when they ganged up on him with the silent treatment. It wasn't fair, especially since he had only been trying to do what a father was supposed to do -- protect his children. Glowering, he raised the paper back up, only to hear Madeline clear her throat. He bent the top corner of the paper down and met the look she cast his way as she sipped her tea.

With a sigh, Paul folded his paper and put it down next to his plate as he looked over at Nikita. She sat eating quietly, occasionally speaking with Michael who sat next to her. She hadn't spoken to him, except for a rather subdued, "Good morning", when she and Michael had first entered. The exuberance with which she usually greeted him and kissed him, was missing. He glanced over at Madeline who was staring back at him expectantly. Could she be right? he thought. Was he unwittingly pushing his daughter away?

Lord knows, that was the last thing he wanted to do. His family was the joy of his life. He derived great pleasure out of the success of Section, but it was his family that gave his life meaning and satisfaction. Madeline, with her serenity, balanced his emotionalism. She calmed him when pressures from work caused his blood to boil, pointed out to him the finer points of details that he often missed, or, like last night, jolted him into action. Even now, as she sat across from him, he could feel her vibes as she urged him to speak with his daughter.

As if sensing the difficulty he was having broaching the subject, Madeline smiled and addressed Michael. "Would you be a dear," she asked, rising to her feet, "and give me your advice on some artwork that our creative department came up with? It's in the library." She held Michael's gaze, and signaled with her eyes to Nikita and Paul.

Michael rose gracefully. "Of course."

Nikita glanced up at him and he laid his hand comfortingly on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze, before he followed Madeline out of the room. Father and daughter sat in awkward silence. Finally, Paul spoke, asking Nikita to come sit next to him. Quietly, she obeyed.

She had dressed all in black today. Black, long-sleeved turtleneck over black slacks. Her hair seemed almost luminous against all that darkness. He wondered distractedly if there were a hidden meaning in her somber attire. Paul's gaze swept slowly over her and a sadness came over him. He felt as if he were slowly losing her and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Silly, he knew, for she would always be his daughter, yet, for so long he had been the number one man in her life. He had been the one she turned to when she needed advice or comfort. He had been the one she looked up to -- and now, he suddenly found himself being replaced. Michael was taking his little girl. He had already stolen her heart. When he married her, he would probably take her away to France and then he wouldn't even see her except for maybe once a year. At least Stephen had never posed this kind of threat.

Paul reached over and covered her hand with his. "Are you angry with me, Nikita?" he asked. She raised blue eyes to meet his. In their depths he could see sadness, pain -- love, but not anger.

"Of course not, Father," she spoke quietly, "I know you're trying to do what you think is best for me." She paused, then added, "You have to remember, though, that I'm not a child any more."

Her words pierced him, making his eyes moisten slightly. 'Not a child . . .' In his eyes, she would always be a child -- his child. He gave her hand a reassuring pat, "I know, Nikita."

"If you know, then why are you insisting that Michael and I not contact each other for three months?" Her face took on a tormented expression. "If Mom went away to Europe for three months, would you be able to break all communication with her?"

"That's not the same thing, Nikita."

"Yes, it is!" she exclaimed softly. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Nikita began again. "You told me on the night of Birkoff's party that the choice was mine and that you and Mom would stand behind me. I've made my choice. I want to be with Michael."

"But, Nikita," he argued, "this is too fast. You need to slow down."

Nikita regarded him silently, her head tilted slightly to one side. "How long did it take for you to know you loved Mom?" she asked quietly.

Paul sat and stared at her. She was just like her mother in so many ways. She knew just which buttons to push. "Not very long," he replied.

A slow smile began to spread across Nikita's face. "It's the same with Michael and me. Something there clicked from the very start. He makes me feel . . . alive, joyful, feminine . . . I've never felt this way about any other man before. I want to be with him. Have him become part of my life permanently." She paused, then, as she stared at him with a gentle expression, added, "I'm going to marry Michael, Father."

Paul felt the sting of tears at her words and instantly Nikita was kneeling next to his chair, her head resting against his chest as she wrapped her arms around him. "Please don't cry," she whispered, "I want so much for you and Mother to be happy for me."

Paul stroked her long hair and sighed. "I am happy, darling," he murmured into her hair. "I . . . I just don't relish the thought of losing you."

"Losing me?" Nikita pulled back and gazed up at the father in wonder. "Oh, Father," she sighed, and hugged him once again. "You can never lose me. I'm your daughter. No matter what happens, that will never change."

Paul sat, his arms enfolded about his daughter for several minutes, and occasionally wiped a stray tear from his eyes. Finally, he conceded, "All right, Nikita," he stated, "we'll forget about the trial period."

Nikita drew her head back and he saw her eyes shimmering with love and gratitude. "Thank you, Father," she whispered and reached up to kiss his cheek.

Part 34

"So how many times have you been here before?" Nikita asked. She and Michael had abandoned Josh and the limo, which was stuck in traffic back on Broadway, and headed east on foot toward the Village. They were oblivious of the handsome image they portrayed as they strode quickly down the street, both dressed in chic black, their gloved hands linked.

"Twice," he replied, then moved his hand out protectively in front of her stomach, halting her progress as he checked the street for cars. After assuring it was clear, he grabbed her hand again and together they crossed the street. An icy gust of wind whipped by them as they reached the other side and Nikita shuddered. Michael immediately drew her to him as he faced his back to the wind, using his body to shield her. His lips pressed against her temple as she burrowed into his long wool coat.

"All right?" he asked quietly as he held her close. She nodded, pressing her body next to his for added warmth as she buried her face in his chest.

"It's cold," she shivered. Michael hugged her tightly, wrapping the ends of his coat around her to protect her further from the wind.

"We're almost there," he whispered into her ear.

Nikita smiled at the way he was so protective of her -- making her feel so very cherished and loved. She inhaled deeply of his clean, masculine scent and smiled, resting her head momentarily on his shoulder. The wind abated somewhat and Michael took hold of her hand again and led her down the street.

As they entered Greenwich, Michael began to smile. He loved the Village and its rows of quaint little shops, outdoor cafes, and art galleries. The beautiful brownstones and cozy streets contributed greatly to the overall character of the neighborhood. It was here that he had spent most of his time on his previous trips to New York. He had friends who lived here and he wanted to stop by to say hello.

