J ames

I come to my senses somewhere over the Atlantic. There’s a faint pressure behind my eyeballs, portending an oncoming headache. I rub my eyes till it starts to recede: this is the last thing I need .

Diana’s still sleeping like an angel, hair fanned out on the pillow, a couple of stubborn petals clinging to her brow. She slipped out of her wedding dress as soon as the seat belt light went off, but I’m not sure she meant me to see her like this, laid out in nothing but her slip, one stocking rolled down to the knee. But the sheet slid off when I got up, and I’m afraid trying to tuck her back in might disturb her .

I suppose I’ll be seeing her in less, soon enough. Still, the idea of reaching out and touching her, following the seam of her stocking up the back of her thigh, seems more fantasy than possibility .

It’s been three days—no, four now—since my “proposal” under the palms. It’s weird, but I’m tempted to keep that sweet, shy courtship going, even now that we’re married. It’d be a first for me: a leisurely seduction, in place of the usual rocket sled from Friday’s first kiss to Sunday’s walk of shame. I toy with the idea of hand-holding, lingering glances, soft caresses over silk; something almost...Arthurian, from an age of knights and damsels. Gotta admit, it’s got a certain allure .

Then again, so does pinning her to the wall and making her mine .

Diana opens her eyes. If she’s offended by my staring, she doesn’t show it. She stretches and sighs. “Mm... Time’s it ?”

I check my watch. “Four in the morning, back home. That’d be, uh, ten AM where we’re headed .”

“Still early....” She tugs at my sleeve. “C’mon. Spoon me back to sleep .”

“I, uh....” This is awkward. “Gimme a second .”

She glances over her shoulder, taking in my sheepish grin, my obvious erection. I half-expect her to grab a pillow and beat me right out the emergency exit, but all I get is an eyeroll. “Eh, it’s not like we’re naked. Just... C’mon. It’s freezing. Get down here, and bring that blanket .”

Can’t argue with that. It is cold at forty thousand feet. And she’s the perfect height for spooning. I sigh with contentment as her head snugs in under my chin, and her feet find their way between mine. She doesn’t even complain when I warm my icy hands on her belly .

“Nice and toasty....” I’m pleasantly drowsy, but sleep’s still a ways off. “Still awake ?”

She nods. Her hair tickles my nose .

“So... Okay, this’ll sound creepy, unromantic as hell, but my curiosity’s killing me here. There was something in your background check ....”

“If you’re talking about the farmer, that was an accident. We didn’t even know where the sunroof went, till the next day .”

The...what? “Uh, no—that wasn’t it, but now I gotta hear about this sunroof.” I nuzzle at the top of her head in a way I hope is reassuring. Don’t want her feeling...interrogated .

“Mm, prom night....” She huffs through her nose. “It was... Well, a lot of plans fell apart last minute, so I ended up going with my neighbor and his friends, and these girls from, uh, Wainfleet, I think. It was like, six or seven of us crammed into this matchbox of a car, and... Oh, God! You don’t want to hear this !”

“Uh-uh, no way—Can’t tease me like that.” I nudge her with my big toe. “You owe me an ending .”

“Well, all right—About three miles from the school, someone, uh.... Passed gas. None of the windows would open, so I went for the sunroof—but it slid maybe half an inch, and... cck . ”

“Oh, no !”

“So we were pounding on it, all of us, beating it with our fists, our shoes, whatever we could grab hold of, and then it just...popped its moorings. Sailed off into the night .”

“Oh, God—it beheaded someone! Flying guillotine !”

“What? No!” Diana shakes with laughter. She jabs an elbow in the general direction of my ribs, but her angle sucks, and she jostles thin air. “It landed in a farmer’s field. Ruined his, uh...hay...threshing...thing. Or something. But, I mean, we looked for it, did our due diligence. Showed up at prom with this perfect fade from white to green along the hem of my skirt, from wading through all that grass .”

“Still better than mine,” I confess. “Got drunk for the first time, lost my shoes and my dinner, and my date went home with my best friend .”

