Don't Tell the Moon
Page 19
Alex had surprised her, his face glowing with grins and smiles, as he had presented her with pictures of the elegant home he’d rented for a month long honeymoon. The photos, as magnificent as they were, hadn’t done it justice.
He’d gone upstairs to shower, and Sara was now alone with her thoughts for the first time today; her wedding day. Her mind traveled back to the small chapel on the hillside. Only a few friends and family had been present, Alex solemnly promising their other friends and acquaintances to hold a reception on their return.
She brushed her hair, and watched the graceful sailboats that moved with the gentle wind, intent on returning to their moorings, as the sun sank steadily into the pink horizon.
The wedding had been small and simple, yet in its simplicity, pure and intimate, as if viewing a reef through crystal clear waters. Absent the concern of the usual trappings of elaborate ceremonies - florists, stringed quartets, nervous attendants, grinding organ music – she had been able to concentrate in detail on this most sacred moment of her life.
Alex had stood at the altar as she entered the chapel, his face beaming, despite the slight dew of perspiration on his brow. She had reached up, and lightly wiped his forehead with two fingers of her hand, to the amusement and muffled laughter of the friends and family in the front pews.
The officiating cleric had spoken of love and devotion with an eloquent passion, and fairly understandable, if a bit broken English, only stumbling on the word honor, pronouncing it to rhyme with donor, then correcting himself with a brief clearing of the throat.
Ian had stood next to Alex, his eyes red rimmed, his hand shaking as he fumbled for the ring. Surprisingly, Beth had been far more relaxed, performing her duties like an old pro.
When the time had come to repeat his vows, Alex had held up his hand to the parson in a gesture indicating that he wished not to repeat, but to say the words himself, strongly and surely, in the hypnotic voice that was recognized by millions. Even though Sara had heard this traditional vow spoken a thousand times over in other ceremonies, he had made the words his own, the inflection and phrasing so personalized that one might not have recognized it as the standard, brief wedding promise.
He had squeezed her hand tightly at the end, her only clue that he was not as relaxed as he appeared.
Her attempt at the same vows hadn’t been nearly as smooth or gracious, and her voice had cracked at one point with emotion.
He had nodded at her then with encouragement, and reached over to give her a quick hug as she finished, as if to reward her for her bravery, accompanied by chuckles from the bystanders.
They had kissed then, and any hint of formality had ended abruptly, friends and family gathering around them to give warm hugs, back slaps, and congratulations. She’d barely noticed that they hadn’t as yet left the chapel, but it didn’t matter as the ceremony had been so very relaxed and personal.
They had all joined together at a dinner hosted by Alex’s friend and fellow actor who resided in the nearby town, laughing at the toasts of the guests to the bride and groom, some cleverly humorous, others quite bawdy and laced with sexual innuendo. The more wine that circulated the tables, the bawdier the toasts became.
With her face reddening deeply, she had noticed that Ian was about to stand and speak, and knowing him like she did, she had been more than slightly concerned. To her relief, he had recently abandoned ‘Countess Sophia’, as he called her, but his spirits were high, and she knew that Ian had no qualms when it came to giving Alex an embarrassing zing or two.
“No, no, don’t be afraid, darling,” he had winked at her, rising and holding his glass in her direction. “I promise not to say a word about the sad shortcomings of your groom. It would be in very poor taste to repeat what I have observed in the locker room.”
The giggles and guffaws of the dinner party were loud, but Alex interrupted him. “Yes, Donnelly, the lads have often wondered why you spend so much time in locker rooms staring into the shower cubicles.”
With that the laughter had increased, one of the female guests fairly shrieking in delight.
“Touché’, my brother.” Ian now lifted the glass to Alex. “And I say brother, because over the years I have had the honor to work with you, side by side on the stage as your brother, and to spar as brothers in the field we have both chosen. But it wasn’t until this marvelous lady came along that I realized you would indeed become a brother to me. Thank you, Alex, for complimenting me with your invitation to stand next to you on this momentous day.”
He had approached the couple then, Alex standing and wrapping his arms around him, both men coughing at once, throats tight with emotion.
Perhaps to lighten the moment, Ian had leaned in to Sara, and instead of the usual cheek kiss, had locked his lips to hers in a Hollywood style embrace.
