"Hold still.  If you keep jittering I'll never get done."

"I can't help it."  Lara knew very well she was hardly the ideal person to draw from life because of her impatience, but this was really just TOO exciting!  "Are you almost finished?"

"I would be except for a little model who keeps fidgeting."  Mikhail shaded a section of her dress, pleased with how the picture he had started so many weeks ago was finally being finished -- with Lara's help.

"I knew it was me all the time."

"I thought my excuse was good."

"A girl you knew from Paris?  I was able to see through that clearly!" She paused when Mikhail gave her one of his famous looks.  "Well, maybe I was a LITTLE thrown off."

Mikky blew a strand of dark hair from his eyes, every inch the unorthodox.  Lara smiled, watching his hand move as he carefully drew her features on the paper.  The last week had been perfect, a wonderful dream, the happiest time of her life -- and his as well.

"It's done!" he hesitated before handing the sketch to her.  "You might not like it.  If you don't, just tell me, I promise I won't be hurt, because really it's not that good, and if you study it you'll see lots of flaws and --"

Lara grabbed the picture from his hands.  "Time for small talk later.  Let me see it!"

"Lara, come on, it's really bad..."

"I love it!" She threw her arms around his neck.  "It's the best picture of me I've ever seen!"

"Come on.  I'm sure you've seen better."

She rolled her eyes.  "Oh yes, I've seen better.  They were all stick figures next to this!  I'll keep it forever."

Mikhail blushed.  He had been waiting for this moment.  But was now really the time to discuss such a weighty issue?  "Forever?  I was hoping to talk to you about...about...forever."

Lara sat on the sofa, tossing her auburn hair over her shoulders.  "Forever?  What's going to last forever?"

Vlad chose that precise moment to knock on the door.  Mikhail ducked into his usual hiding spot under the bed as Lara smoothed herself and dashed to the door.

The siblings reunited with a large hug.  Vlad was perfect for hugs.  He always knew how to make a person feel that much more special with a caring embrace.

Vladimir moved a curl from his sister's fair face.  "I've hardly seen you in the last week.  Is everything okay?"

"Hmm?  Why would anything be wrong?"  Lara leaned against the baseboard of the bed casually, concealing anything of Mikhail's that might be showing.

"Because you've been acting strange for the last month or so.  I'm worried." Vlad sat down on the sofa.  "Is it Mother?  I know she can be overbearing, but I think deep inside she means no harm..."

"Mother is as worrisome to me as she is congenial."

He paused.  This was going to be excruciating to tell.  He'd be lucky if he made it through this without a scratch.  Mother Mary give him strength.

"That's good to know, because she has a new batch of Dukes and Marquises to see you.  Coming tonight.  For dinner.  And she strongly implores you to pick one.  Or rather, let them pick you and you agree."

Lara's eyes widened, then narrowed just as swiftly.  "She just can't take a hint, can she?  Well tell her that I'd rather starve in my room then be introduced to ANOTHER suitor!  See if she understands THAT!"

Vlad sighed.  Here they go again.  "Lara, please, just humor her.  If you keep blowing them off then maybe eventually she'll understand..."

"She'll never understand.  And I'm not going to sit around and keep meeting these men that symbolize the end of my freedom!"

"You of course know that I feel the exact same way.  The problem is that you're trying to battle a very, very difficult superstition of society.  It will take time, Lara."  He placed a hand on her shoulder tenderly.  "These things don't change overnight or with one person."

Lara coldly looked at her brother.  "I thought you were on my side."

"I just said that I was, but sometimes we must --"

"We must stand for what we believe in!"

It broke Vlad's gentle heart to see his sister so unhappy.  He had hardly seen her for a month now, and when he DID manage to meet with her she seemed distracted, like her mind was a million miles from Vointsky.  It was odd behavior -- behavior that concerned him.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders.  "Please, Lara, listen..."

"I can handle it."

Vlad rolled his eyes.  She had to be so independent!  She thought she could take the world on, fighting until it was hers completely.

"If you don't want to go to dinner, then don't.  I'll bring you something up afterwards."  Vlad walked into the hallway.  "But don't blame me if Mother has something to say to you about it."

"I'll try my best."

Vlad paused.  "Lara, I love you, and I only want to see you happy.  Please don't mistake me."

