A Clockwork Christmas

by JK Coi, PG Forte, Stacy Gail; Jenny Schwartz

  “You’ve made quite an impression on him, you know. He wishes to stay on here now. With you.”

  Dario nodded. “I know. I want that too.”

  “He wants me to stay as well.”

  For a moment, Dario forgot how to breathe. What was she getting at? She couldn’t possibly mean what he hoped she meant—could she? He met her gaze and was surprised by the uncertainty in her eyes. “I want that too, Lia,” he repeated quietly. “I want my wife.”

  “But for how long will you want me, Dario? Just until the next time you change your mind? I don’t know how I’m expected to live like that.”

  “Until my heart has ceased to beat,” he swore, returning her steady gaze. “That’s how long I’ll want you, Lia. Until I’ve breathed my last and been laid in my grave. Until death do us part.”

  “I remember those words,” she whispered sadly. “You said them once before.”

  Dario nodded. “Yes, I did. And I meant every one. And I swear that I’ll never again give you cause to doubt that, or to doubt me.”

  Without another word, Ophelia opened her arms and reached for him. He didn’t hesitate. He was out of his chair in an instant, pushing back the covers and sliding into bed beside her.

  “For the rest of my life, Lia,” he promised, raining kisses down upon her face and neck. “For as long as I live. Forever.”

  When she made no move to stop him, he continued on his path, kissing his way to the center of her chest, to the place where her heart lay, quietly beating. The actual organ might be completely mechanical, but what of it? She was no less of a miracle for that fact, and she was most certainly no less than human.

  But that still didn’t solve all the problems they faced.

  “Tell me to stop now.” He rested his forehead against her chest, unwilling to move away, even though he knew he must. “Say it, Lia.” He could do this, he knew he could. He could do it for her. But she had to say the words, otherwise he might never find the strength to pull away. “You have to say it.”

  “Why?” Her voice, so small and uncertain sounding, tore him apart. “Why must I?”

  “Because it’s wrong. It’s too soon. You can’t possibly be ready for this.”

  Ophelia let out a deep breath. “I assure you, I am. I’m so much better now than I was even a few days ago. And, if you must know the truth, I’ve probably been ready for even longer. For weeks, in fact.”

  Dario groaned. Her words were no help at all. He sat up and stared sadly at her. “I wasn’t speaking only of your health, Lia. And…weeks, did you say? That doesn’t even begin to redress the situation. You’re but a child still!”

  The uncertainty was back in her face. “Dario…I was never a child.”

  “Precisely my point. You should have been—at the least, you should have been treated as one. You should have been allowed that much grace, a chance to find yourself. What was your father thinking, letting you come to me as you were then—so innocent and untouched? Was he so oblivious of my intentions that he failed to realize all that I would want from you?”

  A small smile curved her lips. “I very much doubt that could have been the case. He knew you wished to wed me, after all, and he was himself no stranger to the state of matrimony. I’m convinced he must have had some vague suspicions as to what was likely to ensue, though I doubt he chose to dwell on it overmuch. And, anyway, his feelings are beside the point, are they not? It was I who chose to marry you, Dario, not my father. And I promise you I was not entirely ignorant either. I had a very good notion of what our marriage would entail. I was quite looking forward to it, in fact, and you did not disappoint me in that regard.”

  Dario shook his head. “I thank you, but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. I still feel I should be protecting you.”

  Ophelia’s smile disappeared. “Yes, do that, please. And may I suggest you begin by protecting my heart? For that will surely suffer most grievously if you do not assure me quickly that it’s for myself you want me—as a woman and your wife—and not merely to appease Arthur or out of misplaced obligation.”

  “Of course that’s why I want you.” A bitter smile twisted his lips as his fingers traced the line of her jaw. “My darling girl, doubt anything else if you will, but never doubt that!”

  A worried frown creased her brow. “Is it my looks that make you hesitate? I don’t doubt I look quite hideous now, but I’ve been given assurances that the scars will fade at least a little, over time.”