“Ouch.” She tilts her head, like she’s trying to look back at me. “What were you going to ask, if not about the sunroof ?”

“Oh, just... You’re six credits shy of a physics degree ?”

“Oh, that.” She relaxes in my arms. “Mm-hm. Going to finish some day .”

“Why didn’t you ?”

“Mm, y’know...tired of trying to wrap my head around the infinite.” She yawns. “Also, too many nerds .”

I chuckle. My eyelids are drooping again, and I can tell by the way her body sags against mine, she’s drifting herself. I’ll get a real answer out of her some other time. In the meantime, my head’s starting to pound. I burrow my face into her neck for comfort, and let myself drift into oblivion .

The next time I break the surface of sleep, we’re coming in for our final descent over Florence, and my headache’s a living presence behind my eyes. It’s like my body’s gotten so used to that weekly hangover, it’s giving me one free of charge .

Diana’s sneaked out of my embrace in the night. She’s dressed and groomed and perfect, a quarter of the way into the paperback she picked up. Must’ve been up a while. Maybe she never went back to sleep at all .

She looks my way when I start to stir. “You all right ?”

I nod. Bad idea: bobbing the sore head doesn’t help .

“You sure? You look kind of pale .”

“Just a headache.” I wriggle into my pants and pat the pockets. Empty. “Don’t suppose you got an aspirin ?”

“In my purse—Where’d I—?” She fishes around under her seat. “Shit. I just had it .”

I pour myself into the seat next to her and fumble for my seat belt. My foot bumps against something soft and purse-shaped. I reach for it, moving my head as little as possible. “Here you go .”

“Thanks.” She fishes out one of those travel-sized aspirin packets and flips it my way. “Need some water ?”

“Nah....” I dry-swallow the pills and drop my head on her shoulder. “Ugh...hurts .”

“You’re all right.” Her hand cups my forehead, then the back of my neck. “No fever. Probably be fine once we land .”

She’s sweet, but she’s wrong: by the time we touch down, my head’s throbbing like a giant abscess, and I feel like I could puke. And the bumpy Italian roads are pure punishment. Wish Diana was driving: she’s got this way of gliding over the road, no sudden stops, no queasy swerving. Still, having her in the back with me isn’t the worst. Any other time, I’d be loving the attention, the way she’s massaging the back of my neck, feeding me sips of water .

The car jounces over what’s gotta be a dead body in the road, or at least a decent-sized tortoise. I groan and clutch at my temples .

“Here—you’re going to hurt yourself.” She folds my hands together and holds them tight. “There’s another bump in three... two — ”

I brace myself, but this one’s not as bad: more teeth-rattling than bone-jarring .

“There’s the gate up ahead.” Her thumb brushes across my knuckles, soft and soothing. “No cars allowed past here—think you can make it to the hotel ?”

No idea. I manage a noncommittal grunt .

“Hang on. A few more minutes, we’ll get you all fixed up .”

Don’t know what she’s planning to do, how she means to fix me, but somehow, I believe her. I concentrate on standing up straight and keeping my stomach out of my throat while she leads the way up the hill. Who thought it’d be a good idea to put cobblestones where people have to walk? I keep stumbling, turning my ankle—can’t keep my eyes open, to look where I’m going .

I’m not sure how we make it to the hotel, but pretty soon I’m standing uselessly by, while Diana checks us in .

“Not....” I gulp and wince, as the ancient elevator jerks to life. “Not the best start to our honeymoon .”

“Aw, ssh.” Diana grabs my suitcase before it can fall on my foot. “I count our honeymoon from the second we stepped on that plane. First ride on a private jet, falling asleep in your arms—twice!—I’d say that’s a decent start .”

“Still. Sorry....” She’s got our suitcases, both our suitcases, but it’s all I can do to trail after her all the way to our room .

“Sit here.” She nudges me to the edge of the bed. “Don’t go to sleep, though. Going to draw you a bath .”

