by Radclyffe
“I love you,” she murmured again.
I would never get tired of hearing those words from her. It was so clear then. This was perfection. My perfect little family. “Hold that thought.” I set Blanket down on the floor and walked toward my purse.
“What—”
I reached over the couch and grabbed the velvet box out of my bag. She knew me. I knew her. We didn’t need any more dramatics tonight.
The small hinges protested silently as I pulled back the lid. I could feel her eyes on me as I turned the box toward her and placed it in her upturned palm. I gave her a moment to stare at the sizable diamond before I popped the actual question.
“Marry me.”
“You planned all this...for this?” Her eyes popped wide.
“Yes. Please, Noelle. I love you and I want to be with you forever.”
“Forever?” she said, suddenly bashful. “Me, you and puppy?”
“Well, I hope our marriage lasts longer than the dog, but yeah—”
“Veronica!”
“—That’s the idea.”
My Noe looked back down at the ring. The most gorgeous smile spread across her face. The blindingly beautiful smile I’d seen the first day we met, the one I hoped I would see through many Christmas nights to come.
Two fat tears rolled down her cheeks. She looked at me, back down at the ring, then met my nervous gaze again. “Yes. Oh, my god, yes. Yes. Yes.”
“Really?” I had no idea where the sudden wave of insecurity came from.
Noelle pulled the ring out of the box and slid it right on her left hand. “Yes.”
I didn’t know what else to say but “Thank you.”
“You’re so silly.” She threw her arms around my neck. Twice she kissed me softly, pulling my bottom lip between hers, before she said with a devious little smile, “So since you asked me, I guess I’ll be taking your last name.”
“Oh, your mom will love that.”
“I know, right?” She kissed me again, pressing her hips against mine. My clit flexed and shuddered at the sensation. “Come shower with me.”
“Nope.”
She gasped, mocking me with her exaggerated shock. I chuckled and took a playful nip at her neck. Her gasp this time sounded more like a moan.
“You go up.” I nibbled her skin again. “Take your time and I’ll order you some dinner.”
Noelle leaned back, flashing that heart-racing smile, the one that pulled all her innocence and sex appeal right to the surface. “And then you’ll eat my pussy?”
“There’s the dirty girl I love.”
This kiss was hard and fast. “The dirty girl you’re gonna marry.”
THE PORTRAIT
D. Jackson Leigh
I swear I never saw it coming. Sure, things haven’t been that good in the bedroom for us in a while, but I’ve been building a business and I had surgery and my sister was sick—”
“And your dog died, your daddy went to prison and your mama got run over by a train,” Mick finished for her friend Diane.
Diane looked up from the designs she was drawing in her refried beans. “Asshole.“
Mick and Diane had been friends since college, but enough was enough. “It’s been a year, buddy. You need to get over Cheryl.” Mick softened her voice. “Have you thought about seeing someone professionally to talk about it?”
“Go see a shrink? Hell no.” Diane threw her napkin onto her plate. “Didn’t know I was being a nuisance. I’ll shut up about it.”
“Come on, I’m serious. This is…what…your sixth live-in relationship? Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to figure out what you’re doing wrong…whether it’s picking the wrong women or leaving the cap off the toothpaste.”
“So, you finally admit that you think it was my fault.”
“Listen to yourself, Diane. You’re the one who said Cheryl tried to tell you she was unhappy. All she wanted was for you to—”
“The only thing I did wrong with Cheryl was believe her when she said that young bitch hanging around her was just a friend.”
As much as she loved her buddy, Mick had listened to the same tirade a million times.
Diane stopped and narrowed her eyes at Mick’s impatient sigh. “Maybe you should listen to yourself for a change.”
“What are you talking about?” Mick said.
“I’m talking about that new neighbor you have, the hot young artist who’s been hovering around Sophie for the past two months.”
Mick slid forward in her chair and pointed a finger at Diane. “Don’t even go there. I trust Sophie implicitly.”
“Uh-huh. How much time have you spent with her lately?”
