Goddess of Light (Goddess Summoning #3)(27)

"I don't think the fountains are active unless the show's going on. Here, I'll bet this will tell us about them." She led him to a small signpost giving information on displays. Reading, she nodded, "Yeah, the fountain show begins every quarter hour." She glanced at her watch. "It's eleven twenty-five, so we have five minutes."

Recollecting himself, Apollo tuned out the wash of distractions around him and refocused his attention on the lovely woman he was supposed to be romancing. "Would you like to walk, or would you rather sit and wait for the fountains to begin?" He gestured to one of several marble benches that dotted the wide sidewalk that ran the length of the minilake.

"Walk, definitely," she said, and they began strolling slowly along the bank.

After a small stretch of companionable silence, Pamela said, "This place is such an odd mixture of tacky and refined, don't you think?"

Apollo wanted to tell her she had no idea how odd Las Vegas seemed to him, but he was heartened by the fact that Pamela obviously found their surroundings at least a little unusual, too.

"I couldn't agree with you more," he said.

"I mean, look at that," she pointed towards the opposite side of the street. "Over there it's nothing but one big cheesy 'come spend your money here!' trap after another. But over here it's different." She stopped and leaned against the white marble railing that had been fashioned to look like an old Italian balustrade. It ran the length of the water, separating the sidewalk from the pool. "On this side the street was built to make us believe that we are strolling down a European walkway. The lights aren't neon advertisements, they're lovely old-fashioned streetlamps separated by sweet little trees. And this" - she looked out across the water at the shops and restaurants of the Bellagio - "reminds me of a chic Tuscan village. I know it's all subterfuge, but the imagery works. As a designer I have to applaud a successful masquerade."

Something in her tone called his gaze back to her face. He was surprised to find that she looked sad, and it was that unexpected melancholy that had been mirrored in her voice. Until then she had seemed happy, even giddy, enjoying the evening and their shared conversation. What had happened?

"Is a masquerade such a bad thing?"

"It's not really bad," she said, still looking out across the water. "It's just that I sometimes wonder if anything is really as it seems."

He knew she was speaking of much more than architecture and streetlights. He wanted to comfort her, to tell her that she needn't be so sad. But how could he? He wasn't what he seemed. Or was he? At that moment he felt very much like a man who wanted nothing more than to make a beautiful woman smile.

"Sometimes things are more than they seem, better than they at first appear."

She turned to look at him and was caught in the impossible blue of his eyes.

"I wish that were true, but in my experience things aren't usually better than they pretend to be - it's usually the other way around."

"Perhaps," he said, trailing his fingers lightly across her cheek and down the smooth side of her long neck, "that is because you have not yet had the right kind of experiences."

Pamela's stomach tensed. Apollo bent to brush his lips against hers in a brief, soft suggestion of a kiss. And as their mouths touched, the fountains came alive.

Chapter 9

Violins filled the air around them, and music enticed the water skyward, calling hidden lights to spotlight the liquid dance. Then the tenor began to sing. Pamela shivered as her body responded to the magnificence of his voice. It was so unexpected - so amazing. The arcs of water moved in perfect time to the rise and fall of the orchestra as if they had been choreographed by the hand of a master magician.

It was unbelievable and wonderful, like their kiss had been the cue that started it all.

At the sound of the first note, they had turned to face the fountains, and now Pamela stood very still, sheltered within Phoebus' arms while her emotions soared with the song.

"It's Italian, isn't it?" She leaned back against him, tilting her head up so that he could hear her question, without taking her eyes from the water.

"Yes," Apollo said. His eyes, too, were riveted on the incredible show before them. "He is singing of la rondine, the swallow," he murmured, using his voice as a backdrop to the beautiful music rather than a distraction. "He tells the story of the life of a little swallow who migrates far, far away to find love in a distant land. But of course he does not truly sing of a bird - he sings of his lover, who he is afraid has flown from him and is lost forever."

"I wish I could understand Italian," Pamela whispered.

Apollo tightened his arms around her. "Do you really need to? Listen to the music with your heart, and you will understand the soul of the song."

Pamela listened with her heart. At the crescendo she felt her eyes fill with tears. She did understand - she understood the pain of lost love, of regrets, and the fear of forever being alone. When the song ended and the water went still and black, she stayed with her back pressed against Phoebus. She could feel the beat of his heart. The warmth of his body enveloped her.

"I did not expect to find such beauty here," he said softy, not wanting to break the spell the magical waters had cast.

"Neither did I." She drew a deep breath. "There's a lot about tonight that I didn't expect."