by Mimi Strong
7: Chocolate with Everything
The rest of Christmas break was tension-free, and the sound of little Edgar crying on the other side of my ceiling didn't ruin every night I slept in my own apartment. I bought some ear plugs, plus a few more scented candles, and life down in 107B, B as in Basement, was fine. Really. It was fine. It was like living with Zach, but with my own private get-away where I could consume marshmallow-based foods without reproach.
For New Year's Eve, we went to a party at the penthouse of a business associate of Zach's. The place was near enough Times Square that we were able to survey the crowds and pandemonium below while simultaneously watching the festivities on the television. This unique experience made me feel like I was living at the center of the universe.
I can't say I never dreamt of moving to New York—I had studied textiles and fashion, after all—I just hadn't dared to believe it would happen.
There I was, though, on top of the world, and with an incredible boyfriend who loved me.
That's right, loved me.
Just before midnight, he handed me a glass of champagne along with a jewelry box, which I promptly opened to find a lovely pair of earrings, tasteful hanging bars of diamonds.
The other couples around us oohed and aahed as I switched out my cheap, street-vendor, vintage-look earrings for my gift.
“You shouldn't have,” I said.
“It was hard to find something as beautiful as you, but I found a wonderful store, and I told them all about you, and they said these were very popular for men who messed up Christmas.”
I laughed and kissed him until the host of the party playfully pried us apart, saying we had to wait forty more seconds.
“Thank you,” I said.
His voice shook as he said, “Laura, I love you.”
The countdown began just then. I gazed up into Zach's eyes, gray-blue like a winter sky and set off by those enviable dark lashes. I could stare into those beautiful eyes for the rest of my life and die happy.
“Zach Mikhelson, I love you too.”
I didn't even hear the numbers of the countdown, but it must have reached zero, because all the well-dressed people around us started to cheer. Zach and I kissed for a full minute.
Ten days later, I was out walking Princess and Duke, and stopped to tie up one of my boots, when I remembered the Russian tradition Galina had told me about at Christmas dinner. It wasn't the nineteenth of the month yet, so I could light candles and look in a mirror to see my future husband, or pour melting wax into cold water, or …
I pulled off my boot, checked to see nobody was watching, and threw it up high into the air. It landed on its back, with the toe pointing straight up at the sky. I nudged it over with my sock-clad foot, so it landed with the toe pointing toward the green door.
Yes. Zach Mikhelson would be my husband. The angels and my boot had spoken.
Through January, things at work got better. I still hadn't convinced them to allow dogs in the office, but Princess was taken care of by a dog walker in the neighborhood, so I could stay late on occasion. As Delphinia had promised before I made the move, I took over for her while she was on maternity leave, which was to last at least a year.
No longer an assistant to three bosses, I became an equal to Tweedledum and Tweedledummer, so they had to hire a new girl. She'd come to the city directly from a small town in Nebraska, so, naturally, I had to take her under my wing.
Once I was in charge of the department, buying textiles, I got a whole new appreciation for the work Delphinia did. I also got a taste for what Zach loved to do, delegating tasks. The new girl was also my assistant, and I learned how to relax and be more flexible so I could delegate to her.
If I were to credit any single life event for giving me the ability to manage difficult people and not get stuck working overtime at my job, it would be my encounters with Sharise, the evil dognapper.
Whenever I had to face down someone in the office, or make a phone call with a supplier who was late delivering, I remembered how brave I'd been about going after Sharise, and how easily she'd crumbled. Sometimes, I thought about how satisfying it had been to slap her stupid face. Just picturing it would get me through tough meetings.
Near the end of January, I celebrated my twenty-eighth birthday. Zach arranged a special date, including a carriage ride in Central Park. It had just snowed, and the trees were covered in hoarfrost. We took a ton of photos and snuggled together under a blanket in the carriage.
We rode past at least two couples in the midst of proposals, and I suddenly had the thought Zach might be planning to propose as part of the carriage ride. He didn't, and I can't say I wasn't disappointed. As with moving in, it would be too soon, of course, but I wanted him to push me for more.
In February, we flew back home to see my family. My parents adored Zach, and my little brother, who'd grown at least two inches since I'd last seen him, loved him so much he practically tried to climb into our suitcases when we left.
Zach's birthday was in May, and we booked a trip to Maui to celebrate. When we were at the travel agent's, Zach stared at my left hand in a way that gave me an intuitive twinge that he might be planning to propose when we were there, perhaps on a sandy white beach.
