by Lovell, Dani
We get ready to watch a season of ‘Modern Family’ by slipping under the duvet together and holding each other tightly, my nakedness pressed up against the soft fabric of his clothes. It’s probably the most cosy I have ever felt in my entire life.
This feels so right… why didn’t we decide to be a couple sooner? It seems like years and years of wasted time that could have been spent together, warm and content. Why didn’t I just come out and tell him all those years ago that I wanted him? Is this too good to be true, like Oliver said? Is something going to go horribly wrong? How can we have been ‘just good friends’ all these years and suddenly get married and be so fulfilled and settled so quickly? I know I should stop doubting and just enjoy it, but I’m petrified of what I might lose.
~~~~~~~
So comfy… I roll over and brush my face against the soft, warm pillow and slide my hand up the hard chest of my new man. I’m almost entirely buried under the plush duvet and snuggled up tightly next to Oliver. He groans and rolls over, practically covering me with his body, kissing my head and squeezing me.
“Mmm… good sleep,” he mumbles.
“Yeah…” I whisper, still somewhat unconscious.
A long pause follows before he moans loudly. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit,” he whispers, waking me fully.
“Hmm?” I grunt from under the covers.
“We slept. Ugh, we slept.”
“Oh… no…” I emerge from my warm little duvet dungeon to check the damage. “What time is it?”
He leans over to check the time on his bedside clock and growls. “For god’s sake. It’s nine thirty.”
“At night?” I have to ask because I’m so disoriented right now, it could be either.”
“Yeah, at night.”
“Oh, whoops. That’s going to fuck up the body clock.”
“Yep. We’re either going to have to try to get back to sleep - or stay up and be knackered all day tomorrow.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Yeah… you?”
“Yes, starving.”
“Okay, let’s go down and get something and see if we can go back to sleep afterwards. Maybe a glass of wine or two might help.”
“Sounds good to me.”
We throw on some comfy clothes and quietly plod down the stairs on the gorgeous, thick carpet to prepare some dinner. I always notice the carpet, it feels so new and fluffy, even under socked feet.
I can’t believe I slept, and for so long, too! It’s completely messed up my plans to be back to normal tomorrow, bright and ready for my first day back at work. Instead, I’m going to be tired and ratty while I think of Oliver all day, and the combination will probably result in a serious lack of concentration.
“What would you like, gorgeous girl?” Oliver asks as we reach the kitchen. He smiles as he slips his hands around my waist, and I’m presuming it’s because he’s enjoying having me here… in this capacity. I’m enjoying it, too, more than I’ve ever enjoyed relaxing in a man’s home, even here - because this time, it’s so different.
“I don’t mind, you’ve got some chicken breasts in the fridge - we could have those with something?”
“Mmm, how about… long stemmed broccoli and buttered, salty new potatoes?”
“That sounds delish!” All potatoes must be buttered and salty, in my opinion, and Oliver obviously knows me well.
“Great, I know you hate raw chicken so I’ll prepare the chicken - you can sort the veg, deal?”
“Deal.” I smile broadly, loving our domesticity and his perfect chivalry, and I head to the saucepan cupboard to make a start. And yes, of course I know where it is.
We potter around the kitchen together, chatting about our trip and all of the fun things we’d like to do again when we return. Of course the subject of Wriggler comes up and we spend a while discussing her adorable perfectness which leaves a slight ache in my chest. I miss her. I can’t wait to be able to see that gorgeous girl again and have a huge cuddle.
Oliver’s enthusiasm towards her is charming, he loves her to pieces, too, and I can’t wait for the day when we can take her out somewhere together; her Auntie and Uncle spoiling her rotten and loving every minute. Obviously we’ll have to wait until they are in the UK or we go back to LA, but it’ll be so wonderful to be able to share that type of ‘togetherness’.
I feel like I’m almost setting a goal… by the time that happens, we’ll have finished ‘learning’ how we work together as a couple, we’ll have told everyone the truth, we’ll be ‘Oliver and Clare’ and we’ll be seeing our beautiful girl again. I’m so looking forward to getting there.