I struggle to do as I’m told, but it’s so warm, so quiet. My chin keeps dipping to my chest. The splashing of water turns to the chatter of the boardroom, the bustle of the hospital. Sean Nasmith follows me from room to room, dream to dream, showing me charts I can’t understand, contracts that make zero sense. Half-awake, I wonder what’s real—did I get married? Did I get fired? Am I coming out of the fog of some epic bender, even now ?

“Hey—Can you stand?” Someone’s stroking my arm. It is Diana. I’m not hallucinating—or if I am, it’s a damn good one .

“Yeah; yeah. I’m good.” I follow her into the bathroom. There’s an old clawfoot tub under a foggy mirror, a stone washstand, a pair of low stools. I stand stupidly—am I supposed to undress? In front of her ?

“Hold still .”

And... She’s unbuttoning my shirt. This is interesting. Under any other circumstances.... “Ow ....”

“Yeah, I know. Just a minute .”

I drop my arms obediently so she can pull off my shirt. My pants, I take care of myself. Soon, I’m left in my underwear, shivering on the stone floor .

“I’ll turn around, while you get in .”

Probably for the best—this isn’t how I want her to see me naked for the first time, all sick and chilly, covered in gooseflesh. I shimmy out of my briefs fast as I can and step into the tub. Can’t keep a lid on my groan of relief, as I sink into the warm water. Normally, I’m a shower guy, five minutes in and out, but this feels great. Especially when Diana lays a warm towel over my eyes and temples. I drift in the warm dark, feeling the tension ebb away .

There’s a faint scrape behind me, and I feel clever fingers in my hair, massaging my scalp, my temples, rubbing the pain right out of me. I practically purr when she finds the knots in my neck, starts working them loose. My foolish cock’s starting to show an interest again—always popping up like toast, when nobody needs it. But... Can she even see it from way back there? Probably not .

I ignore it and settle deeper into the tub. Been forever since I was last touched like this. May as well enjoy it while I can, especially now my headache’s receding to a faint red pulse .

I must drift off for a while—when I come to myself, the water’s noticeably cooler, and Diana’s working over my biceps, kneading the muscles with more strength than I thought she had. Feels great—my body’s gone loose and boneless. My head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton, but all things considered, I’d call that an improvement .

“Those are quite some healing hands you got there.” I tilt my head experimentally. When no fireworks go off behind my eyes, I reach up and peel back the cloth. The light makes me blink, but it no longer feels like an assault .

“Feeling better ?”

“Much.” I squint a little, trying to make out Diana’s expression. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Probably just tired, dehydrated ....”

“Overcaffeinated.” She stands up, shaking out her hands. “I was thinking about it, just now. Don’t think I saw you all weekend without a Starbucks cup in your hand .”

My stomach does an uneasy flip. “Ugh. Don’t say ‘Starbucks ’.”

She grabs a towel off the rack and shakes it open. “C’mon, before you catch cold .”

I dry off quick and follow her into the bedroom. It’s nicer than I expected: homey, with well-stuffed furniture. Ancient kerosene wall-sconces, retrofitted for electricity, cast a mellow light. A painting of a ruin overlooking a sea of wheat takes up most of one wall. But the best part is the bed, huge and fluffy, piled high with pillows. Great cloudlike pillows, swaddled in frilly shams, calling my name .

“How rude would it be if I dove under those covers for, oh, the next year or so ?”

Diana plops down on the bed. “Wouldn’t let you do anything else in your state.” She scoots back into the pillows, pulling me with her. “Lie down. Sleep. We can go for a moonlight stroll later .”

“Moonlight... That sounds pretty .”

“And you sound goofy.” She smooths my hair back from my face. “Close your eyes. You’ve earned a rest .”

I have... I really have. That’s not self-pity talking: it’s been an endless few days. Not just the wedding—that was bad enough—but then there was work. Took forever catching everyone up so I could take the week off, not to mention checking in on nervous patients, and Nasmith-proofing my office. And then there was Tom, flitting around like Jiminy Cricket, bemoaning the whole situation .

I curl myself into Diana’s side, vaguely aware I’m still naked. Can’t find it in me to care. Last thing I feel, before sleep swallows me up, is her fingers in my hair .