He was gone then, and Lara felt secretly grateful.  As much as she loved spending time with her brother, the thought of being preached to was unappetizing.  She felt like no one REALLY understood her.  Was she just being naive, or did she have a larger agenda than suitors on her mind?

Mikhail reappeared beside her.  "You can go to the dinner if you want, you know."

Lara wrapped her arms around his neck.  "And miss some valuable time with you?  I wouldn't dream of it."  She gave him a sugary kiss on his lips.  "Mother will over it.  She's so wanting to be in a good position of society.  It's sickening.  I'd rather not watch her make a fool of herself being overly gracious."

Mikhail pulled her beside him on the sofa.  "You have a perspective on everybody, don't you?"

Lara cuddled up to him, wrapping one arm over his chest, the other playing with the ends of his hair.  This was the perfect position, she thought blissfully.  "Oh yes.  Mother is a social climber, and only wants status.  Father is a little weak, and hardly the patriarch.  He lets Mother order him around because he'd rather not get into the thick of things.  Vlad is strong, but sentimental, and tries to stay out of debates and fights.  He's the one you turn too for advice, not for an alliance.  And Kosma..." Lara quickly shut her mouth.

"Kosma?  Who's Kosma?"

"Nobody.  Nothing."  She pulled herself away from him, straightening her posture.  "Somebody from a long time ago."

Mikhail slid his arm around her back.  "He's the guy in the photo album, isn't he?"

"Photo album?"

"The one you have pushed to the back of your bookshelf.  I kind of looked at it the other day."

"Mikhail!  You had absolutely no right!  I don't peek through your things!  If it's --"

"The point is," Mikhail said, calmly putting a finger to her lips, "is that I did look through it, and I did see a man there I didn't recognize.  And by the way, I caught you peeking through my portfolio the other day, so you're not too innocent either.  Want to tell me who Kosma is?"

Lara blushed.  "He is...was...my younger brother."

"So there were three of you?"

She was clearly frazzled, fidgeting in her seat and playing with the collar of her dress, something she did when put on the spot.  "He died earlier this year of tuberculosis.  Must we discuss this?"  She blinked a few times, struggling to keep tears out of her eyes.  She wouldn't break down.  She had gotten stronger, and she wouldn't relive the tears and sobs of before.  "I don't like to think of it."

Mikhail quietly leaned his cheek against hers.  "We don't have to talk about it."

Lara smiled gratefully and rested there for a few moments before finding her voice.  "What was it you were about to say before?  Something about forever."

Mikhail's heart resumed thumping deeply inside his chest, the question it wanted answered beginning to haunt him.  "I...was just going to say...um...uh..."

"Yes?"

"That..." He was looking into her eyes now, so wide and amused.  He could drown in their blue depths peacefully and never care about returning to the world.  He could get lost in her alone.

"What is, Mikky, cat got your tongue?"

"I once had a cat," he informed her, skillfully changing the subject.  "I named her Koshka."

"Your cat's name was 'cat'?  Oh that's unusual.  A real spark of brainpower must have hit you."

"I never claimed to be the most creative in Russia, unlike you," he teased.

"I never SAID I was the most creative!  I merely stated that amongst many others around me growing up --"

"You always had the best ideas.  You've told me.  Ten times at least."  He mischievously watched her sputter any retort she could manage, his intense eyes glittering as usual with a good joke.

Lara playfully nudged him.  "You're just jealous because while you were off drawing cats and apples I was conquering the province!"

"I'm just jealous of one thing," Mikhail said as he leaned his forehead against hers.  "That I didn't get to know you sooner."

They kissed romantically.  Lara thought of what a great story it all was, like something out of a novel.  Two people from different worlds, unexpectedly brought together, finding love.  If only it didn't have to end.

"There's the first of the visitors."  She peeked over Mikhail's shoulder to see out of the vast window that overlooked the main entrance.  "They're so shallow.  All most of them care about is one day being able to say they met someone even VAGUELY related to the Romanovs.  They all want glory and riches."

"They take for granted their lives," Mikhail added.  "They don't know what it's like to lose everything and have to rebuild yourself."

Lara turned to him, softly stroking his cheek.  "I hate it here sometimes.  I go to those functions and just want to scream.  It must be so wonderful to travel about like you.  You can be rich or poor, it doesn't matter, but you're experiencing life from beyond a parlor room."

"Experience it with me."

Lara was caught off guard with such a request.  Was he asking her to do what she thought he was?