"Maybe you should go alone," Nikita had commented, thinking that he might want to spend some time with his friends and she would only be in the way, but Michael had objected.

"Come with me, Nikita," he had asked. "Rene is an old friend of mine, almost like a brother, and I'd like for him to meet you," he had explained. The quiet plea in his eyes revealed to her that this was important to him so she agreed.

"Rene is from Paris?" she asked.

"Yes," Michael replied. "We studied art together at the University of Paris and I've displayed some of his work over at our gallery. We go back a long way."

"What's he doing here?"

"Rene is a sort of revolutionist when it comes to his work," Michael explained. "He's a surrealist . . . uses his art as a means of speaking out against the evils that he sees in society. He moved here a couple of years ago to, according to his words, 'fight against the oppressive bureaucratic forces of American society.'"

Nikita raised an eyebrow at Michael's explanation. "Sounds like a real fun guy," she commented.

Michael laughed. "He's actually very nice. He just has some very strong beliefs. Ah, we're here," Michael stated. Nikita looked up at the building Michael was pointing to and leading her towards. It was a narrow building with tall wide windows that lined the front. "Come, Nikita," Michael called as he pulled her in through the entranceway.

"Allo?" Michael called out. "Est-ce qu'il y a quelqu'un la?"

Nikita glanced around at her surroundings. It was an art studio. Several colorful, and some rather interesting, paintings hung on the walls and suspended on wires from the ceiling. Although the building was small, the windows created the illusion of it being much larger than it really was. A tall, thin man with long scraggily blonde hair appeared through a door at the back of the room. Upon seeing Michael, he broke out into a large smile.

"Michel! Mon ami! C'est formidable de te revoir! Ca va?"

The two men embraced and greeted each other. "Bien! Tres bien!" Michael smiled.

"Quand es-tu arrive?" the blonde man asked.

"About a week ago," Michael responded. He moved to the side so that his friend could see that he had not come alone. Nikita stood quietly by the entranceway. "Rene," he spoke, "there's someone I'd like for you to meet." He brought him over and reached for Nikita's hand. "This is Nikita."

Rene gazed at the beautiful blonde standing next to the doorway and then glanced back at Michael with a puzzled look. When he saw Michael smiling, and gazed down at the way his hand held Nikita's, an incredulous expression of happiness spread across his lean face.

"Ah, Michel," he stated softly in a lowered voice, "elle est tres belle!"

He stepped forward and raised Nikita's hands gently to his lips. "Bonjour, Nikita," he smiled, and then added with a twinkle in his blue eyes. "Now I know why it's taken Michel so long to come and visit us!"

Part 35

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Nikita smiled. "Michael's told me a lot about you."

Rene grinned and cast a sly look at his friend. "Don't believe a word he says," he laughed, "unless it's good, of course!" Michael pulled Nikita next to him, his arm settling comfortably around her shoulders. The action caused Rene to shake his head in wonder. "I never thought I would see the day when Michel would be in love," he mused, and then gave Michael an impish look. "Many hearts will be broken when they find out . . . including some right here!"

Michael muttered something in French to Rene as he turned to Nikita, "Don't listen to him, Nikita. He's talking nonsense."

Rene laughed. "Oui. Forgive me, Nikita. I speak the truth, though, when I say I am surprised that someone has captured Michel's heart."

"Enough!" Michael scolded good-naturedly, "if I had known I was going to be insulted, I would not have come to visit you." Rene laughed again as Nikita smiled, her arm going around Michael's waist.

"Michael?"

The three individuals turned at the sound of the feminine voice to see a tall, strikingly beautiful woman with dark hair and eyes enter the room through the same door which Rene had entered earlier.

"MICHAEL!" the woman exclaimed and rushed forward. To Nikita's surprise, the woman nearly bulldozed Michael over, leaping into his arms and pressing kisses to his face.

"Karen . . . Karen!" Michael struggled to disentangle himself from the beautiful woman. He grabbed her hands and held them down as he pulled his face away from hers. "Karen, please," he stated. She seemed to calm down a bit, but her eyes were still alight with obvious pleasure at seeing Michael.

Michael turned to see Nikita staring at him with a rather interesting expression. "Karen," he stated, "I'd like for you to meet Nikita. Nikita this is . . . Karen."

The dark-haired woman turned and stared at Nikita, the smile dying from her eyes. She flipped her gaze over Nikita in a nonchalant manner. "Hello," she said flatly, and turned her attention back to Michael without waiting for a response. "Darling," she cooed, "I missed you. You never even called or wrote." She cast Michael a sulky look as she pouted her lips becomingly. Nikita felt a rising urge to slap the woman.

"Karen," Michael scolded, as he forcefully put her away from him and stepped quickly to Nikita's side, "behave yourself."

Yeah, behave yourself, Nikita thought as she pondered all the nasty things that entered her mind about what she'd like to do to the brunette.

Karen gave him a mischievous smile. "I'll try darling," she whispered, "but it's so hard." Her fingers reached out to trace his lips and Michael immediately grabbed it and pushed it back down to her side. He looked at Rene gratefully when he jumped in and changed the subject.

"Nikita, Michel, come . . . Brian and Chuck are in the back. We were just having coffee when you came. Please, come . . . join us."

Michael gave Nikita a glance, trying to assess her mood after Karen's little display. "No," he began, "we should be going. Maybe some other time . . . ."

Nikita could tell from his eyes though, that a part of him really wanted to stay. These were his friends, including that Karen witch, she thought. The least she could do was to swallow her jealousy and allow Michael to spend time with his friends. She reached up and touched Michael's face gently and stated, especially for Karen's sake, "It's all right, love. We have time. We can stay a while."

Michael's gaze searched hers. "Are you sure?"

Nikita smiled and reached up to kiss him, "Yes."

"Great," Karen exclaimed, rather sarcastically, and pulled Michael away. Linking her arm through his, she guided him through the door at the back of the room.

Rene offered his arm to Nikita as he whispered to her, "Don't mind, Karen. She's a little . . . er, crazy."

"I heard that!" Karen called back to them, and Rene laughed as he escorted Nikita.

"Are you an artist, too?" he asked.

Nikita shook her head and gave a little laugh. "No. I work for an advertising agency downtown."