Our meal is spent in pretty much the same way, chatting and enjoying. It’s delicious, of course, and I’m ravenous so I manage to finish in record time for me, even with all of the talking. Oliver opened a bottle of my favourite Tempranillo and it’s been going down superbly.
We decide not to bother with dessert and lock up everything downstairs to head on up to finish our wine in bed with another movie; an attempt to lull ourselves into another irresistible sleep. But considering I’m not in the slightest bit sleepy right now, that might be somewhat doubtful. If I don’t, hopefully Oliver will be able to. Maybe he can exhaust me to sleep… if you know what I mean.
We pick some cheesy, easy chick-flick to watch and get naked before slipping into bed together, our wine on the bedside tables. Oliver’s hands are instantly on my body, stroking and gliding over my skin. I look up at his face, expecting to see him looking at me with those sexy come-to-bed eyes, but instead, he’s looking at the TV, seemingly oblivious to the sensual movement of his hands.
I bend my leg towards him, brushing it up and over his thigh and resting it there, and as expected, he smoothes his large, strong hand from my calf, down to my ankle and back up again, past my knee and over my thigh to my buttock, before repeating the process, slowly. He may be totally unaware of how arousing this contact is, as he stares at the TV screen, but my consciousness is present and correct, alive and kicking, raring to go.
His other arm is underneath me, his fingers circling the skin of my back lightly and I’m not sure that I can take any more of this. So I don’t. And I pounce.
“Wowzers!” he says in surprise as I land on top of him, straddling his hips. “Well hello!”
“Hey, sexy,” I whisper with a giant, cheeky smile.
“Now that’s a much better view,” he says, his eyes widening as they fix on my chest, “you getting set to give me some sugar?”
“Sugar? Hmm… naa.”
“Naa? I want sugar!” he demands.
“I want something… less sweet…”
“Oh, don’t give me that,” he laughs as he flips us both over, his outstanding body caught between my legs, my bare-naked bits pressed deliciously against his taut belly. He kisses my lips slowly, but firmly. “We both know you love a bit of sugar… you love you some sweet romance… you love it. And I want it, too.”
“You do?” I ask, smiling, I do love it, I love a bit of spice, too, but his love is far too good to pass up, and he really likes it, too? Good… because I like that…
“Yeah, I do. And I’m gonna get it…” he says, growling as he goes in for the kill, biting and kissing my neck as our super-fun, evening entertainment commences. Cheesy, easy chick-flick be damned, we’re going at it and it’s sweet and romantic… and fucking hot. Yeah, bitches, the ‘F’ word. You know it.
CHAPTER 13
SATURDAY 22ND JUNE
I’m so bloody hot when I wake, and it doesn’t take long to realise that it’s because I’m lying on top of Oliver, my face against his chest, totally hidden under the duvet. I peel my cheek from his torso and climb off him, throwing the covers back and airing my suffocating skin.
I’m baking. I roll over on the cool sheets in an attempt to coax my stuffy body back to sleep, but my eyes aren’t feeling it so I end up fidgeting, trying to get comfortable.
I decide that a full bladder and dry mouth are adding
to my discomfort, so having checked the stupid time and groaned about my alert state, I have a toilet visit and a trip downstairs to fetch a bottle of water from the kitchen. I’m really quite disgruntled about this jetlag shit - and that I’m letting the bastard defeat me.
I sit back on the edge of the bed, careful not to wake Oliver, and take a few refreshing gulps of the freezing cold water. There’s nothing quite like it when you’re hot and gasping in the middle of the night. Or day… or morning… or whatever bloody body clock I’m working on right now.
I practically jump out of my skin and almost spit a mouthful of water all over my favourite carpet when his hand creeps around my waist and rests on my belly. He chuckles sleepily. “Sorry, baby.”
“God, you scared me! Would you like some water?” I ask, my hand on my racing heart.
“Yes please,” he says with a deep, sleepy voice, kissing my back and slowly sitting up. I hand him the bottle and watch his face as he drinks; the way his bones and muscles move - even just to swallow some water - is so masculine and gorgeous.
