by K. J. Frost
Before I even have the chance to walk over to her, however, she takes a couple of steps towards me, and throws her arms around my neck, leaning up and kissing me deeply, her fingers knotting in my hair, her body pressed hard against mine.
After a few minutes, she leans back again, her cheeks flushed, and her breathing uneven.
“What was that for?” I ask, holding onto her waist.
“It was because I’ve had a good day,” she replies, smiling, “and because I love you, of course.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” I lean down and kiss her.
“Which part?” she asks.
“Both… and I have to say that dinner smells delicious.”
She grins, her eyes lighting up. “I think I might actually have cooked something edible,” she says, resting her hands on my chest and and looking up into my eyes. “I’ve just put the cottage pie into the oven, but your mother’s recipe says it’ll only take half an hour.”
“Oh, that’s good… I can think of all sorts of things we can do for half an hour.”
I lean down and kiss her again, much harder this time, her moans soon filling the room, until she pulls back, chuckling. “There is just one thing…” she says softly.
“Hmm… what’s that?” I kiss her neck, working my way up to her ear and she shudders in my arms.
“Could you take the rubbish out first?”
I lean back. “Seriously?”
She nods her head, smiling. “Yes.”
“You want me to take the rubbish out? Now?”
“Yes. I’ve wrapped it up in newspaper, but it’s a bit smelly and I don’t want it in the house.”
I shake my head, still holding her. “And this can’t wait until after dinner?”
“No.” She breaks free of my grip and goes over to the draining board, picking up a newspaper-wrapped parcel, and bringing it back to me, her nose wrinkled in disgust. “There you go,” she says.
“Thanks.” I shake my head at her. “You’re a tease, you know that, don’t you?”
“Well, they say anticipation is half the fun,” she replies, her eyes twinkling.
“Do they?” I go over to the back door, flicking off the light before opening it. “Well, whoever ‘they’ are, they obviously haven’t met you, because trust me, the anticipation is killing me.”
She laughs out loud as I go outside and down the pathway at the side of the kitchen and bathroom, which leads into the garden, where the dustbin is kept at the end, by the rear gate. I’ve only taken a few steps, when I regret removing my jacket. It’s chilly out here and I quicken my pace, looking up at the starlit sky, then back down again so as not to lose my footing on the path, which is a little uneven.
“What the…?” I stop in my tracks. Even in the moonlight I can see the changes in the garden. I can see that our tiny patch of lawn has disappeared, and been replaced by a pile of earth, all dug over. I frown, holding my breath and then slowly make my way down to the dustbin, depositing the newspaper parcel, before walking back, ignoring the icy wind that’s biting through my shirtsleeves.
“Well?” Amelie’s voice catches me unawares and I look up and can just about make her out, standing at the corner of the house, by the bathroom wall.
I move closer to her, so I can see her face more clearly.
“Who did this?” I ask, turning back to look at the dug-up garden again.
“I did, of course,” she replies, smiling. “What do you think?”
“You did this? By yourself?” She nods her head. “Why?” I ask, trying desperately to stay calm.
“So we can plant vegetables.” She gives her answer as though I’m the one being dense around here, even though it’s not me who’s been digging over frozen ground in early February for no good reason.
“But I still don’t understand why.”
“Really, Rufus?” Her smile has faded now and she turns, going back into the house. I follow, closing the kitchen door behind us, and switching on the light.
“Yes, really,” I say, facing her. “The ground must have been frozen solid. I don’t understand why you didn’t wait. It’s not like you can plant anything outside in February anyway, so why take risks with your health digging it over now, when you could have waited until the weather warms up, or better still, you could have just asked me to do it. You might have hurt yourself.”
She shakes her head. “Now you’re just being ridiculous.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.” She glares at me, raising her voice. “Why are you being like this? I have precious little to do around here, and when I actually find something to occupy myself, you try to stop me? Don’t you want me to have a life of my own any more, Rufus?”
“Of course I do,” I shout, losing my temper. “But I don’t understand why you would do something so reckless… so downright stupid.”
“Stupid? You’re calling me stupid?” She opens her mouth to say something else and then snaps it closed again, and before I can comment further, she storms from the room, and within moments, I hear her footsteps echoing up the stairs.
In an instant, I’m jolted back to that evening, just a couple of months ago, when she found out about her guardian’s mistress, and more importantly, that I’d known of her existence and hadn’t shared that information. At the time, Amelie said she felt she couldn’t trust me. She broke off our relationship and ran out of the sitting room in her uncle’s house and up the stairs. I can still hear the sound of her footsteps, and I can remember vividly the feeling of my heart shattering in my chest.
I don’t pause. I don’t hesitate, not even for a second. I take off after her, because I’m not going to let her run from me, not this time, regardless of whether she’s upset, or angry. I’ll face whatever I have to face, rather than let her run from me. And taking the stairs two at a time, I clatter through our bedroom door, where I find Amelie sitting in the middle of the bed, with her back to me, her shoulders revealing the tension in her body.