By now they had entered the back room, which Nikita saw was more of a work studio. The far wall was lined with windows through which the gray sunlight of winter filtered in, filling the room with light. Several canvases of different sizes leaned up against the wall -- some were blank, while others portrayed works of art that were at various stages of completion. Other canvases were on easels that were set up near the windows.

Nikita heard Michael's soft laughter and looked to see him greeting two other men who had been sitting at a table in the corner. One man was as tall as Michael, but much larger, muscular and broad-shouldered. He had very short dark blond hair and a wide smile. The other man, though about the same height, was small. He had dark wavy hair, dark eyes and a quiet smile that lit up his handsome face in a shy manner.

Rene led her to the table. "Gentlemen, gentlemen," he called, "Michel has brought someone very special for us to meet." The two men turned toward them with curiosity. Nikita felt both intrigued at meeting Michael's friends, and a little nervous -- like a foreigner in an alien world. She was more than a little glad when Michael stepped back to her, placed his palm on her back, and introduced her.

The blond muscular man, she found out, was Chuck, a sculpturer, and the dark-haired man with the soulful eyes was Brian, a musician. They greeted her warmly as extra chairs were pulled up and more cups of coffee were poured. Karen attempted to fit her way in to sit next to Michael, but he cleverly maneuvered his seat so that he was next to the wall, and pulled Nikita's chair up alongside his. He glanced down at Nikita, his eyes whispering sweet apologies to her. Nikita smiled as she placed her hand on his lap and ran it comfortingly, suggestively, up and down his thigh.

They spent what must have been about an hour and a half, talking loudly and animatedly about topics related to the art world, their latest projects, exhibits that were being shown, and Michael's upcoming gallery. Nikita mostly sat quietly, content to listen to Michael's voice and feel his arm around her shoulder. Here, he was in his element. He laughed and joked, enjoying the comradery of fellow artists and creative minds. She glanced often at his face, loving the happiness she saw there. His hand never left hers, his fingers firmly entwined with hers.

After a while longer, Michael looked at his watch and announced to his friends that they had to be going. Amidst their protests, he stood and helped Nikita with her coat.

"No . . . we really must be going," he explained.

"You'll come back later, won't you?" Karen asked pointedly to Michael.

He shook his head, "Maybe, we'll see how our schedule is this coming week."

"Michel," Rene came around and put his hand on Michael's elbow. "Before you and Nikita leave, there is something I want you to look at. It is my latest inspiration and I just completed it two days ago. Come . . . come . . . ."

The group followed as Rene moved to a large, covered canvas leaning up against the wall on the far side. Excitedly he unveiled his work.

The group sighed and gasped as they began to speak all at once, commenting on the powerful imagery of the painting.

"It's beautiful," Karen exclaimed. "So dark . . . profound . . . The epitome of man's soulless nature. Don't you agree, Nikita?" She looked pointedly at Nikita, purposely putting the spotlight on her knowing full well that Nikita was not well versed in art. The others fell quiet as they looked at Nikita. Michael began to say something, but Nikita gave him a look that said it was all right, she could handle this.

At first glance the painting did appear to be dark, the majority of the colors that Rene had used certainly were that. In fact, the whole work seemed to be done in shadows. At the forefront and in the center were images . . . shadowy outlines of what appeared to be soldiers with weapons dangling at their sides. Their faces were mostly obscured, but faint outlines of a nose, a cheekbone, lips were present on some of the figures. Nothing substantial enough to give the figures an identity. They almost seemed ghostly in their appearance. In the background, Rene had used wide brush strokes combined with occasional splashes of brilliant reds as if to indicate blood . . . destruction.

"I disagree," Nikita stated softly.

Karen gave a short, derisive laugh. "That's all right, dear," she stated, "not everyone can understand these things." Rene shushed her, though, and turned to Nikita with interest.

"Tell me, what do you see, Nikita?" he asked.

Nikita turned her gaze from Karen to Rene, and, seeing his true interest in her opinion, she began to explain quietly. "Notice the sadness in what we can see of their faces," she stated as she pointed to the shadowy figures. "And the manner in which their weapons hang at their side. Almost as if they themselves are victims." She turned to look at Rene. "I don't see this so much as the destructive nature of man, but rather the depiction of the self-sacrifice man gives in order to preserve this imperfect world we live in. Of course, I may be a little biased because my father is a veteran himself, but that's what I see."

"And what would you name this painting?" Rene asked.

She took a deep breath and turned back to the painting. "There's a thin line between right and wrong," she stated after a while. "What Karen sees as destructive, I see as self-sacrificing . . . even nurturing. Flip sides of the same coin. Neither of us is completely wrong or completely right. It's like life, there are no simple black and white lines defining right and wrong." She turned to face Rene, "I'd call it 'Shades of Gray.'"

Michael glided his hands around Nikita's waist from behind as he bent and kissed her cheek. "Bravo, my Nikita," he whispered as the others began to discuss her views.

Meanwhile, Rene stepped up and lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it gently as he stated in a quiet voice, "I was wrong," he apologized, and Nikita gave him a curious look. "I wondered how you had managed to capture a soul as elusive as Michel's, now I know the truth," he stated. "Michel has been looking for his soul -- and has found it in you."

Part 36

"Well, hey there, stranger!"

Birkoff glanced up to see his sister walking into the room dressed in a stunning royal blue sleeveless gown. Her hair was slicked back into a ponytail that she had wrapped with a wide black ribbon. "Hey there yourself," he smiled. "Wow! Michael won't know what hit him when he sees you in that dress."

Nikita beamed. "You like it? You can always borrow it sometime you know . . ." She began to laugh when Birkoff made a face at her. "What are you doing here? I thought you would be going out tonight with Gail." Nikita smiled as she saw Birkoff blush and she whispered loudly, "I can put in a good word for you, if you like."

"You would?" Birkoff asked, his eyes lighting up. Nikita laughed and hugged her younger brother. "Sure! What are older sisters for? Maybe you can take her to Times Square on New Year's," she suggested. "Have a nice romantic dinner first, some dancing -- I think she was really impressed with your twist the night of the party . . ." Nikita teased, and laughed as her brother turned beet red.

"Where's Michael?" Birkoff asked, effectively changing the subject.

"I'm meeting him at the hotel. He had some things he had to take care of this afternoon, but we'll be back here after." She turned at the sound of footsteps to see her father entering the room.

"Josh is out in front, Nikita," Paul stated. He took her hands and held them out to the side and frowned as his eyes silently appraised her gown. "Where's the rest of your dress?" he asked, and Nikita laughed.