“Thanks, darling. Can’t you sleep?”
“No. I woke up hot and bothered and feel wide awake now. But you go back to sleep, don’t stay up because of me.”
“I’ll try but I doubt I’ll drop back off again. That sleep earlier really fucked things up for us, didn’t it?” he says with a smile.
“Yeah. It’ll be difficult to get through the day at work if I’m knackered, but I’m sure I’ll cope.”
“Don’t go…” he says, bending to wrap both arms around my waist and resting his head against my back.
I hold the backs of his hands in mine. “I have to. Bea and I have been away from the shop for two whole weeks! I need to get back in there and check the books and allocate myself some orders; let Jessica have a break.”
He sighs loudly like a child and groans in defeat. “‘Kay.”
“You’re so cute, Oliver.”
“Cute?” he asks, sitting upright and looking most displeased. “I am not! I am masculine and strong and scary…” he says - his voice much lower in tone than usual and his frown overly-exaggerated in an attempt to look mean. Which of course sets me off in a fit of giggles.
“Yes… cute! And this pretend meanness makes you even more cute.” I lean towards him and cup his jaw in my hand as I kiss his lips.
He remains still - frowning. “Hmm.”
“Don’t ‘hmm’ me, grumpy. Deal with it. Your… wife thinks you’re cute.”
He grins… “Say it again…”
“Cute.”
He rolls his eyes. “The other bit. The bit you always pause before and say in that nervous kind of way.”
I smile shyly and look down before whispering, “Wife.”
“Yeah… say it again.”
Still smiling, I repeat myself, a little louder this time. “Wife.”
“Say it again!” he shouts making me laugh again.
“Wife!” I cry, giggling loudly.
“Again!”
“Wife!” I yell and he grabs me and throws me down on the bed, manoeuvring until he’s on top of me, his hands holding my wrists above my head, his legs restraining mine. He plants a gorgeous, gentle, lingering kiss on my lips and brushes my tongue ever so slightly with his.
“Good. It’s so weird that this time last week, I didn’t even contemplate the idea of marriage - for a good few years, anyway, but all of a sudden - I’m sharing my bed with my hot wife! The woman I’ve wanted for a really long time; the same woman I thought I’d never convince to even date me! But a woman I think the world of, none-the-less, and I’m thanking my lucky stars that I decided to get spontaneous and convince you to get hitched, because we’re going to make this something special.”
“Aw, thank you, Oliver. But you didn’t have to convince me; I’ve made no secret of the fact that I want the marriage and babies thing, and you’ve always privately been my opinion of the ideal man… you know I’m not particularly conventional in the way I do things, so deciding to go mad in Vegas and get randomly hitched was never going to be a tough decision for me… I just pray we’re both definitely on the same page and that neither of us will get damaged because of our impromptu nuptials.”
“Please stop worrying about that - we won’t. I know we have no experience of being together, romantically, but Clare - you’ve been one of my best friends forever, you know everything there is to know about me and vice versa. There will be no nasty surprises. Our intimate times prove we have definitely got more than a huge attraction towards one another - the only reason we’ve never been together is because I got the strong vibe that you only wanted to be friends, and I was always too much of a wimp to contest that. Until - the girl whose name I won’t mention - came along and fucked with you. It just so happens that we were in Vegas then, and I had the perfect opportunity to snap you up. I’m amazed you agreed to it but I’m over the moon, as you well know. You know that I love you, Clare.”
My stomach goes wild and I think I manage to fall in love with him just that little bit more, if at all possible. “I wish you knew how I felt about you before, Oliver. We could have begun to date like normal people and be openly married by now.”
“I know, I wish you’d have told me - but I didn’t tell you either, so we’ve been masking it by being ‘best friends’ and torturing ourselves all this time.”
“Having said that, though, Oliver - I wouldn’t want to change how we did it. I think that’s a fun, intimate memory for us, whether it works out or not.”
“Clare! Stop that, of course it will work, we’ll make it work. Why do you doubt that?”