“Oh, darling… I’m so sorry.” I go straight to her, kneeling up behind her and putting my arms around her. “What have I done to you?” I pull her back into me and cradle her gently. “I’m sorry,” I repeat. “Please forgive me.” I feel awful. I feel desperate, and I cling to her, like the life-raft that she is.
“W—Why did you say those things?” she mutters, twisting around and looking up at me. She doesn’t seem to be angry any more. If anything, she looks disappointed. And I think that’s worse.
“Because I’m the one who’s stupid,” I reply honestly. “Not you. I just wanted to protect you, that’s all. Only… only I went about it the wrong way.”
She looks up at me. “Don’t you see? Can’t you understand? It’s nothing like I expected it to be… I’m so bored, Rufus…”
“With me?” I can hear the fear in my own voice, and I’ll admit she’s starting to blur.
“No, not with you. And not with being married to you either, before you ask. But… well, I suppose there was so much going on before the wedding, and prior to that I had my job to keep me busy, and now I can’t seem to find anything to do to occupy my time. And when I do, you try and stifle it out of me.”
“I’m so sorry, darling,” I manage to say through the lump in my throat, my voice cracking. “I never meant to stifle you.”
She reaches up, touching my cheek, her eyes searching mine now. “Oh, Rufus,” she says eventually. “I’m the one who’s sorry.” I shake my head, but she stops me, holding my chin. “You’re not stifling me,” she adds firmly. “I shouldn’t have said that. It was wrong of me. You’ve never tried to stop me from doing anything, and I shouldn’t have suggested that you do. And in any case, you’re quite right, the ground was really hard, and… and I don’t suppose there is anything much we can plant in February.” She sighs deeply. “It… it’s just that I was so fed up today, and I wanted something to do. I—I thought you’d be pleased.”
“Oh God… and now I’ve spoiled it.”
She sh
akes her head. “No, you haven’t. I overreacted. That’s all.”
She stares into my eyes for what feels like forever, and then leans closer, and closer still, her lips finally brushing against mine. Within seconds, our tongues are clashing, her fingers in my hair and mine in hers, and then she starts to pull on my tie, as I roll her onto her back and reach down to undo the button at the side of her trousers…
I hold her naked body in my arms, still getting my breath back, as is she, our clothes scattered across the bed and around the room, to wherever we threw them.
“As much as I enjoyed that,” I murmur, stroking her dishevelled hair, “and as much as it seems I like making up with you, I never want us to argue again. Ever. No amount of making up is worth seeing that disappointed look on your face.”
I turn her onto her back again and raise myself above her, nestling into that perfect cradle between her legs. “If you’re thinking about saying sorry to me again, then don’t,” she says, resting her hands on my arms and gazing up at me.
“I wasn’t,” I reply and she tilts her head to one side, proving that she knows me far too well. “All right, I was. But only after I’ve told you that I never want to hurt you again. I only ever want to make you happy… that’s my job.”
She smiles. “You do make me happy, Rufus. Honestly.”
She leans up, kissing me and I deepen the kiss, needing her again.
“Oh Christ!” She shifts to one side and I raise my arm, only just managing not to collapse on her.
“What’s wrong?”
She moves out from beneath me, and slides off the bed. “The dinner! It’ll be ruined.”
I roll onto my side, watching as she darts around the room, gathering up her clothes.
“What are you doing?” I ask her, trying not to laugh.
“I’m trying to get dressed,” she replies, her underwear getting twisted as she tries to pull it on in a hurry, almost tripping herself up in the process. That’s all it takes for me to burst out laughing.
“Why are you bothering?” I ask, sitting up on the edge of the bed and looking up at her.
“Because I need to go downstairs to see if I can rescue our dinner. We’ve been up here for… how long?”
“About forty-five minutes, I should think.”
“Oh no. Really? Forty-five minutes?” She goes to bend down, but I get there first, kneeling before her. “Now, what are you doing?” she asks.
“Preventing you from falling over your underwear,” I reply. “And worshiping at your feet.” I plant a kiss on her flat stomach, then another an inch lower, and another, and another, moving further down each time. She sucks in a sharp breath, her hand on the back of my head.
“Stop!” she cries, breathless, and I pull back, gazing up at her. “If you start that, we’ll never have dinner at all.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” I ask.
“Well, it might be, depending on how burnt the cottage pie is.”
“Don’t worry. The cottage pie will be fine…” I get to my feet. “Now, about you getting dressed…”
“What about it?”
“Well, who said you had to put your clothes on in order to eat dinner?”
“You want me to eat dinner naked?” She’s staring at me now, wide eyed.
“Well, you can if you want… or there’s a perfectly good pyjama top of mine lying on your pillow. You could just put that on, couldn’t you?”
She looks at me for a moment and then, without saying a word, she reaches over and grabs the pyjama top, shrugging it on. I take a step closer. “Don’t do it up on my account,” I murmur, my hands resting on her hips.
“And what are you going to be wearing while I’m semi naked?” she asks.
“What do you want me to wear?”