  Dario pressed a kiss against her forehead. “Don’t frown so, my love. I have told you what it is that makes me hesitate. It is not your looks. You’re very beautiful still. And, in any case, we’re neither of us going to stay forever as we are now, are we? I’m sure my mother must have quite lost track of the number of times I came to her as a child crying because some well-meaning person had happened to mention how very much I was growing to resemble my grandfather. I only knew him when he was quite old and though he was deemed to have been quite good-looking in his prime, I did not think him a handsome man. I still find the idea that I may someday grow to look like him quite disturbing.”

  A delighted laugh broke from her lips at that—just as he’d intended. “Will you not kiss me now?” she begged, fisting her hands in his shirt and pulling him closer.

  He gave in to her entreaty, although he was firmly committed to keeping things chaste. But then her lips found his and the sweet pressure and fiery heat branded him, heart and soul. “I lied to you,” he gasped, breaking the kiss, pulling away once again.

  She eyed him worriedly. “Did you? When?”

  “That day at the hotel when you’d first arrived. I told you I was not at all reluctant to end our marriage and claimed there was naught but religious reasons behind my failure to procure a divorce. It wasn’t true. I had neither will nor wish to divorce you—nor any desire to wed someone else. I wanted only you.”

  A smile illuminated her features. She gazed at him triumphantly. “I knew it had to be so. In my heart of hearts I knew it all along.”

  “Which is why you should believe me now when I say I do not want to rush you. I am willing to wait until you are ready—truly ready—for this.”

  “Ready?” Ophelia stared at him in dismay. “What exactly do you mean?”

  “I want what’s best for you, Lia. Not what’s most convenient for me.”

  “I…I thank you for that, Dario, but I must confess myself somewhat puzzled.”

  “About what, dear heart?”

  “Seeing as you have already made me a mother, I wonder what more will have to transpire before you deem me ready to be a wife?”

  Dario blinked in surprise. She was undeniably a mother—her willingness to die to protect her child had proved as much. But, even more importantly, her actions had been those of an adult, someone who’d earned the right to keep her own counsel, to make her own decisions. “You’re right.”

  “I am?” A mischievous smile glimmered along her lips. “Well, yes, of course, I am. I never doubted it.”

  “And I should not have doubted you either. I beg your pardon, wife.”

  Her smile glimmered brighter. “Forgiven.” He leaned into her again, intending to claim her right there and then but she forestalled him. Laying a hand against his chest she stopped him, saying, “Wait.”

  He looked at her in bemused surprise. “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head, her fingers already starting on the buttons of her nightgown. “Nothing’s wrong. Just go and lock the door.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  When Dario returned from securing the door against intrusion, Ophelia was still struggling with the buttons of her nightgown. It was sadly obvious that her once nimble fingers were no longer up to the task.

  “Allow me.” Dario sat beside her and gently pushed her hands aside He kissed her furrowed brow once more and added, “And don’t fret yourself. It will be all right.”

  “I know.” The clenching and unclenching of her fists gave voice t
o her frustration. “It won’t always be like this.”

  Dario glanced at her with mock reproach. “You mean you will not always allow me to undress you? I’m devastated to hear it.”

  Ophelia laughed. “Oh, I’m sure that’s one privilege I’ll always be most happy to grant you!” Smiling, she stretched up and claimed his mouth again and Dario was lost. So was his battle to undo her buttons. Giving it up as a hopeless cause, he fisted his hands in the fabric of her nightgown and tore it down the middle. Ophelia gasped in surprise.

  “I’ll buy you another,” he promised as he pushed her back into the pillows and followed her down, shoving what was left of the gown out of the way as he did.

  It had been so long since he’d felt himself free to love her as he wanted—without guilt or remorse or embarrassment, without the agony of uncertainty, without that nagging sense of loss and betrayal.