"Daddy, this is it!"

He shook his head disapprovingly, glancing over his shoulder at Madeline who was entering the room. "She's going to catch pneumonia in this thing."

Nikita leaned forward and kissed her father's cheek. "Don't worry, I'm sure Michael will keep me warm if I get cold," she whispered, and then laughed as her father scowled at her. "Aren't you and Mom going to dinner? Isn't that charity ball tonight?"

"Your father wrote them a check earlier," Madeline answered as she slipped her arm through Paul's. "It seems your father wants to stay home this Christmas Eve."

Paul smiled. "I'm going to try and teach your mother how to make your Grandma Adrian's famous shortbread cookies."

"Oh, Lord," Nikita groaned as Birkoff broke into laughter. The last time their father had tried to teach Madeline how to cook, they had all ended up with indigestion.

"How is Nana?" Birkoff asked.

"Fine," Paul answered. "She called earlier today to say that she may come up for New Year's."

"Let's pray she changes her mind," Madeline added sweetly, and Paul gave her a stern look. Paul's mother, Adrian, was the one person that could make Madeline fidget. She never looked forward to visits from her mother-in-law. Thankfully, Adrian preferred the weather of Palm Beach to that of New York City . . . it was more conducive to her hobby of gardening.

Nikita reached for her coat and slipped it on. "Well, I'm out of here," she stated. Madeline disengaged her arm from Paul's and helped Nikita with her coat, straightening it and pulling it closed in the front.

"Where's Michael taking you?" she asked.

"I don't know," Nikita replied. "He's being very mysterious about it."

"I bet Josh knows," Madeline said with a slight curve of her lips, and her daughter echoed her response with a small devious smile of her own.

"Madeline, Nikita," Paul scolded, "when a man plans a surprise for a woman, he wants it to remain a surprise."

Mother and daughter exchanged looks and then grinned. He was right, of course. Madeline kissed her daughter's cheek as she wished her a pleasant evening.

"You and Michael are coming back here tonight?" Paul asked as he escorted Nikita out to the waiting car.

"Yes," she answered. "I think that would be better than waking up early and driving out here in the morning. We are exchanging gifts in the morning, right?"

"As usual," her father replied. He opened the limo door for her, helped her in then leaned in to kiss her goodbye. "Have a wonderful time, darling," he whispered.

Nikita flashed him a warm smile. "I will, Daddy," she answered. "I will."

Part 37

"Till then, my darling please wait for me
Till then, no matter when it will be"

Nikita sighed softly and pressed closer to Michael as they swayed gently to the soft sounds of the Mills Brothers classic. His every breath caressed her neck and bare shoulder, and she smiled when every once in a while, she would feel the brush of his lips, too.

"Someday I know I'll be back again
Please wait, till then ..."

"Ni-ki-ta," Michael whispered, and she answered dreamily.

"Yes, Michael?" She turned her head slightly, rubbing her cheek against his, feeling so very content and peaceful. He watched her, his lips reaching softly to kiss the corner of her mouth, and heard her moan softly. Michael's arms tightened about her.

"Our dream, will live though we are apart
Our love, I know we'll keep in our heart
Till then, when all the world will be free
Please wait for me"

"Are you happy, my Nikita?" he asked quietly. She pulled back slightly, her blue eyes gazing up at him softly. She leaned up and kissed him tenderly.

"Yes," she whispered. "Very happy."

"Although, there are oceans we must cross
And mountains we must climb"

They had boarded the catamaran over at the pier on 36th street, along the East River. Nikita had been thrilled with Michael's choice for their dinner. She had always wanted to come on one of these dinner cruises before, but had always been too busy.

The cruise took them beneath the Brooklyn Bridge, which Michael, when he saw it up close, immediately fell in love with.

"Aahh, magnifique!" he murmured as he stared out at the solid, sturdy, stone structure. The ordered lattice of cables curving to the top of each strong, stone column before dipping down and reaching out to the next. The symmetry was remarkable.

"It is beautiful, isn't it?" Nikita smiled, pleased at his delight.

"Oui, Nikita, very beautiful," he murmured as he gazed down at her.

"I know, every gain must have a loss
So pray that our loss, is nothing but time"

"Ni-ki-ta?"

She smiled. It seemed that Michael just couldn't enjoy the music and the dance. It was as if something were bothering him. She opened her eyes and looked at him. "What is it, my love?" she asked, as her arms glided up around his neck. The dance floor around them was filled, but not uncomfortably so, with other couples.

"Till then let's dream of what there will be ..."

Michael held her gaze and Nikita began to get a strange feeling that something monumental was about to happen.

"Michael?" she asked softly.

He reached into his jacket and slowly withdrew a sky blue ring case, and Nikita felt the beginning of tears.

The color was the distinct signature of only one jewelry store -- Tiffany. Her eyes lifted to meet his as she unconsciously bit her trembling lower lip. Michael's eyes searched hers, allowing her to see all of his love for her, as he placed the case in her hand. "Open it, my love," he uttered softly.

"We'll call on each memory
When I will hold you again
Please wait till then"

The first of her tears began to fall as she hesitantly looked from him to the case. "Please, Nikita," he murmured. With shaky fingers, Nikita opened the case and saw the luminous diamond engagement ring inside.

The music had stopped and Nikita stood staring at the beautiful ring through the haze of her tears. Tenderly, Michael placed a finger under her chin and lifted her beautiful face to look at him.

"Will you marry me, Nikita?"

Part 38

A hush fell upon the dance floor as the couples near Michael and Nikita gasped and whispered, pointing with excitement toward the beautiful blonde whose tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she stared down at the engagement ring. She gazed up at her handsome companion and nodded, then flung her arms around his neck and simultaneously laughed and cried as he wrapped his arms about her waist and swung her around. When he set her down and then kissed her tenderly, the surrounding couples applauded, smiling their approval.

Michael removed the ring from its case as he reached for Nikita's hand, and lovingly slipped the ring on. Gazing into her eyes, Michael smiled and whispered, "Je t'aime, Nikita."

Nikita felt a pure ecstacy fill her as she gazed at Michael. The knowledge that he wanted her to be part of his life -- to be his wife -- filled her with such joy, she wanted to scream. She settled instead for the feel of his arms about her as the band struck up a slow waltz. Resting her head on his shoulder, she whispered into his ear as her hand caressed his cheek softly.