“I’m an accountant and we just finished tax season. We’ve been together almost twenty-five years. Sophie knows what tax season is like by now.”
“Bet Miss Hottie doesn’t have to worry about tax season.”
Mick stood. “I know you’re still hurt over Cheryl. That’s the only reason I’m not going to punch your lights out and tell Sophie what you’ve insinuated about her.” She threw some money on the table to pay for her lunch. “Get some help, Diane.”
Mick studied her reflection in the plate glass that was the back wall of her fifth-floor office. When did those lines appear around her mouth? Sophie said they were frown lines. Mick raised the corners of her mouth to make them disappear, but her smile looked more like a grimace and accentuated the crow’s feet around her eyes. She had considered dying her short, spiky hair when it turned snow white, but Sophie refused. It was the perfect contrast to Mick’s blue eyes, she insisted.
Mick still felt the same as she did when she was thirty. But the person looking back at her was old. Too old to have a lover fifteen years younger. Despite her adamant rejection of Diane’s implication, the seed of doubt had been planted, its roots taking hold in Mick’s thoughts all afternoon.
She sighed and turned away from her introspection. It was only four o’clock, but Sophie had warned her not to be late coming home tonight. It was Mick’s sixtieth birthday. Damn it. She didn’t want to have another birthday. She wanted time to stand still for her but let Sophie catch up. She wanted to be the gracious one, the one to laugh and say, “I love every line in your face.” At least she had talked Sophie out of throwing a big party like she did for Mick’s fiftieth.
She started to toss a few files into her briefcase, then thought better of it. No taking work home tonight. And, damn it, she’d take the stairs this time. Old, out-of-shape people rode the elevator. She grabbed her keys and punched the office intercom.
“Rachel, I’m gone for the day…going out the back way.”
“I’ll call Sophie so she’ll have time to chase the naked women out of the house.” The office’s receptionist’s standard reply was an old joke from the time Sophie had to teach a body sculpture class in her home studio because the college wouldn’t allow nude models. Mick usually laughed, but today it settled like soured milk on her stomach.
“I’m talking about that new neighbor you have, the hot young artist who’s been hovering around Sophie for the past two months.”
Mick shook the thought from her head. That was just stupid. She pushed the door open and headed for the Toyota in her reserved parking space. Maybe she’d go car shopping this weekend and buy that BMW convertible she’d always wanted. Yeah. Why not? A present to herself. They could afford it. Her mood suddenly lighter, Mick revved up the Camry, turned off the air conditioner and rolled the windows down. It wasn’t a convertible, but the wind blowing through her hair felt satisfyingly reckless.
Mick breezed through the house with a grin on her face. It was her birthday, after all, and she planned to cash in on that. Her. Sophie. Naked.
Her smile disappeared when she pushed open the door to the studio. Sophie wasn’t alone. Garrett, the studly artist who had recently moved next door, huddled close as they murmured over something in Sophie’s sketchbook.
“What’s so interesting?” Mick growled.
&nb
sp; Sophie slapped the sketchbook shut and stood. “Hey, honey. You’re early, aren’t you?”
Mick pulled Sophie to her, pressed their hips together and kissed her possessively. “It’s my birthday. I get anything I want on my birthday, right? That includes coming home early and ravishing my sexy wife, doesn’t it?”
Sophie glanced at Garrett and laughed nervously, pushing against Mick’s shoulders. “Slow down, tiger. Garrett needs a favor before you start unwrapping birthday gifts.”
Garrett gave Sophie a conspiratorial look. “I apologize for delaying your birthday plans, but we’re only talking about a few minutes.”
Mick frowned. Exactly what was she implying would take only a few minutes, the favor or Mick’s seduction?
“Go on,” Sophie said. “Garrett can’t figure out the controls on the whirlpool tub and I need to get cleaned up before we can go to dinner.”
Mick moved her hands down and gave Sophie’s butt a squeeze. “When I get back, we’ll review what’s on the menu.”
Sophie blushed and glanced over at Garrett again. “I need at least twenty minutes to get ready.”
