by K. J. Frost
She shakes her head. “No. When would you have told me that?”
I smile again. “Well, I suppose it’s not something that comes up in everyday conversation. But I wouldn’t worry about it… it’s not as though you haven’t seen me half naked before.”
She lowers her head, embarrassed, I assume, perhaps recalling my times in hospital at the end of last year, when I was forced, due to my injuries, to remain bare chested. I suppose she might also be remembering her visits to me back then, when we got both rather got used to the feeling of her skin on mine whenever she touched me. Or maybe she’s nervous, concerned about the other half of of my body, the half she hasn’t seen yet, that remains a mystery to her. For now at least.
I move around the bed once more, hoping to put her at ease. “Have you finished unpacking?” I ask.
“Yes.” She looks up, and leans over, closing her suitcase. I take it and, together with my own, I stack it on top of the wardrobe.
“Do you want to change, or shall we go down and have a drink before dinner?” I ask, turning back to her.
“Do I need to change?” She sounds uncertain, and I go back to her, taking her hands in mine and holding them between us.
“No. You look absolutely beautiful.” She does. The result of her shopping expedition with my mother is the stunning pale blue dress she’s now wearing, with a fitted jacket on top that shows off her slim waist to perfection. I can still remember the twinkle in my mother’s eye when she and Amelie returned triumphant, and how, over dinner that night, Mother told me her lips were sealed as to what they’d bought, but that I wouldn’t be disappointed. She wasn’t wrong. “I’m not sure I’ve told you that today, have I?”
“Yes,” Amelie replies, smiling. “About ten times, I think.”
“Well, that’s nowhere near enough.” I lean down and kiss her gently. “You look beautiful, my darling. And you don’t need to change. Ever. Not in any way.”
After a very nice meal of local trout, we return to our room. The restaurant was busier than I’d expected it to be, and we both felt rather overdressed in the end, not that we minded. It didn’t seem that our fellow diners minded either – not in Amelie’s case anyway – being as she attracted a great many admiring glances from the men in the room. She failed to notice, and focused her own gaze entirely on me, which was very gratifying, and rather than embarrassing her by pointing out how much attention she was drawing, I revelled quietly in the fact that she’s mine, and we spent the entire meal discussing our day and how perfect it’s been, which it has. From the moment I first saw her in the Registry office and was simply dazzled by her beauty, to our first kiss as husband and wife; from my mother’s rather unexpected tears, to the extremely emotional speech that Amelie’s uncle gave before we departed, we couldn’t have asked for more.
Throughout all of that, neither of us mentioned the part of the day that’s yet to come, but as I open the bedroom door, flicking on the lights, and standing aside to let Amelie enter before me, I can sense her uneasiness and, while I’ll admit I’m nervous myself, I know I have to do everything I can to make this easier for her.
“Would you like to go to the bathroom while I get undressed?” I suggest and she looks up at me and smiles gratefully, before going over to the bed and picking up her silky nightgown, folding it over her arm and retreating to the bathroom in the corner of the room, where she pulls the door closed quietly behind her.
Once she’s gone, I switch on the lamps on either side of the bed and turn off the main one, which creates a much softer, more romantic atmosphere. Obviously, if she’s feeling shy and wants me to switch the lights off altogether, then I will, but I have to admit, I’d rather not. I’d rather see her. Completely. And I think I’d rather she saw me too.
Realising that she might be back at any moment and that standing around daydreaming isn’t achieving much, other than fuelling my imagination, I undress quickly, and pull on my pyjama bottoms, before climbing into bed.
I’ve just got comfortable when the bathroom door opens. Amelie turns off the light behind her, but even in the gentle glow from the bedside lamps, I can see her clearly, and what I see takes my breath away. I didn’t have time to appreciate earlier, that the top half of her nightdress is made entirely of lace, and that it therefore hides absolutely nothing, but my body responds to her instantly and, leaning up on one elbow, I study her perfect form, the see-through bodice revealing her to me for the first time.
She’s staring at me too, biting her bottom lip, apprehensive, although whether or not she’s feeling shy is hard to tell. I’m about to ask whether she’d prefer to have the lights turned off – because I feel I should at least offer – when suddenly, she reaches up and starts to scratch her shoulder, beneath the lace strap.
“Are you all right?” I ask, and she shakes her head.
“Not really.”
I smile. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s this lace… it’s really itchy.”
Pulling back the covers, I climb out of bed and walk over to her, even though I know my very natural reaction to her is going to be fairly obvious. I’ve got nothing to hide from her anymore, though, and I’m certainly not ashamed of my responses. “Well, you look absolutely stunning,” I murmur, as I get close to her. “But I have a feeling that this nightgown was probably designed by a man… for men. And I doubt he had any consideration at all for the women who’d have to wear it.”
She chuckles and nods her head, surprising me by how at ease she seems, considering her earlier nerves, until it dawns on me that with the light behind me, she probably can’t see me that clearly, and in any case, she’s kept her eyes resolutely fixed on mine the whole time. “I have no idea why on earth any woman would want to put themselves through wearing something like this.”