“That’s enough, brother,” Alex had said, gripping him by the shoulder, his hand curved in an exaggerated claw. “We’re not that close.”
The shrieking guest once again whooped loudly, tears of laughter springing to her eyes.
As the party had reached an end, dinner over, cake served, toasts and good wishes given, Sara had turned to Beth in a semi quiet moment and grinned ecstatically.
“I know what’s going on,” Beth had winked at her, repeating the words she had spoken to her many months earlier. “I haven’t seen you this happy in years. Tell me the truth, missy. You’re in love, aren’t you?”
“I guess I am.” Sara bit her lip, her eyes watering at the memory.
“What’s his name?” Beth said, taking her hand.
“Alex.”
“Alex?” Beth had screwed her face into the shape of a question mark, much like she had that day at the hospital. “Do I know him? I don’t think I know anyone named Alex. Is he someone you’ve just met?”
“Fleming,” Sara whispered.
“Alex Fleming?” Beth laughed, their little secret catching the attention of several others at the wedding table. “I don’t know anyone named… oh, wait, there is that hunky English actor, but I don’t know any real Alex Fleming.”
“Yes, that’s the one. The hunky actor.” Sara dimpled, trying to recall her exact reply.
“Well, I can’t blame you there. He is certainly easy on the eyes. But I was hoping that it was someone… you know…”
“Real?” Sara said, her eyes once again crinkling in the corners, despite the tear that slid down her cheek.
“Yeah - A REAL guy. But I suppose it’s a start. So, next movie night, can I join you? I mean, is there enough of Alex Fleming to go around?”
“Nope – no there isn’t.” Sara shook her head solemnly. “But I’ve got some Ian Donnelly films that you might be interested in seeing,” she said, giving her friend a sly wink.
“Now that sounds like a most interesting proposition.” Beth looked over at the tall and handsome actor who had been giving her appreciative glances throughout the day.
“You bring the wine,” Sara giggled merrily, giving Beth a long and loving hug.
The red sun had now set over the lake, and tiny lights dotted the distant shore, as Sara remained standing on the terrace, listening to the chirp of the crickets, and songs of contented tree frogs.
His arms wrapped around her waist, and she felt his kiss on her neck.
“Happy, Mrs. Fleming?” he murmured in her ear.
“Yes,” she said, smiling broadly, loving the sensation in her stomach from his nearness.
His lips drifted to her face, and he kissed both of her closed eyes, the end of her nose. He traced the lines of her lips with his finger, and then with the tip of his tongue. She met his tongue with her own, and he wrapped his generous mouth around hers, groaning as he felt the familiar sensation of heat in his groin. His breath quickened and she smiled.
“Mr. Fleming, you have something on your mind?”
“Yes. Hot sex. With my wife,” he said, as he reached for her hand, bringing it up to his face and kissing the finger that now wo
re the shiny new gold band.
“Oh, you’re one of those guys,” she chuckled.
“Yes - dying breed.” He picked her up easily, and walked across the threshold of the lavish mansion into the bedroom, setting her gently down on the bed.
She pulled him next to her and kissed his face, now rough with a slight shadow of a beard. “Mm, my man is a pirate.” She laughed as she stroked the stubble on his chin.
“Oh,” he said, reddening slightly. “It’s been quite a few hours since I’ve shaved. Let me…”
“No!” She looked at him hovering above her, her eyes wide. “I like pirates.”
“Yo ho ho,” he said, as he reached for the hem of her silky nightdress, and put his face under it, directly onto the bare, warm skin of her belly.
“Looking for treasure?” she demanded, laughing softly.
“Mm-hmm.” She heard his muffled voice, and felt him sigh from below.
Suddenly and not so very gently, he took her by the waist, turned her over, and sank himself deep within her, his breath nearly a pant, the lids of his eyes faintly open.
“Husband,” she whispered hoarsely, never dreaming that the word would bring him to the most intense climax they had ever shared.
Outside the open window, the bold and bright moon looked on.
DON’T TELL THE MOON
A NOVEL
LILY TEEGARDIN
Copyright 20ll Lily Teegardin
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. No reference to any real person is intended or should be inferred.
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