"I love you, Michael. I love you so much. I can't understand how I could have come this far in life without you." She closed her eyes as new tears slipped from beneath her lashes. "You are my life, Michael. My soul, my heart, my joy. Wherever you go, wherever you are, that's where I will be, too." She pulled back and looked into his eyes. "My destiny lies with you."

Michael's heart ached with love for her. Words failed him, so he stared into her eyes and allowed her to see into his soul. To see the depth of his love for her, to see his need for her. His hands slipped to her sides, and he squeezed gently. Slowly, his eyes began a slow sensual study of her face. His gaze followed the perfect arch of her brows. Studied the almond-shaped eyes with their brilliant blue orbs that could make his heart beat faster. Watched the soft feathery curl of her lashes as they blinked slowly. He followed the delicate curve of her nose down to her sensuous mouth that drove him crazy with desire. He smiled at the faint sprinkling of freckles on her smooth and silky cheeks. Over every inch of her beloved face he pored, committing each tiny detail to memory. Finally, he gathered her into his arms, holding her tightly, and whispered the only words that seemed appropriate to fill his needs.

"I love you, Nikita."

She smiled, her heart satisfied. "Tonight's been perfect, Michael. Thank you," she whispered.

"But it's not finished yet," Michael smiled. "I still have other surprises in store for you . . . places to take you, my love."

Nikita lifted her head to look into his eyes with a soft pleading look. "Would you mind if we just went home?" she asked.

"You want to go home?" he asked.

She smiled as new tears filled her eyes, "My family . . ." she explained.

Michael smiled down at her as he felt another strong surge of love flow through him. So very like her to want to share her joy with those dearest to her, he thought. He bent and kissed her softly. "Of course, my love," he whispered. "Of course."

When the boat docked back at the pier, they spotted Josh and the limo waiting for them. He held the door open as Nikita hurried in. Michael stood a minute outside informing him of the change in plan, then climbed in and closed the door. Nikita sat in the opposite corner. She stared at him quietly. When the car began to move, she leaned forward and began to remove her coat and shoes as she continued to stare at Michael. They had at least forty-five minutes before they would reach her parents' home. Longer if they got held up in traffic.

Michael slipped off his coat and laid it next to Nikita's on the other chair and then went to her. He turned her around and pulled the zipper of her gown down. Gently, he helped her to remove the dress and laid it carefully next to their coats. He turned back then, his eyes roaming over her exquisite body. Slowly he lowered Nikita down onto the seat, then descended to love her.

The darkened car was filled with the soft sweet sighs of two lovers as they pleasured one another, drinking of each other's love, filling their aching need with their blissful union. A single cry rang out, followed by sweet murmurings . . . then peace.

*****

Several minutes later, Michael lay with his face buried in Nikita's neck as his breathing began to return to normal. Though his dinner jacket was still on, Nikita had worked all of the buttons of his shirt open. He could feel the softness of her breasts pressing against his chest, the bare nakedness of her stomach against his, the warmth of her femininity in which he was still sheathed. He moaned and pressed tiny kisses to her neck and shoulder. His desire for her flared anew. He wanted to make love to her over and over, all night long.

Nikita stroked his soft curls. "Later, my sweet love," she whispered, "I promise."

With a groan of regret, he withdrew himself from her warmth, and bent to kiss her once more. After straightening his own clothing, he helped Nikita to slip back into her dress and pulled her zipper up. He sighed with happiness as Nikita curled up next to him and promptly fell asleep, a look of utter contentment upon her lovely face. He reached over for her sable coat and covered her from the cold.

As she slept, he watched her, his fingers touching her. He stroked her hair, traced the outline of her nose, her lips. Raising her hand, he kissed each finger, gazing at the shiny diamond ring that proclaimed to the world that she was taken. That she was his. That she was loved and cherished by him. As if thinking the words were not enough, Michael bent, kissing her sleeping lips, and whispered, "I love you, Nikita."

He felt her stir, her hand grasping at his shirt briefly as she moaned his name, then sighed and relaxed. Michael's heart skipped a beat at her sweet murmuring -- elated at the knowledge that she dreamed of him. He held her quietly then, and let her dream.

Part 39

"Nikita." Michael shook her gently awake as the limo pulled into the driveway of her parents’ home. "We're here, my love," he whispered as she opened dazed eyes to gaze up at him. She sat up suddenly and lifted her hand. Seeing the ring, a sweet smile spread across her lips and she turned to Michael.

"I thought maybe I'd dreamt it all," she whispered. Michael looked at her tenderly as he bent to kiss her.

"Mmm . . ." she murmured against his lips then laughed and pulled away. Slipping her arms into her coat, she looked at him with sparkling eyes and whispered excitedly, "Let's go, Michael! I want to show my parents and Birky!" She leaned in then and kissed him again deeply as Michael laughed.

When the car stopped, Michael opened the door, still laughing at Nikita's excitement. Climbing out, he turned and extended his hand to her. Nikita stood next to him pulling down on her dress and adjusting her coat. "Do I look okay?" she asked, and Michael broke out into a wide grin as he slipped his arms into her coat and pulled her to him.

"You mean, do you look like you just finished making wild, passionate love to me in the back of your father's car?" he teased.

"Michael!" she exclaimed with mock indignation. "I would never do such a thing!" Then leaning into him she whispered seductively, "And if you thought that was wild, wait till we're alone in the room." She pulled back then and laughed at the look of desire that flared into Michael's eyes. Grabbing his hand, she pulled him after her toward the house.

As soon as they entered the house Nikita called out, "Mom! Dad! Where are you guys?" The smell of burnt cookies wafted through the air along with the faint sound of laughing. Nikita turned to Michael and they exchanged looks. The kitchen. Together they made their way toward that part of the house.

Michael would never forget the scene that took place over the next few minutes. Would never forget the warmth and comfort of the family scene that unfolded before him as if in slow motion.

He saw his beloved turn to look at him over her shoulder, love and happiness radiating from her beautiful face as she released his hand and flew forward, calling to her parents as she extended her hand and excitedly announced their engagement. He saw the identical looks of shock followed immediately by shouts of joy as father, mother, sister and brother embraced, then turned and pulled him into their circle. Laughter, hugs, kisses, tears, all flowed into one and Michael, for the first time since the loss of his parents, felt a part of a family once again.