  His hands skated lightly over her skin. Noting the scars, the half-healed scrapes and burns, he raised his gaze to her face. “You will tell me if I’m hurting you, won’t you? Promise?”

  She smiled and nodded. “I promise. But you won’t hurt me.”

  He dipped his head, nuzzled the turgid peak of her breast then closed his lips upon it. She moaned softly. Visions danced in his head as he laved the swollen tip with his tongue—visions of their future, of their family. He raised his head again. “I want to have another baby with you. Right away, or anyway, as soon as you’re well. Can we do that?”

  Ophelia’s eyes went wide. She slid one hand down until it was splayed protectively across her abdomen. “We-we can certainly try,” she said, stammering slightly. “I would like that—very much. But…you should know that it might not be possible.”

  A heavy weight seemed to settle in Dario’s chest. “Because of your injuries.”

  Ophelia nodded. “Ye-yes, that too. But, also because… Because, in truth, I’m not entirely certain how it happened the first time.”

  Dario smiled at that. He placed his hand over hers, where it lay upon her belly. “Do you not, wife? Then, by all means, let me assist you in remembering. I will be most happy to show you exactly how ’tis done. As many times as need be.”

  He leaned in to kiss her, but she held him away. “I’m quite serious, Dario. It’s possible Arthur’s conception was an isolated anomaly—one we may never be able to duplicate. As I told you before, my father was quite perplexed.”

  “Yes. I understand that.”

  “Do you? Do you really? And can you promise me, if it does not happen a second time, if you cannot see for yourself that I am telling the truth, that you will not begin to doubt me once more? Or to wonder again about Arthur—whether he is truly human, truly your son?”

  Dario shook his head. “I don’t blame you for questioning me, but put the thought from your mind. You’ve convinced me that he is your son and that’s all I ever need know. Even if nothing else you’ve told me was true, that alone would be enough. I was wrong to doubt you, Lia. I’ll not make the same mistake twice.”

  “I should have been the one to tell you.” Tears trembled on Ophelia’s lashes and tracked her cheeks. “You were my husband. I should have trusted you with the truth. Perhaps then you would not have felt yourself betrayed.”

  “Perhaps.” Dario longed to kiss the shimmering traces from her face but he was not yet sure he’d earned that right. “But was I deserving of your trust? I knew your truth—I knew your heart—and still I allowed my wounded pride to come between us.”

  “Oh, Dario.” She pulled him close and kissed him. Her lips were wet against his own, salty and sweet from the tears she shed.

  Those tears, what a marvel of engineering they were; but the emotion that caused them to fall—that was the real miracle. “I love you, Lia. Let me show you how much.”

  When she nodded yes, he rose and quickly removed his clothes. This would not be like the last time, he vowed silently. It would not be rushed or desperate, or leave him sick with guilt and remorse. It would not put that cold, hard look upon her face, or make her turn from him again.

  His clothes gone, he returned to her, showering her with kisses, worshiping her with hands and mouth, exploring every inch of her. Not to prove to himself she was human, nor even to prove she was once again his, but for no other reason than to bring her joy.

  She sighed with pleasure as he slipped one hand between her legs and fingered her soft folds, already slick and ready for him. She moved against him, more urgently with every passing minute, but he refused to be hurried. Instead, he continued to test and probe, seeking to re-learn all the ways and all the places she most liked to be touched. Slowly and deliberately, he stoked the fires he knew lay banked within her until she burned for him. His own body trembled with its need for her, but he held it in check. Not yet…

  “Dario, please…” She clutched him harder, nails biting into his shoulder and Dario groaned, relishing the small sting.

  “For you, dear heart, all for you. Show me how much you desire this.” He bent his head and took one nipple in his mouth again, pressed another finger deep inside her, and was rewarded when she cried out softly and her body clenched and tightened around his fingers. He shuddered in response. He ached for her, had no idea how much longer he could hold out for her.

  Again she whispered. “Please.” And his control dissolved.