I was still running back and forth between his place at 104 and mine at 107B, B as in Basement, and even my mother was asking when we might be taking the next step, be it engagement or cohabitation.
“Possibly in May, when we're in Maui,” I told her on the phone. “Possibly. Don't get your hopes up, but don't feel sorry for me either. Zach's wonderful, and we're having so much fun.”
“You already have a dress,” my mother said.
“Oh, Mom, I gave that to charity ages ago.”
She chuckled into the phone. “I know, I know. That dress was lucky, though. You were wearing it when you found out the truth about Lars, and aren't you glad you did?”
I had to laugh too. It had seemed so awful at the time, but throwing up on my wedding dress had only been the beginning of better things.
That was in March, that I was talking to my mother about wedding dresses and good luck. I was walking around in a towel on Saturday morning, just out of the shower, and I was at Zach's place, where I spent most weekends.
After I ended the call, Zach came into the bedroom and said, “What are you and your mother plotting?”
“Nothing, I swear.”
“I just heard about this incredible chocolate-tasting tour, do you want to go with me?”
“Uh, chocolate? Have you met me? Of course I'll go!”
He pulled out his phone and checked the time. “Hurry up and get dressed. If we leave now, we can catch a tour before it gets busy later in the day.”
The tour took us to a half-dozen of the best chocolatiers in New York, and we were driven around in a limousine, just the two of us. I thought it was odd we were alone, with nobody else on the tour, but Zach told me something about knowing the people who ran the tours, and how he was looking into doing something similar for Butter Spoons, incorporating ice cream and chocolate.
The chocolate shops were interesting, though by the second-to-last one I was chocolate-d out. I never thought I'd see the day I'd had enough chocolate, but it happened. I asked Zach if we could cut the tour short and go get some pizza to cleanse my palate, but he insisted we forge ahead to the final location. Dragging my feet, I begrudgingly agreed.
The last stop on the tour was a tiny little space, and the manager, a French man with a thick accent, seemed to have been drinking. He kept hiccuping as he showed us around and invited us to dip strawberries in the chocolate fountain. Zach seemed distracted, and I started to feel nauseated from all the sweets.
I was inching my way toward the door when Zach said to me, “What's this?” He was pointing to something in a glass display cabinet.
“Seriously, Zach, I need some fresh air or I'm going to barf.”
He practically stamped his foot in frustration. “Just come and loo
k at this one last thing.”
I groaned and stepped over to the display case.
There were a number of little buildings, made out of gingerbread and chocolate. “Hey, that looks like our building,” I said.
I leaned in closer. There was a green door with the number 104, and a red door with 107. There was even a little gray door, a short one, with the number 107B, B as in Basement.
“Creepy,” I said.
Zach said, “Creepy?” He looked like he might cry.
I was so confused.
I turned back and took another look. There were people standing in front of the green door, and two little dogs. The man wore a suit and the woman wore a white dress. I swallowed hard.
The French man took my photo, and I turned around to find Zach, down on one knee.
He simply said, “Marry me?”
I was still confused, thinking he was playing a joke on me. I turned back and examined the candy brownstone. The dog was definitely Princess, and the woman in the white dress was … me.
I turned back to Zach and accepted that I was not hallucinating, and this was actually happening. He was proposing to me.
“I do,” I said. “I mean, no. No, I mean yes. The answer is yes.” I turned to the French man, who was still taking photos. “Yes!” I said.
Zach bowed his head and let out a huge sigh. “Oh, thank God.”
His hand shaking, he handed me a tiny box.
The ring was beautiful, and matched the earrings I'd gotten at New Year's. The solitaire diamond looked so pretty on my hand—my hand that wouldn't stop shaking.
I really shouldn't compare, but Zach's proposal blew away the one I'd had from Lars. Good ol' Lars did take me out to a nice dinner, but he gave this speech about … I don't know what, but it had included the phrase “shit or get off the pot.”
Zach could have done almost anything and it would have been the greatest proposal of my life.
In the limousine on the way home, we both had nervous giggles, even though it was just the two of us.
Zach said, “Why am I so nervous?”
“I don't know. Maybe you're nervous about what I'm going to do to you when we get back to your place.”
“Oh.” He pulled another box from his jacket pocket.