His eyes met Nikita's. She was his family. Her family was his family. Despite all the noise and happiness that flowed about them, all he noticed was her. He ached to hold her. As if sensing his need, she slipped out of her father's arms and came to him, encircling his waist tenderly with her arms as she laid her head on his shoulder.

"I'm right here, Michael," she whispered, and he felt tears spring to his eyes as he held her.

Around them, silence descended as Paul gathered his wife and son to him, and together, witnessed the miracle of Michael and Nikita's love.

Part 40

Madeline gazed up at Paul as she asked, "Do you still doubt?"

He turned to her, his eyes misty. "No," he replied softly as he looked back at the serenity in his daughter's face. Michael made her happy, it was that plain and simple. Their love was right there in their eyes, and faces, for all the world to see. "No," he repeated quietly, "no doubt at all."

Madeline smiled. "I'm glad." Suddenly, Paul lowered his arms from around Madeline and Birkoff's shoulders and he began to walk toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Madeline asked.

"To call my mother," he called over his shoulder. "She'll want to know about this."

At his words, Madeline sprang forward and hurried after him. "Oh no you don't, Paul! Once Adrian finds out about this, she'll want to take complete control of the wedding!" Michael and Nikita could hear Paul arguing with her as he continued toward his study, and they smiled. Slowly Michael lowered his head and began to kiss her.

"Ahem . . . ."

Michael and Nikita looked back to see Birkoff standing in the back and they laughed. "Sorry, Birkoff," Nikita smiled. "You're so quiet, I forgot you were there."

He moved forward and took Nikita's hand in his. Leaning forward, he kissed her on the cheek. "I'm really happy for you, sis," he stated, then looked at Michael. "For both of you."

Nikita stepped away from Michael and gave her brother a big hug. "Thank you, Birkoff," she whispered. He gave her another smile before he stepped past her and headed out the door.

When Nikita turned and stepped back into Michael's embrace, he sighed and hugged her close. "Your family's very special, Nikita," he murmured against her hair. "I want our family to be just like that. To have the same love that you grew up with and that I grew up with in mine."

Nikita nodded. "I wish I could meet your sister and her family, Michael."

He pulled away and gazed down at her. "You can, Nikita." He paused as he searched her eyes. "Come to France with me . . . ."

Nikita gave him a regretful look. "Michael, I can't. Not right now. January's always a busy time for us not to mention that I'm scheduled to fly out to our west coast office on the fifth . . ." She reached up and touched his chin. "I wish I could though."

He nodded as he drew a deep breath. "There's still so much we have to talk about, Nikita," he murmured. "We need to set a date . . . Decide where we'll live . . ." His eyes took on a serious look. "I won't live apart from you, Nikita. I don't want you half a world away from me." His voice lowered to a whisper, "I wouldn't be able to stand that."

She hugged him tightly. "I know," she whispered. "I feel the same way. But, who will give up what?"

They stood holding each other quietly. "We'll figure it out," he assured her.

"And the wedding?" she asked.

Michael laughed quietly as he pulled away. "If I had my way, I'd marry you immediately, but I think your mother and grandmother might object to that."

Nikita smiled and nodded. "They'd kill you."

She watched as Michael reached over to the counter, grabbed a cookie her parents had made earlier, and bit into it. She moved up to his side and looked up at him. "How is it?" she asked.

"Mmm . . . not bad," he stated and held the cookie up to her mouth. Nikita scrunched her face and shook her head.

"Uh uh . . . I still have bad memories from the last time my mother cooked."

"It's good," Michael stated. "Taste it."

Reluctantly she opened her mouth and took a tentative bite. Michael stared down at her as she chewed thoughtfully and then swallowed. After a second, her brows lifted in surprise and she stepped closer, opening her mouth for another bite.

Michael smiled as he withheld the cookie. "I thought you didn't want any?" he whispered, his voice low and full of laughter.

"Changed my mind . . ." Nikita murmured and tried to reach for the cookie, but Michael held it out of reach.

"What do I get if I give you another bite?" he asked, his eyes twinkling.

Nikita thought a moment and then stepped closer. She placed her palms on his chest and glided them slowly down his body. "What did you have in mind?" she asked. Her hands glided down very low and Michael drew in a quick breath.

"Oops, sorry," she smiled impishly, and raised her hands up to a less sensitive area of Michael's body. He grabbed her to him and kissed her deeply.

When he pulled away, Nikita grinned and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I wanted the cookie . . . but I guess that was just as good," she stated as she gave him another quick kiss. Turning, she took a cookie off of the cookie sheet and began to munch on it as Michael began to gather the utensils and bowls on the counter, and placed them in the sink. She walked over to the cabinet and took a glass down and headed for the refrigerator.

"Do you want some milk?" she asked.

Michael, who was rinsing the sponge out, moved back to the counter and began to wipe at the flour and granules of sugar sprinkled about it. "Yes, please," he answered. As Nikita poured the milk, he busied himself putting away the ingredients that Paul and Madeline had used earlier.

"Here you go, love."

Nikita placed the glass in his hand, having already drunk her fill. She took the sugar container from him and replaced it where it belonged. Michael popped another cookie in his mouth and chewed while she moved over to the sink and began to wash the dishes.

"Uhm," he mumbled, his mouth full of the cookie, and pulled her away from the sink. "You'll ruin your dress," he scolded. He pushed her gently to the side and took her place. "You sweep," he ordered, "and I'll wash." Nikita smiled as she turned to obey. Quietly they went about restoring the kitchen to order -- content to be working together. After a few minutes, they stood side by side and surveyed their work with quiet satisfaction.

Michael reached for Nikita's hand and pulled her to him. "Now that I've been such a good helper," he asked, "do I get a reward?"

"That depends," Nikita murmured, her eyes sparkling as she moved in even closer. "What did you have in mind?"

"Oh, I don't know," he whispered, as he lowered his lips to hers. "But I'm sure we can negotiate some sort of satisfactory payment . . . ."

Part 41

The soft glow of the silvery moonlight filtering in through the French windows provided the only light as Nikita lay on her back, and gazed up at Michael. He was lying on his side, his head resting in his hand as he propped himself up on one elbow and gazed down at her with a smile. His other hand held hers, absentmindedly playing with the ring on her finger.