  Instantly, he moved to cover her. She bent her knees and held him cradled between her thighs as he thrust into her again and again. “Lia.” Her name was a prayer on his lips, one he repeated endlessly between kisses and other entreaties. “Stay with me, Lia. Please stay.”

  Her arms tightened around him and a single sob tore from her throat as she gave herself over to him, and he to her.

  In the aftermath that succeeded their private storm, Dario held her close. He pressed his lips against her ear and whispered softly, one final plea. “Never leave me again.”

  It was several more days before Ophelia was finally allowed to leave her room, and even then it was only so she might be carried outside by Dario to see for herself the surprise that he and Arthur had been working so diligently on.

  “Come and see. Come and see,” Arthur chanted, clearly delighted by the prospect. He preceded them down the stairs, bounding around them like an excitable puppy, until Dario was forced to stop and caution him.

  “Will you stand still?” he demanded, trying and very much failing to conceal a smile. “Stop dancing underfoot before you trip me!”

  Arthur merely laughed, and ran the rest of the way down the stairs so that he could open the front door for them.

  Dario carried Ophelia outside and set her down on her feet on the front porch. His eager smile was the twin of Arthur’s. “Well? What do you think?”

  Ophelia pulled her gaze away from his face. She glanced around her and gasped in amazement. The view outside the house had changed dramatically since last she’d seen it, as though many months had passed, instead of mere weeks. The air was balmy. Winter had disappeared completely and the desert had fallen unheeded by the wayside to be replaced by this…oasis, by this beautiful, seemingly perfect spring day and the verdant green lawn stretching away from the house.

  “The gardens. You fixed them?”

  “We fixed them,” Dario corrected, with a smile for Arthur. “The two of us together.”

  Arthur bounced excitedly. “We did it for you. So that you’d want to stay. You do want to stay, don’t you?”

  Ophelia nodded, still glancing at everything, drinking it all in. “Yes, Arthur. I want to stay.” This was home, after all. The only home she’d ever wanted.

  Knowing what to look for, she quickly picked out several small clouds of steam rising from the ground. She knew each cloud marked a release valve where the hot water that flowed beneath the garden’s surface was allowed to vent into the air.

  Overhead, the wire-mesh dome had been repaired. The shiny, reflective wire was almost impossible to make out, but if she stared hard enough, she could just d
iscern the faint metallic sheen behind the shimmering illusion of a cloudless, blue sky. Butterflies danced lightly on the artificial breeze and, from the orchard beyond, her ears picked up the faintly mechanical hum of the robotic bees her father had invented to pollinate crops.

  “It’s beautiful.” She smiled at her husband, daring to lock eyes with him, knowing she no longer had anything to fear there. “Very beautiful, even if it isn’t completely real.”

  “It’s better than real. It’s just like you: unique and special and so much better than anything nature alone could have made.”

  Ophelia shook her head, thinking of Arthur, who couldn’t possibly be more perfect, in her personal, and absolutely biased opinion. “I don’t know that I’d go that far.”

  “I would.” Dario reached for her and pulled her close once more. “In fact, I’d go even farther than that, if I had to. I’d go to the ends of the earth to prove to you how special you are.”

  “Oh, Dario.” Overcome with emotion, Ophelia hid her face against his shoulder. “I do love you, so very much.”

  Dario’s arm tightened around her. “As I do you. I don’t know what I could have done to deserve your love, but I do know I’ll never stop trying to be worthy of it—and of you—not for the rest of my life.”

  She tilted her head to smile up at him. “Is that a promise, husband?”

  “It is.” Love shone in his eyes as he returned her smile. “And you may hold me to it, if you like.”

  Ophelia nodded. “Indeed. I have every intention of doing so.”

  About the Author

  PG Forte inhabits a world only slightly less strange than the ones she creates. Filled with serendipity, coincidence, love at first sight and dreams come true…it also bears an uncanny resemblance to Berkeley, California.