Lena drops her eyes and turns her expressive face to the side, no doubt in hopes she can hide the lie from me. Which she can’t. “Okay.”
With a curved finger hooked under her chin, I urge her face back toward mine and I lean in until we are forehead to forehead, nose to nose. “Liar,” I whisper, brushing her lips with my own.
I know my battle is just beginning. It will take time and a lot of distraction to convince my wife not to fret about our trip. I’m determined to make it the best it can possibly be, though, even if it means wearing myself out reminding her that this is what I want. In the end, it’ll be worth it. There is no question of that. If I can give her nothing else, I will give her this.
“My heart,” I murmur, rubbing the tip of my nose back and forth over hers, wishing I could make things right, make things better. Change them.
But knowing I can’t.
“For yours,” she replies, as she has since the night I proposed to her just over sixteen years ago. One of the best nights of my life, and they’ve only gotten better with time.
Time.
I squelch the thought that erupts like an acidic volcano, spewing destructive lava through my mind. There are some things I won’t allow myself to dwell on. Not until I absolutely have to.
“We’ll celebrate our anniversary on the banks of the River Thames and we’ll celebrate every day after that someplace new. The French Riviera, Rome, Prague, Vienna, Belgium. Everywhere we’ve ever wanted to go, we’ll go.”
“What if the only place I’ve ever really wanted to be was in your arms?”
My chest tightens painfully as the still-new fear wraps its cold, black fingers around my heart. Quickly, before Lena can notice, I wrestle it into the background, just like I used to wrestle our skis into the hall closet every spring. I’d press them in with one hand, in among the other various debris of our life together, and then I’d close the door as fast as I could before they fell out. Both Lena and I both know to open that door with caution. We joke about it often and use it as our go-to analogy for awful situations.
We both know that one could easily be hurt by what rests behind it.
Summoning a smile, I reply, “That’s the one place that will always be available to you. They’re open twenty-four seven. Day or night. Rain or shine. As long as we both shall live.”
“As long as we both shall live?”
“As long as I live,” I explain.
I feel the slight shake of her head before she buries her face in the curve of my neck, trying unsuccessfully to hide her emotion from me. She does it often—tries to hide what she’s feeling. At least she does these days. And I let her. I know she needs to feel as though she’s somehow sparing me from her devastation.
But she isn’t.
I know. I always know. I am actually sparing her by pretending that I don’t.
They say ignorance is bliss. I think I might just have to agree. There are many, many things I wish I didn’t know because once you know, you can’t unknow.
I’m aware of the moment that she rallies, the moment when she, too, stuffs the skis back into the closet to be taken out only when they must. Or when the latch gives way and the door flies open unexpectedly, dumping those damn skis out onto the floor. I’m aware because she runs her hands up my arms, over my shoulders and then laces her fingers behind my neck, leaning into me in that way she’s always done when she wants more than just a kiss.
If I weren’t trying so hard to guard the closet door and those damn skis, I’d probably growl.
“Then let’s get this party started the right way.”
When our lips meet again, there is hunger. And desperation. And sadness. It rings like an inaudible bell in every touch, every whisper, every one of her soft moans. Within seconds, our tongues tangle in a sweetly familiar dance that is followed closely by sure fingers that undo buttons, tease skin and incite nerves.
She excites me.
She always has.
It isn’t until I sweep my wife into my arms and carry her, naked, to our bed that our lovemaking slows to the careful memorization of body and movement and moment. Even in the throes of our shared passion, the truth—and the future—is there.
It’s always there.
In the background.
In the closet.
With the skis.
Waiting…
Two
Bitter Wine
Lena
“Mimosas for breakfast? Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”