I take the last step, standing right in front of her now, our bodies almost touching. “You don’t have to,” I whisper. And with that, I lean down, clasping the silky material in my hands, and pull the gown up and over her head, throwing it across the room. She gasps as I expose her, but I clasp her face with one hand, capturing her lips with mine, moving my other hand behind her, into the small of her back, and pulling her closer, letting her feel the effect she has on me, and relishing the soft moan that she breathes into my mouth and the glorious sensation of her delicate skin against my chest as I kiss her passionately, matching her fervent sighs with my own, before I turn us both around and start to walk her slowly backwards towards the bed.
We’ve been staring at each other for some time now, still slightly breathless… still very much in awe of what we’ve just done.
“I love you,” I whisper, although I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve said that, since the backs of Amelie’s legs hit the bed, causing her to squeal gently and break our kiss, and I lifted her into my arms and lowered her onto the soft mattress.
“I love you,” she replies, the smile still etched on her lips.
“You’re sure I didn’t hurt you?”
“A little. But it was worth it.” I smile back at her, sighing with satisfaction, and rest my hand on her naked hip. “There is one thing, though,” she says, tracing small circles across my chest with the tip of her forefinger.
“What’s that?”
“I thought we agreed – twice, if memory serves – that we were going to wait a while before starting a family…” Her voice fades.
“Ahh… yes. Well, what can I say?” I kiss her gently. “I got carried away. I’m sorry, darling. I won’t make a habit of it.”
She smiles. “I’m not complaining.”
“No, but I should be more careful… more responsible. And I will be. Next time.”
Her smile broadens and I kiss her more deeply, before moving us down the bed a little and pulling her close in my arms.
“So, being as we’ve established that you’re not a huge fan of fancy nightgowns,” I muse out loud, “I’m intrigued to know what you normally wear in bed?”
“A lit
tle more than I’m wearing now,” she replies, glancing down at the narrow space between our naked bodies. We’re lying, facing each other, my leg wrapped around her, and I have to chuckle.
“Well, I like you just as you are.” I kiss her soft lips and she sighs gently, leaning into me.
“I wear pyjamas,” she says, when I eventually pull away from her.
“Of course,” I remark, a memory pricking at the back of my mind. “You told me once, when I telephoned you from work, that you were going to have a bath and get into your pyjamas.”
“Yes, I did,” she says, her eyes glistening into mine, and I wonder if she’s remembering that, although I’d phoned her at the time, to tell her I was going to have to work late, once she’d revealed her plans to me, I’d suggested I could visit her anyway… later on. The case I’d been investigating had been a difficult one, and that moment had been a welcome, lighthearted break from the darkness. “But unfortunately, I didn’t bring any pyjamas with me,” she adds, “so I’ll just have to put up with the scratchy nightdress.” She lowers her eyes, as though she’s embarrassed. “I—I only bought it because I thought it was more appropriate for our honeymoon than my pyjamas.”
I lower my leg slightly and roll her onto her back, settling into the cradle she makes for me, my body craving more of her already. “No,” I murmur, raising myself above her, “the way you are now is much more appropriate…”
I wake with a start.
It’s pitch black, but I’m aware of movement in the room.
“Who’s there?” I ask, flicking on the lamp beside the bed and sitting upright.
“It’s just me,” Amelie says and I turn to see her on the far side of the room, seemingly searching for something. She’s looking behind the chair that’s beside the window, anyway. She’s also stark naked, and utterly beautiful.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m sorry I woke you,” she mutters, still searching. “I’m just trying to find my nightdress. Do you know where you threw it?”
“No. I was a bit distracted at the time. Why do you need it?”
“Because I’m cold,” she replies.
“Then come back to bed.” I hold the covers back for her to climb in, but she shakes her head and I wonder what’s wrong. “I’ll keep you warm, I promise.”
“I know, but also need the bathroom… and it’s freezing in there.”
I chuckle and clamber out of bed. “In which case, your flimsy nightgown isn’t going to be of much use is it?” I point out.
“Well, no,” she replies, “but it’s all I’ve got.”
“No, it isn’t.” I walk over to the other chair – the one by the by the wardrobe – and pick up my pyjama top, carrying it back to her. “Try this,” I suggest and she takes it from me, slipping it on and wrapping it around her.
“Oh… that’s much better,” she says.
“Good… now go to the bathroom, and come back to bed. I miss you.”
She smiles and turns to dart into the bathroom, although before she does, I pat her gently on the behind and she yelps, giggling, before she dashes away, and I go back and straighten the sheets, pulling up the blanket and eiderdown, and then I climb into bed, resting my head on my arm and think about how adorable my wife just looked. How adorable my wife always looks, actually.
After a few minutes, the bathroom door opens and she steps out. I notice that she’s done up the buttons of my pyjama top, and that she doesn’t take her eyes from mine as she walks across the room and slides into bed beside me.
“Better now?” I ask quietly.
“Much.”
She snuggles down and I switch off the light and turn back to her, letting my lips brush against hers while I slowly undo the buttons again.
On the second to last day of our honeymoon, I wake to find Amelie staring at me. Normally I’m awake before her, so this is an unusual occurrence in itself.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, rubbing my eyes.