She thinks for a second – no longer – before she walks over to the chest of drawers and bends down, giving me the most perfect view in the world, and opens the bottom drawer, pulling something out, and standing again. She turns, and walks back, her eyes fixed on mine, my pyjama bottoms in her hand.
“These,” she whispers, biting her lip.
“Just these?” She nods her head, blushing and I capture her chin with my hand, kissing her just briefly. “If that’s what you want, my love.”
“It is,” she says and does up a single button on the pyjama top she’s wearing, leaving the others very temptingly undone, and once I’m dressed in the manner of her choosing, I follow her down the stairs, grateful that we seem to have made up after my stupid comments, although I still feel guilty for having made them in the first place.
“This is fabulous,” I tell Amelie, for probably the third time, on only about my fifth mouthful.
“You’re not just saying that?” She stares at me from across the table, dragging her eyes up from my bare chest, to my face, a rather absent-minded smile crossing her lips.
“No, I’m not just saying that.” I’m really not. Her cottage pie truly is extremely tasty.
“If there’s something wrong with it, you can tell me,” she says, taking a forkful herself. “I won’t take offence, I promise.”
“There’s nothing wrong with it. Nothing at all. It really is good. It’s very good indeed.” I reach across the table for her hand, which she places in mine. “Well done, darling.”
She gives me the most perfect smile. “Well, you ought to be congratulating your mother, really.”
“Why? She didn’t cook this. You did.”
“I followed her recipe, that’s all.”
“Stop putting yourself down.” I lower my fork to the plate, letting it rest on the side, and focus on her, trying not to be distracted by the way my pyjama top gapes open on her, most revealingly. “Cottage pie is one of my favourite dinners, and that means I know a good one from a bad one… and this is a good one. It’s a very good one. You can make this again any time you like.”
“Well, I’m not making it tomorrow,” she replies.
“You’re not?” I’m almost disappointed.
“No. Tomorrow, I’m going to make a stew.”
I let out a sigh of satisfaction and lean forward, raising her fingers to my lips, kissing them gently. “Will you marry me?” I say and she giggles.
“I thought you’d never ask,” she replies, rather sweetly.
Despite the way our evening ended, when I wake up this morning, my first thoughts and feelings are of guilt and regret over the way I behaved last night. My motives may well have been sound, or even honourable – at least in my own head – but the way I went about delivering my message was nothing short of overbearing and pompous, and as for losing my temper… it was inexcusable. I lie on my side, looking at my beautiful sleeping wife, and I know it’s going to take me a while to forgive myself for the things I said, and for raising my voice to her.
I’m aware of time moving on, however, and I lean down and kiss Amelie awake, tracing a delicate line across her lips with my tongue and smiling as she shudders, even though her eyes are still tightly shut.
“Good morning,” she murmurs, and my smile becomes a grin.
“I know you’d probably rather I went to make you a cup of tea, but do you think you could forego it this morning, and bathe with me instead?” I plead and she opens her eyes now, gazing up at me.
“You want me to?”
“Of course.” It’s not something we’ve done since we returned from our honeymoon, and while I know it’s only been a few days, I want to try and recapture some of that magic. No… I need to. After the way I spoke to her yesterday, I need to reassure myself that Amelie still loves me as much as I love her.
“Then lead the way,” she says, and with one final kiss, I get out of bed and hold out my hand to her.
“Um… we don’t have any clothes on,” she remarks, staring at me for a moment.
“So? All the curtains are still closed. No-one can see us.”
“No, I don’t suppose they can,” she replies and takes my hand, letting me pull her out of
bed and into my arms, where I hold her close to me, kissing her. “We should probably get a move on,” she says, when I eventually release her.
“Probably,” I reply, caressing her cheek with my fingertips and marvelling that she puts up with me, because I’m not sure I would.
“Are you all right?” she asks, tilting her head.
“Yes.”
“You’re not, are you?”
“No.”
She sits back down on the edge of the bed, pulling me with her.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” she says softly, her voice soothing my nerves.
“I still feel guilty about yesterday… about the things I said to you.”
“Oh, Rufus…” She rests her head on my shoulder and lets out a sigh. “There’s no need. We talked about it last night, didn’t we?”
“Yes. But the thing is, I still feel awful about it. I was so… so…” I search for the right word.
“Bossy?” she offers, smiling.
“Yes. Bossy.” It’s the perfect description of my behaviour.
She turns to face me, looking up into my eyes. “So what if you were? I deserved it, and I don’t want you to feel guilty,” she whispers.
I caress her cheek with my fingertips. “What do you want?”
“I want you to take me downstairs and remind me how much fun a bath can be.”
“With pleasure, Mrs Stone.” I kiss the tip of her nose, then stand and hold out my hand to her once more, wishing that, in spite of her reassurance, I didn’t still feel so ashamed.
Breakfast has been a very hurried affair this morning, but that’s because we took a lot longer in the bath than either of us anticipated, even though we were restricted to using the rather paltry regulatory amount of water. It was fun sharing it though. So much fun, that Amelie hasn’t had time to get dressed yet and is only wearing her dressing gown at the breakfast table, and absolutely nothing else.