Mick impatiently followed as Garrett casually sauntered to the house next door. The Tudor-style brick house was a third larger than her and Sophie’s house. Garrett had moved in two months before and quickly bonded with Sophie when they realized they were both artists.
“So, I know you’re an artist, but how do you make your living? Do you teach somewhere like Sophie?” Surely Garrett had some young students who were more interesting than Mick’s wife.
“No. I seriously doubt I’d have the patience for teaching. I paint portraits.”
“Really. Sophie hates painting portraits. Says it’s too boring.”
Garrett turned to Mick and smiled. “I suppose a lot of people think that. I like the challenge of finding that characteristic that makes each individual unique and figuring out how to make it shine through in the painting.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Like a ‘tell’ gives away what someone’s thinking during a poker game. Let me see if I can come up with a good example.” Garrett was silent as she led Mick upstairs to the extravagant bathroom of the master suite and turned toward the huge mirror over the double vanity. “A mentor pointed out to me that I tend to talk with my body more than most people…the set of my shoulders is indicative of my mood, I cock my head when I’m thinking, tuck my chin and look up through my eyelashes when I’m aroused, thrust my chin out when I feel threatened. A good portrait painter should be able to capture that.”
Could this woman be more self-absorbed?
Garrett gestured toward the mirror. “What about yourself? What would someone need to see to paint you effectively?”
Mick shrugged as she surveyed the pinstripes in her white shirt that matched her neatly pressed black Dockers. “I just see me. I don’t spend a lot of time looking at myself in the mirror.” Technically, the window in her office wasn’t a mirror.
Garrett chuckled. “A necessity of my occupation, I’m afraid.” She eyed Mick. “Okay. Let’s try someone you do look at often. Sophie’s tell is her lips. She purses her lips when she’s thinking. She pokes them out in a pout when she’s not happy. She chews her bottom lip when she’s nervous. She stretches them in a thin line when she’s pissed.”
“You’ve been looking at my wife’s lips?”
“Down, girl. As a professional portrait painter, I can’t help noticing things about almost everyone I spend time around.”
Mick didn’t want to think about how much time Garrett had been spending with Sophie. She wanted to be done with this pesky neighbor, go home and lay clear claim to her wife. “You needed help with the whirlpool?”
Garrett pressed the buttons on the tub’s controls. Not a ripple in the water. “I called the realtor and she said everything was checked out before the sale. I checked the breaker in the fuse box and it’s definitely in the ‘on’ position. Sophie said you helped the previous owner with the same problem, but she couldn’t remember what you did to fix it.”
“There’s a safety cutoff in the bedroom closet that keeps you from accidentally turning the jets on and burning up the pump when there’s no water. It was probably switched off when they drained the tub to inspect it before you closed on the house.”
Mick went to the closet and flipped the switch, then returned to the bathroom to punch the control. The water churned.
“Great! Thanks, Mick.”
“Not a problem. Planning to share this tub with someone special?” Like a young, sexy girlfriend who isn’t already in a committed partnership next door?
“Nope. Just me and my sore back.”
Mick didn’t care about Garrett’s sore back. “Well, I’ve got a hot date with more than a tub tonight and I don’t want to keep her waiting.”
“Let me at least offer you a beer for helping me out. Sophie said you’re something of a beer connoisseur, and I have some great dark ales.”
“Maybe some other time.”
Mick hurried back and quietly let herself into the house. She was hoping to surprise Sophie in mid-dress so she wouldn’t fuss about ruining her makeup when Mick tossed her on the bed and cashed in on her birthday. She’d show her that this sixty-year-old could still serve up hot monkey sex. She didn’t need some young stud from next door. But as she approached their bedroom, she heard Sophie talking in a low voice.
“No, it’s fine. I don’t think she noticed, and I’ve got it covered up now. Thanks, Garrett. That was smart of you to plan ahead for a distraction if she ever caught us by surprise. I know. Soon. I wanted to, before her birthday, but I need more time. Thank you for being so patient. This means so much to me. I know. Bye.”