"Well?" she asked. Even in the dim light, she could see that his eyes danced with amusement.

"Why do you want to know?" he asked, his voice soft, yet trembling slightly with laughter. He shifted then, laying down and snuggling up beside her, his hand sliding possessively across her stomach as he lifted one leg and placed it across hers. He rested his head on the pillow next to her as he buried his face in her long hair.

"Because I do, that's why!" she responded, turning her head toward him. She gazed into his eyes and then asked again, quietly, as her eyes searched his, "Was Karen your lover?"

Michael's eyes grew serious as he looked at her. "No, Nikita. Karen and I were never intimate."

She turned and reached for him, wrapping her arms about him as she buried her face into his chest. "I know I shouldn't ask," she murmured, "but . . . she was just so irritating today, Michael. For the first time in my life, I felt like . . . like . . . ."

"Like what, my love?" he whispered, his smile widening again.

"Like slapping her, that's what!" she finished.

A low, melodious, laugh rumbled forth from Michael's lips as he reached for Nikita and pulled her up on top of him. She used one hand to flick her long hair to one side as she gazed down at him, a crooked smile playing on her lips. "I'm serious, Michael," she stated. "I actually wanted to scratch her eyes out today."

"Nikita," Michael sighed. "My sweet, sweet love," he whispered.

"You're mine, Michael," she whispered as she gazed deeply into his eyes. "I don't want any other woman touching you . . . here," she stated and bent to kiss his mouth tenderly. "Or here," she whispered as she trailed kisses down to his neck and bit him gently, then kissed his skin as he closed his eyes and moaned softly.

"Do you understand?" she asked.

He smiled lazily up at her and whispered, "Yes."

Nikita smiled back as her lips kissed a path down to his chest. She lifted her head momentarily to gaze into his darkening eyes. "Or here," she whispered, and bent to suckle his nipple, delighting in his moan and in his fingers as they moved to her breasts and squeezed her gently. After a while, Nikita moved her mouth over to his other nipple and suckled him there, also. She felt him hardening quickly as his hips began to move beneath her.

When she began to move lower, Michael groaned and drew his knees apart in anticipation of her next destination. Nikita smiled and took her time kissing the ridges of Michael's muscular stomach, teasing him with her lingering. He began to writhe beneath her, his hands stroking her hair and gently pushing her lower.

"Please, Nikita," he moaned.

She slid down lower, turned and kissed the inside of his thighs, her lips moving close to his throbbing member, but still not touching him. Michael groaned and lifted his hips off of the bed as his hands grabbed at the sheets beneath him.

Nikita reached for one of his hands and moved it to his thickened arousal. "Show me what you want," she whispered. His breathing became labored and she watched in fascination as he touched himself, guided his throbbing shaft toward her mouth.

"Please, Nikita," he whispered.

Nikita looked up at his eyes and saw the desire and passion reflected within. Slowly she lowered her mouth and took him in.

Michael moaned loudly, his hips lifting up once again, his hand caressing her cheek as she kissed him in the most intimate of places on his body. He called her name out over and over as she sucked on him gently, then hard. When he began to thrust up against her, she moved her body up and straddled him, positioning herself over him. Reaching beneath her, she took hold of him and lowered herself so that his tip just barely touched her warm moistness.

Michael moaned and tried to thrust up into her as he placed his hands on her knees and slid them up her thighs and squeezed. She descended a little lower and began to stroke his tip sensually along the length of her. They both moaned in pleasure. Unable to wait any longer, Michael reached up higher with his hands, grabbing hold of her hips and pulled her down to him, sighing as he felt himself slide into her. Nikita gasped at his entry, relishing the feel of him, his size, his hardness. Leaning forward, she began to ride him.

Michael groaned with ecstacy as he watched the woman above him, felt her movements stroking him. Heard her labored breathing as she moved up and down upon him, faster and faster. When he felt his tension building dangerously close to the breaking point, he grabbed hold of her and rolled so that she was beneath him. He raised himself up on his forearms and stared down at her with eyes that revealed his pure love and desire for her. Nikita reached up and kissed him as she spread her knees wide and thrust up against him. Instantly Michael moved . . . stroking feverishly into her, thrusting deeply, and quickly. Nikita moaned in delight, her body arching up against him.

"More, Michael," she begged and he willingly complied.

"Tell me what you feel," he panted as he gazed down at her, his hips thrusting his cock deeply into her. She opened her eyes to look at him in a passion-filled gaze.

"Tell me . . ." he whispered huskily.

"Oh god, Michael . . ." she moaned, as she searched her desire-filled mind for the words. "Good . . . so beautiful. Arghhh . . ." she moaned and thrust her hips up, meeting his every stroke.

"Tell me . . ." he repeated hoarsely as the muscles in his neck strained with his effort.

"Michael . . ." she moaned.

"Tell me!!"

She panted, "Tight . . . Oh, god, Michael . . . so tight!" She began to thrash around beneath him as she felt her release coming. "Please . . . please . . . Michael, please," she begged.

The tension between her legs stretched tautly, approaching the breaking point. Her whole body arched and she cried out as Michael thrust into her once again and she climaxed into a blinding release. She clung to him, moaning and whimpering, as she felt his own shuddering release and he collapsed onto her, rolling so that she lay on top.

"Michael . . ." she whispered, as he held her, kissing her, and soothed her tired body.

He reached up and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, "Tell me . . ." he whispered softly.

Nikita wrapped her arms around him and hugged him as she searched for the words to describe how she felt. With a sigh, she rested her head upon his shoulder, and murmured sleepily, "I love you . . . ."

Part 42

Nikita opened her eyes and saw from the soft light filling the room, that it was morning -- Christmas morning. She lifted her head slightly off of the pillow and a smile formed on her lips. Ever since she was a child, Christmas was her very favorite of all holidays.

She became aware of Michael's, now familiar, warmth and weight as he snuggled up against her back, his deep breathing indicating that he was still asleep. She laid her head back down for a moment and enjoyed the feel of him next to her. His arm and leg lay over her and it made her feel protected and loved. Turning slightly, she felt the roughness of his early morning stubble as her shoulder came softly into contact with his chin. She smiled, tensing a little at the pleasurable sensation of his beard rubbing against her skin. Nikita was tempted to stay in bed a while longer with him, but couldn't. She had an appointment that she had to keep.