“Nothing… I just don’t want this to end, that’s all.”
She sounds unbearably sad, and I pull her closer, turning onto my back and cradling her in my arms as she rests her head on my chest.
“Who says it has to end?” I ask, kissing her forehead.
“We’re going home tomorrow, remember?”
“I know, but that doesn’t mean anything has to end, darling.”
“Yes it does. You’ll be going back to work on Monday, and…” Her voice cracks as she falls silent.
“I know.” I turn to face her. “But we’ll be home by tomorrow lunchtime, and we’ll have the whole of Sunday to ourselves before work has to start getting in the way, and then our evenings will still be ours. I’m not going to stop loving you, or making love to you, at every opportunity, just because we’re no longer on our honeymoon.”
“I hope not,” she says quietly, nestling into me. “I’ve got rather used to having your undivided attention.”
“You’ve always had that.” I run my hand across her soft skin and she shudders slightly.
“I think I have, haven’t I?” she muses, almost to herself. “Although I think it’ll make a pleasant change for us to just be able to sit and talk, and hold hands, and hug, and kiss, and...”
Her voice fades, and I fill in the gap. “And make love?” I suggest.
“Yes.”
“As opposed to what?” I ask, feeling intrigued.
“As opposed to you constantly having to comfort me, and dry my tears. I feel like you’ve been doing that since the moment we first met.”
I reach up and cup her cheek with my hand. “Well, I didn’t dry your tears the first time we met, because I didn’t know you well enough.”
“No, but you’ve dried them every time since.”
“I know. And I like drying your tears.”
She looks at me, a furrow forming on her brow. “You do?”
“Well, no, obviously I don’t like it. I don’t want you to cry. But I think you’ve had plenty to cry about over the last few months, don’t you?”
“Hmm... I suppose,” she whispers.
“There’s no ‘suppose’ about it, Amelie. You’ve been through a lot… including falling in love with me. And that’s enough to make anyone weep.”
She chuckles. “It most certainly is,” she says and snuggles into me a little further.
“Was it worth it?” I ask her, still being playful.
“Yes… every single minute.”
I smile and turn over onto my back again, letting her rest against me, and, as I hold her, I think about our time together, and how much we’ve been through, which is probably more than most couples would, in a lifetime. But more importantly, I think about our perfect week, and how much we’ve learned about each other. Like Amelie, I don’t want it to end either, but it has to, I suppose, at least in terms of spending quite so much time together, and being able to do whatever we like, whenever we like, without work, or anything else getting in the way. It certainly has been ‘our time’, but if I don’t start taking more care, we’ll soon be sharing that time… with an unexpected addition, and I resolve to stick to my promise and be more responsible, once we get home, being as I’ve failed dismally while we’ve been here. My only excuse is that one of the things I’ve learned is that Amelie is, quite simply, too distracting for words… and that’s not all I’ve discovered about her this week. I know now that she likes a cup of tea in bed in the morning, and that she takes ages doing her hair – which is surprising, considering it’s quite short. I know that she hums show tunes when she’s in the bath, even when I’m in there with her, and even though I refuse to join in, despite her teasing and cajoling. I have worked out a couple of ways of stopping her in her tracks, though; of turning her tune to a sigh, a moan, or a gasp – even mid-note, on occasion – and the memory of those moments is enough to make me smile whenever I think about it, which I imagine I’ll probably be doing for some time to come. I’ve discovered that she feels incredibly soft and war
m when she first wakes up in my arms; that her skin is pure and delicate, especially in that space between her breasts, and on the inside of her thighs, where just the slightest breath, or the flick of my tongue is enough to make her shudder. I know that she tastes sweet, like honey – only better – and that she was well worth the wait. I also realised on the Tuesday after our marriage, that she is the best birthday present a man could ever have; that she’s an intoxicating combination of innocence and sensuality, learning and yet somehow instinctively knowing at the same time.
Like I said, she’s too distracting.
And I love her more than I can ever hope to say… although that’s not going to stop me telling her. And showing her. Every. Single. Day.
Chapter Two
How could he? How could he do this to me… again?
Just a few days ago, I lived in hope. I was planning our future, thinking about the child we’re yet to have, contemplating the next stage of our lives together.
Admittedly, his reticence had thrown me, but the next morning, after our conversation about decorating the nursery, when I thought about it, remembering what he’d said and how he’d said it, his explanation did seem reasonable. And I spent a couple of days trying to work out how we could perhaps furnish the room on a tighter budget. It wasn’t vital that we redecorate it. After all, babies don’t care what colour the walls are, do they? And I felt certain we could find the money for a cot, and whatever else might be required. I reasoned to myself that it wasn’t as though we’d have to buy everything at once. Babies take nine months… well, they do once they’ve been conceived.
I bite my lip, tears threatening again. What was I thinking? How could I have been so blind and so stupid? There isn’t going to be a baby. Not now. Maybe not ever. Not for me.
“He swore to me,” I mutter under my breath, gazing out of the living room window, my arms clasped around myself, in cold comfort. “He promised.”
But it seems he’s incapable of keeping his promises, or of telling the truth, about anything.