I opened the box and found a shiny house key. I already had a key to his townhouse, made months ago to facilitate shared dog care responsibilities, but it was symbolic, and I appreciated the gesture.
“Not my place,” he said. “Our place. Starting tonight. Or if you want, we can both move into your place.”
I pretended to think about it, much to his amusement.
When we got back to our townhouse, he made me wait after he opened the green door, then he swept me up in his arms. “I'm combining traditions,” he said. “Do you know that in Russia, getting engaged is called putting in the application, and once you've done that, you're called bride and groom? The ceremony is simply finalizing the deal.”
He carried me over the threshold and set me down inside the townhouse. I surveyed the crown moldings and the beautiful fireplace, made so much better by being shared. The dogs barked and got a little crazy, thinking it was time for horsing around.
After we calmed them down, Zach said, “What do we do next? Phone everyone? Send a mass email? Your parents won't be too surprised, since I asked your father permission when I was there.”
“Wow! I can't believe my mother kept it under wraps. Oh, she's a good little liar!”
Zach rubbed his hand on his chin and stared at me. He had looked so vulnerable, down on one knee before me. Thinking about it made me want to tear his clothes off.
I grabbed his hand and led him to the stairs to the bedroom.
“Phone calls and emails can wait,” I said. “This time is private, for us.”
In the bedroom, we closed the door and stood before each other.
“My bride,” he said. “If we were in Russia, I'd call you that.”
“But we're in New York, so I'm still your fiancee.” I snuck another peek at my beautiful ring.
“That's good too.” He stepped in and clutched me to him, crushing his lips down on mine.
We stepped together, over to the bed, where he laid me on my back. He stood at the side of the bed and undressed me, until I was completely naked, except for the engagement ring.
He had this look in his eye, this hungry look—like all the other times had been for play, but this time mattered. He was taking me as his wife, giving himself as my husband.
He slowly stripped down, not taking his eyes off me once. The room was warm, but I shivered as he moved onto the bed, his erection pointing up high and hard. I could see how turned-on he was, and it made me want him more. My mouth watered for him.
He began at my breasts, licking my nipples. Briefly, just a taste.
He licked down my midline and buried his face in my pussy. I shivered with excitement as his tongue sought my nub, caressing it the way only he could. I glanced over at my beautiful engagement ring, then closed my eyes and moaned for him, letting him know how good he made me feel.
He swiftly brought me to orgasm, and as the electric surges pulsed through me, he climbed on top and possessed me, body and soul. He plunged deep, burying himself in me. I gasped and bared my neck for him to kiss. I arched my back and he reached one arm in behind me, holding my hips tight to his as he rocked against me.
He locked his eyes on mine, and the intensity of his expression sent thrills down my spine. He wanted me, was desperate for me, and I would give myself to him, forever. I spread my legs wider to let him in deeper and deeper.
As he thickened within me, pulsing with energy, I cried out in ecstasy. He gasped and pumped hard into me, and we came together.
So, we “consummated” our engagement that day, and every single day after that for a week.
On the eighth day, we went for dinner at the “Most Romantic Restaurant in New York,” a real grown-up place with a fireplace and a grand piano, called One if By Land, Two if By Sea. We had the tasting menu, and we ate everything, finishing with a chocolate souffle.
When we got home, I crashed on the sofa and unbuttoned the waistband of my skirt. “Oh Zach, why do you always force me to eat so much chocolate?”
He flicked on the gas fireplace, then pushed me over and lay alongside me on the generous sofa.
“So full,” he said. “Rub my tummy?”
I laughed. His dog, Duke, was watching us from his favorite chair, his blue eyes suspicious.
“Duke will get jealous if I rub your tummy and not his.”
“I'll deal with the jealous glare,” he said.
I reached down and rubbed Zach's stomach. “Is that helping? I mean, is this aiding with digestion?”
“Mm, I don't know. But it feels good.”
We adjusted our position so we were spooning, with me behind him, my hand on his stomach. I nuzzled the back of his head. He held his hand over top of mine, on his stomach.
Don't get me wrong. The engagement surprise was great, and sex with Zach was amazing. Seeing Delphinia give birth to Edgar was truly incredible. But lying on the sofa with Zach after a nice dinner, just holding each other and enjoying the shared company? That was absolutely the best moment of my life to date.
* the end *
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Check out Mimi Strong's other great titles at www.orlypress.com.
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