Carefully she moved, trying not to wake Michael, as she slipped out from under the covers. She stood beside the bed and pulled on her robe as she looked down at Michael and felt her heart quicken. As she began to move away, though, Michael woke, his body noticing her absence.

"Nikita?" he called softly, his voice husky from sleep.

She turned to look at him and smiled. Retracing her steps, she sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over to kiss him tenderly. "I didn't mean to wake you," she whispered.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

She smoothed his dark curls away from his face. "I'm going to get dressed and go downstairs. It's still early, you can sleep for another hour or so," she whispered.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his eyes roamed over her face in his familiar searching caress, as his hand moved up to touch her cheek.

Nikita smiled and gave him a lingering kiss. "Sleep, Michael. I'll come wake you later."

Ten minutes later, Nikita entered the family room wearing jeans and a thick navy pullover sweater. Paul sat at the piano playing Christmas carols softly. When he heard her enter, he looked up and smiled. "I thought maybe you weren't going to make it this year," he commented quietly. Nikita smiled as she leaned down to kiss his cheek.

"Merry Christmas, Father," she said, and sat down on the chair next to him. When she was six, Nikita had sneaked down early Christmas morning in the hopes of catching Santa Claus as he visited their house. Instead of Santa, though, she had found her father, sitting at the piano, playing Christmas carols softly in the early morning. Over the years it became a personal tradition of theirs to come down before the others and spend time, just the two of them, singing Christmas carols and talking.

Nikita leaned her head against her father's shoulder as he finished the carol he had been playing when she walked in. His fingers paused over the keys as he turned to her. "Ready?" he asked.

She sat up straight while she lifted her arm and placed it around his shoulder. Her eyes focused on the familiar songbook as she cleared her throat and nodded. "Ready if you are," she smiled.

He played the opening strands of the song and turned to her expectantly. Nikita smiled and began to sing . . . .

"I'm dreaming of a white Christmas
Just like the ones I use to know
Where the treetops glisten and children listen
To hear, sleigh bells in the snow . . . ."

Paul smiled as he listened to Nikita sing and he marveled silently at how the years had flown by. He still recalled the first time they had sat together and he had begun to teach her the songs that were now familiar and dear to both of them. He listened to her soft, low voice as she sang and in his mind, he could still hear her as a little girl singing. He closed his eyes, his fingers knowing instinctively which keys to press, and hummed along.

". . . May your dreams be merry and bright
And may all your Christmases be white."

As the song came to an end, Paul reached for Nikita's hand and held it loosely in his as he sat quietly thinking. "Do you think this will be the last of our little Christmas morning visits?" he asked. She leaned her head against his shoulder.

"No. Why should it be?" she asked.

"Because you're getting married, I presume, sometime this coming year. Who knows what the next year will bring . . . you and Michael may be in France with his family, or living elsewhere."

"Or we may be right back here," Nikita added, with a smile. She looked into his eyes and stated, "It really doesn't matter where Michael and I will be. What's important is that for all these years, you've shown me what it's like to be a good parent. I'll always treasure that. Someday, if Michael and I are so blessed with children, I'll carry on the lessons that you and Mom have taught me." She gave her father a big smile. "Who knows . . . maybe one of these Christmases you'll find yourself with a bunch of little grandchildren singing for you on Christmas morning!"

Paul laughed at that thought. "I would love that, Nikita," he smiled. "Yes, I truly would."

Michael stood by the door listening to Nikita and Paul. Not long after Nikita had left to come downstairs, he had risen and gotten dressed also. Although still a little tired, he found that he wanted to be near her as much as he could. He would be leaving soon and he didn't know how many weeks, or even months, might pass before they would be together again. Silently he pondered on how he and Nikita were going to work their schedules out . . . not to mention plan a wedding.

It was clear from what he had seen that Nikita loved her work and that Paul intended for her to take over the helm one day. Since Section 1 was headquartered here in New York, that would mean Nikita, in all likelihood, would want to live here -- especially since her family was here. Yet, his home and headquarters were in Paris. If he wanted to move his headquarters here, he would have to speak with Monique since their parents had left the gallery in both their names. He was sure there would be no problem with her since she left the running of the gallery up to him. However, relocating would mean he would see even less of Monique and her family, and he would have to give up the city he loved and the home he had worked hard to build up over these past years . . . Michael stared at Nikita's back as she sat next to her father. There was the option of keeping two residences, but he really didn't want that. He wanted them to have one place that they would call home and that they could raise a family in. Someone tapped on his shoulder and he turned to find Madeline standing behind him.

"Good morning, Michael," she smiled, "and Merry Christmas."

"Thank you," Michael replied. "Merry Christmas to you, too." They turned then to look at Paul and Nikita who were still unaware of their presence. They had launched into another Christmas carol, and sat swaying side by side, laughing and singing.

"Do they always do this?" Michael asked.

"Ever since Nikita was very young," Madeline smiled. "Birkoff should be joining them soon."

Michael glanced sideways at Madeline. "I wanted to thank you and your family for making me feel welcome in your home," he stated quietly. "I've enjoyed my time here."

She smiled up at Michael. "We've enjoyed having you, Michael." She gave a little laugh. "I admit I had no idea that things would end up as they did, with you and Nikita, but I'm truly happy for you and especially for my daughter." She linked her arm through Michael's. "I know you'll make her very happy, Michael. That's all I can hope for." Madeline saw the slightly worried look in his eyes and she asked, "Is something wrong?"

Michael smiled and shook his head. "No, not really. We just haven't really had time to talk yet about the future."

Madeline patted his arm and gave him a reassuring smile. "Why don't you two take some time today and do that then. We usually don't do much after exchanging gifts in the morning until the evening when we have dinner together. Perhaps you and Nikita can use the time to talk," she suggested.

"That sounds good," Michael agreed.

Madeline smiled up at him and pulled him into the room. "Now how about you say we go crash this little party?" Michael smiled and followed her in.

Nikita and Paul turned around at the sound of them approaching. He smiled as his gaze met Nikita's and she stood and walked toward them, reaching out first to kiss her mother and wish her a Merry Christmas before she turned and stepped into his arms. They stood for several seconds staring, communicating only with their eyes before Nikita whispered, "Merry Christmas, Michael," and leaned up to kiss him. At the piano, Paul and Madeline sat side by side watching and smiling, before they too exchanged Christmas greetings.