"You mean...go away with you?"

Mikhail blushed, trying to swallow the thickness that had gathered in his throat.  Why did these things have to be so hard?  Why couldn't everyone just read each other's minds and never be forced to accept rejection?

"Well actually...I'm really trying to...well the question technically is...yes, you're right.  I'm asking you to go away with me.  I want you to come with me when I leave."

Lara pushed herself to her feet, trying to create a space to think.  "Mikhail.  This is...this is a very odd question.  I've never been asked such before and so I'm a little...I don't know...surprised!"

He stood quickly.  "You don't have to answer now or anything, I just...well I love you and I really want you to go with me.  We can go to Moscow and handle things with my mother and then wherever you want.  I'll take you and show you everything.  Anything you've ever wanted to see.  You and me.  And whoever else I mean.  If anyone else comes.  Which I doubt, seeing as how they'd probably all hate me.  I guess.  I'm babbling aren't I?"

"Yes, you are."  Lara turned to him.  "You know, you had no right to ask me that!"

"Excuse me?"

"You just had to ask me to go away with you!"  She paced past him on the floor, her skirts flying around her.  She was a female tornado clad in sky blue.  "You just HAD to confuse my thoughts, my feelings about EVERYTHING I've EVER known and wanted!  What am I supposed to say to something like this, Mikhail?!"

Mikky blushed.  "I was hoping for a yes, but seeing as this isn't exactly the reaction I was expecting..."

"Ugh!  Men!"  Lara crossed her arms.  "You had to bring up the future!"

"I had to bring up the future because the future is bringing ITSELF up.  I'm sorry if I really want to have you with me for the rest of my life, but I do, and I can't deny it."

Lara sighed, flouncing on the sofa.  "You can't expect me to leave my family.  This is my home, Mikhail, and it's been the only home I've known all of my life!"

"You don't enjoy it!  Why be scared to go into something that you know you'll love better than Vointsky?"

"How can I know I will?"

That stung Mikhail, inciting his stubborn pride.  "How can you doubt?  Do I not mean as much to you as you mean to me?"

Lara quickly rose.  "Don't dare to presume that you love me more than I love you, because it's not true!"

"Then why are you scared to come with me?"

"I'm not SCARED.  I'm just...I don't know...this is a shock to me.  I can't just run away with you.  My brother is here.  My parents.  My home!"

"Your prison!"

She cradled her head inside her cupped hands.  Why did this have to happen now?  And why, why, why did he have to have a decent point?!

"I'm going to dinner."

"There's suitors there.  I thought you were going to make a statement.  What happened to Miss Stand For What You Believe In?"

She saw the sarcasm across his face.  Was he right in insinuating that she only talked the issue but didn't follow through?

"Then I'll take a walk.  I need some time alone."  She quickly left the room, putting distance between herself and Mikhail.  She needed clarity, a place to be on her own.  She needed privacy.

Mikhail sat again on the sofa.  He laid his head on the arm rest, regretting his rash decision to ask her.  If he had just kept his mouth shut he wouldn't be dealing with this now.

She was going to say no.  If there ever was a chance to have her agree it was long gone after his cynical remarks to her.  And who was he to think she'd even WANT to come, anyway?  She was nobility!  He was a wanted Jew, on the run from his home country and who knew what else.  He had always been on the run, and always would be.  That wasn't a life for her.  She was smart, talented, and special.  Very, very special.  He was nobody.  Nothing.  Less than nothing.

His cheeks were damp, saturated with salty tears that were now making their way to his lips.  They were bitter.  How fitting.

He understood then, with sorrow, that the White Nights would soon be over.

Sometimes welcome, sometimes despised, no one wanted them around for too long.  They were meant to be brief flings, exciting you, urging you on to greater things, but never there to see them accomplished.

He had come with the White Nights, he realized.  They were his comrades, his friends, fellow nonconformists who never quite fit in.  They were bright, shining on everyone they touched, then drifting away to find a new place to stay.  Small adventures to whet the appetites of those who needed motivation.  They weren't meant to linger.  It wasn't in their nature.

He WAS the White Nights, the personification of a natural miracle.  Everything he and Lara had shared was written in the stars, the heavens, and so they too must understand their fate.

Mikhail turned to the window.  Within week the Nights of White would be gone, reuniting with Russia next year to groans and joy.

Both he and the nights would leave, he thought quietly.

But only one would return.

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