I shake my head and look down at my chest. “I don’t know, I suppose I’m trying to prepare myself for the worst; we’ve done something massively spontaneous and things like that can go wrong… it would break my heart if that happened with us, Ol, so I suppose I just need to keep one foot on the ground - just in case.”
“No.” He says, sternly. “No ‘feet on the ground’, and no ‘just in case’. Fly with me, I’m holding you - I’m not going to fall, so neither will you. We’ll soar into our futures - together. Happy. I promise.”
I love him. I believe him, too. I need to let go and fully enjoy the ride that is - my life. I have said it enough times - I’m not in to convention, so I need to forget it and get on with our excitingly different, new start. None of my relationships have ever begun like this before - obviously, and hopefully this one will be the last one. No… scrap ‘hopefully’. This will be the last one. Oliver will be my husband for the rest of my life. Oh gosh, and I just can’t wait to start living some more of it.
~~~~~~~
It’s actually a wonderfully comfortable and ‘feel-good’ night. Neither of us goes back to sleep so we keep each other company with talks about our future and the fun things we’d like to do together. We decide a honeymoon is definitely on the cards once we’re ‘real’ and everyone knows. It won’t be right away, and it definitely won’t be a particularly long holiday, considering we’ve just had one, but a week somewhere beautiful in a couple of months sounds perfect for both of us.
I’ve always known Oliver would like children, and that being such an important topic for me, the conversation is exciting. He’d definitely like two, maybe more. I’m happy with any number, as long as I can have one, so I’ll go with whatever Oliver wants… should pregnancy and birth be agreeable with me with the first one.
Eventually we fall asleep, again - accidentally, sometime around six. I don’t remember much because we were talking so quietly in the end, we must have just faded into dreams, but it’s not ideal considering I have to get up for work at seven thirty today.
When the alarm sounds, I grumble into the pillow, hit ‘snooze’ and pull the duvet back up and over my face, I’m definitely not feeling this early start. A warm hand slips over my stomach and pulls me backwards across the mattress, slap bang into a hard, naked, warm body. He kisses my spine just below my neck and wriggles to get comfy
again with me in his arms.
I slip one foot between his ankles, feeling cradled, and I smile contently, ignoring the knowledge that the alarm is going to go off again in just a few minutes. And when it does, I feel certain that there is something wrong with my phone alarm - that can’t have been ten minutes, already… can it?
“Uh…” I moan as I reach over to hit ‘snooze’ again, trying not to pull out of his embrace.
“Uh,” he repeats in response. “Too early, go in late.”
“No… I’ll get up. Ten more minutes.”
“Uh huh.”
In what seems like thirty seconds, my frigging alarm goes off again and I whimper knowing that I’ve stayed in bed for the longest possible time. I turn my head to kiss his bicep and wriggle out of his arms to sit on the edge of the bed for a moment, finding the oomph to get up and turn the shower on.
I don’t say anything to Oliver, hoping he’ll fall back asleep for a few more hours, and I manage to pull myself together and head to the bathroom.
My shower was hot and amazing, but stepping out into the cooler air and wrapping myself in another of his cosy warm towels makes me want to curl straight back up under the covers.
Sitting on the edge of the bed again, my eyes closed, savouring the heat from the cosy towel on my cold, goose pimpled skin - I sigh and think which colour work t-shirt and apron to wear today so I have a plan of action to get me moving. Having decided to team my capri-pants with the pastel pink shirt and mint green apron, I head straight to my bag to grab my things and get ready before I have a chance to relax.
I quite enjoy plodding around Oliver’s house in the morning, getting ready; it’s such a lovely house and so well designed and spacious that everything seems effortless. I apply my make up and do my hair in the en-suite, so when I return to the bedroom, the only thing I need to do is put my ballet shoes on.
I still feel knackered, but better for getting ready. I walk over to Oliver’s side of the bed and crouch down to look at his lovely, sleeping face. His mouth is so gorgeously full and sexy and I can’t resist the temptation to lean towards him to kiss it softly, eliciting a lovely, welcome moan. “I’ve got to go now, darling,” I whisper, brushing his cheek bone with the pads of my fingers.
