After Sam’s breakthrough last night, I put her to bed after pulling her sweats off. By the time I returned from the loo, she was on her stomach, asleep.
I undressed and joined her, draping my thigh and arm across her. It took a strong conversation with my dick, but it finally got on board and settled down. Not an easy feat when it’s resting against that glorious body.
We sleep through breakfast, both of our bodies healing from the chasm that’s been there since we split.
The winter sun is setting when I wake again. Sam was crying in her sleep, and when I drape the weight of my body against hers, she shimmies into the protective nook I’m offering her and sleeps again.
I wake sometime later and order room service. My hunger winning out over watching her sleep. She doesn’t stir and my attempts to wake her are futile so I eat in bed next to her, not wanting to leave her side.
She seeks me out in her sleep when I lay back down. My hands comb through her hair. I tell her she’s forgiven. I tell her she’s a wonderful mother. I tell her she’s deserving of a life. I tell her she’s smart. Funny. Sexy. Beautiful. I tell her she’s loved. The last one gets me a kiss on my chest where her head is resting, and just that easily, she’s asleep again.
Sam stretches next to me. She lets out a soft moan of someone who’s been in bed too long.
“I’m hungry,” she mumbles. When she turns to face me, she has sheet indentions on her face and a horrible case of bedhead.
“Ah. There’s my girl.”
She doesn’t correct me, or protest, but she doesn’t smile either.
“What time is it?”
“Almost noon. On Friday,” I add.
“What?” She sits up too quickly for someone who hasn’t eaten or moved in way too long. I help her to her feet and escort her to the bathroom. I pick up a complimentary toothbrush on the counter and brush my teeth. Man, does that feel good. Sam watches me as she pees. Not taking her eyes off mine, she wipes, flushes then washes her hands.
She steps up to me and my body reacts to hers, thinking it’s about to be kissed, but instead, she pulls the toothbrush from my hand and puts it in her mouth. She brushes her teeth.
But then, she smiles.
We’re going to be okay.
Neither of us says anything. She grabs a brush from her case and begins the task of detangling her hair. When she comes out of the bathroom again, I’ve laid out the only causal clothes she packed—jeans and her white T-shirt. When they delivered dinner last night, they brought up the bag my driver had left for me. I pull out a jumper that buttons down the front and lay it on the bed as she slides into a pair of knickers.
“Whose cardigan is this?” she asks.
“Mine.”
She smiles, picks it up from the bed, and puts it on. That’s it. There are no other words spoken. I find a casual jacket in my bag to replace the one she stole. We ride the lift to the lobby and I shake off the car, opting instead to walk. Sam takes my hand in hers, and we walk several blocks before coming to the restaurant I wanted to take her to.
Snagging a table in the back corner, we eat fish and chips, and drink a local ale. Sam tells me about her job with Emme. What she was doing over here and how she plans to make it work with her school schedule. I fill her in on some of the projects we were working on before she left, letting her know her hard work paid off and we signed the clients.
She asks me about London and I tell her what I love about it. We make plans to see some places that interest her after we finish our meal. We don’t talk about the girls, or our friends, or what our next steps are. We just talk like a couple who is on holiday.
Sam is still processing, and I’m okay with giving her that time, as long as she understands that we are leaving here together. I don’t press or start an argument. I just show her my city, and she holds my hand.
We eat dinner in the room. I don’t move us to my house or even to a larger suite. I leave us in her room, in hopes she will feel safe and that she is in control. My thoughtfulness falters a bit when we get back in bed. I want to be with her. Make love to her. Help her feel my love. I tap into every ounce of reserve I have and wait for her to initiate. She doesn’t. So, I tap down my desire and settle for holding her. It’s not long before her breathing evens out and she sleeps.
There were no tears today.
Saturday is much the same, only I leave her in a bookstore for the afternoon, going to Harrod’s to pick up more items for us.
We dress for dinner and I take her to a Michelin-rated restaurant, one of my favorites.
Sam is dressed and leaning over me Sunday when I wake. “Going back to the bookstore. Want to finish my book.”
I nod, and she leaves me with a kiss. On my lips. Who knew it could be such an exciting thing.
The door to the bookstore jingles, announcing my arrival. It’s Sunday, so they will be closing earlier than yesterday. I go through the stacks at the front of the store. The middle of the store has coffee and tea. I lift a biscuit from the plate. I search the stacks, my pulse accelerating as I near the end, wondering if she left. I turn into the last isle and there in the corner is Sam. Curled into a chair, legs folded under her. There are a couple of biscuits resting on her thigh and a cup on the arm of the plaid chair. She turns the page of a book. A different one than yesterday. A couple of random people occupy the other chairs, oblivious that they are sitting next to the most remarkable woman. If they knew, they would be soaking her in like I am. She turns the page and my body stirs, remembering her fingers skimming my body in the same manner.
When the clerk comes back to let everyone know the store is closing she looks up for the first time and sees me. A shy smile flickers across her lips and she stands. I’ve been sitting for more than thirty minutes in this hard chair, my legs crossed. I’m wearing worn jeans from uni, a white collared shirt under a navy V-neck jumper, with the shirt sleeves rolled up over the cuffs. My sunglasses are tucked into the V.
Her hand lands palm up on my crossed knee. It’s the easiest decision I’ve ever made. I accept and walk out of this store, my hand in her hand.
Later that night, we order room service. I’m cutting into my salmon when Sam says, “Salmon was Rory’s favorite.”
I recognize the name from one of the grave stones she visited. My only response is to cut another bite. I chew, and she keeps talking. I gather this is the first time she has discussed her family at length since the accident, and I wonder if it’s because she didn’t think she had the right to before.
Once she starts, it’s like a reel of family movies are playing in her head. I order dessert for us a couple of hours later. We laugh at the funny stories, cry at the harder ones. I ask some questions, and she hesitates for only a minute before answering.
I tell her about Charlotte talking with Zinnie, and what Zinnie has been feeling since the accident. We talk about therapy sessions, and I encourage her to go back to hers. I remind her that she is worthy of love and good things happening to her. We talk about what the girls need and how to begin to heal our family. When we look up it’s two in the morning.
We climb into bed, exhausted from the emotions sitting just beneath our skin. She gives me a soft kiss on the lips before falling asleep with her head on my chest.