Mick’s stomach churned. What was Sophie covering up? They never kept secrets from each other. What was Garrett being patient about? It was pretty obvious, wasn’t it? Diane was right. Something was going on, and Garrett wanted Sophie to admit it to Mick.
Her biggest fear, the one buried so deep even she hadn’t realized she harbored it, was that at some point the gap between their ages was going to make a difference. She was sixty. Sophie was a young forty-five. When she hit seventy, Sophie would be a very datable fifty-five. After nearly twenty-five years together, their time was coming to an end.
Her vision swam and she caught herself against the wall as her knees buckled. God, she was going to pass out. She whirled and stumbled down the hall, crashing into a table in the foyer. The sculpture she gave Sophie for their tenth anniversary crashed to the floor, shattering along with Mick’s life.
“Mick! Honey, are you okay?”
Mick steadied herself against the wall and stared down at the pieces of vase scattered across the Italian tile. She jerked away when Sophie reached for her hand. “I heard you.” She choked on the words, her voice but a hoarse whisper.
Sophie froze. “You heard what?”
Mick stepped over the mess to put some distance between her and Sophie. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, trying desperately to hold the shards of her heart together. “I heard you talking to that neighborhood Romeo, the one who’s over here every time I call home from work. The one you were cuddled up with in your studio when I got home today. The one you were just whispering to on the phone.” Her hurt, her anger, her voice rose with each sentence.
“Neighborhood Romeo?” Sophie threw back her head and laughed.
To Mick’s dismay, her eyes filled with tears. The Sophie she knew would never be so callous. Had she changed this much while Mick had her head buried in tax returns?
She clinched her jaw against the sob that was rising up in her throat. Garrett might have stolen her wife, but Mick wouldn’t surrender her dignity, too. She jammed her hands in her pockets, her fingers finding her car keys. She had to get away. She turned and strode through the house toward the garage. She made it to the kitchen before Sophie nearly tackled her, wrapping her arms tightly around Mick from behind.
&n
bsp; “Mick, sweetheart, slow down. Wait.”
“I can’t…I can’t do this.”
“Oh my god. You’re shaking.”
Sophie loosened her hold to slip in front of Mick and gaze up at her. Mick stared at the floor, afraid of what she’d see if she looked into Sophie’s dark chocolate eyes. Sophie gave her a little shake. Her voice was soft. “Michelle Louise Sanderson. I’d smack you if you weren’t so seriously upset. First of all, I was not cuddled up with Garrett. We were discussing a sketch.”
“Right. That’s why you both jumped like two kids with their hands in the cookie jar and scrambled to hide what you were looking at. You always let me see your sketches.”
“Stop interrupting me.” Sophie met Mick’s glare for a long moment. “Secondly, Garrett has never, ever, said or done anything inappropriate. We’re friends, colleagues in our profession.”
Sophie’s hands were warm on Mick’s cheeks. “Finally, even if she had, I would have immediately set her straight.” Her lips brushed against Mick’s. “You are the one I love, the center of my life.”
Mick struggled to let go of the brooding doubts that plagued. “Then what were you whispering about on the phone? Why did I have to go next door on some lame mission to fix the stupid hot tub?”
Sophie didn’t answer. Instead, she took Mick’s hand and led her through the house to the master bathroom. A soft piano concerto and honeysuckle-scented bathwater permeated the room, which was alight with dozens of candles.
Sophie turned and began to slowly unbutton Mick’s shirt. “This is why I needed you to leave the house. To prepare the first part of your birthday gift.”
Mick was speechless. How in the world had she gotten to this point, accusing this woman she had trusted, loved all these years?
Sophie had changed out of the jeans and old oxford shirt of Mick’s that she wore when she painted and donned a dark blue fleece robe. Mick shrugged out of her shirt and bra and reached for the robe’s tie. She slid her hands inside and pulled Sophie against her bare chest. She tasted Sophie’s mint tea as she claimed those expressive lips with her mouth, her tongue.
