Friends Without Benefits

Elizabeth turned her head, still on my lap; her blue eyes met mine then flickered over my face. “I’m going to start calling you Romeo.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you’re Mr. Romantic. It’s taken me a while to become accustomed to it, and it used to make me crazy, but I think I’m finally ready to accept the compliments.”

“Should I call you my Juliet?”

“No. Juliet is universally acknowledged to be an idiot. If you’re going to call me a Shakespearian something, Beatrice from Much Ado About Nothing fits best.”

I barked a laugh. “Yeah. My lady tongue.”

She wrinkled her nose. “You like my tongue.”

“Yes. I do.” I nodded, tugged her braid so that her chin and mouth jutted upward, “I like everything about it.”

“I accept that compliment, Romeo,” She sounded breathless, “and I raise you a compliment about your hands.”

I felt my body involuntarily stiffen. Judging by the wicked glint in her eye, she felt it too.

“Elizabeth. . .”

“Romeo. . .”

I ground my teeth. Her smart mouth made coherent thought difficult at times. This frustrated me because she was an excellent thinker. Usually, when this happened, I’d speak in Italian. However, at present, we were in a very public place; and I’d promised early on in our marriage never to speak Italian in public again.

Sometimes I even kept that promise.

She lifted her fingers and placed them over mine where I held her braid captive; she then stroked from my arm to my shoulder. “You need to learn how to take a compliment, Romeo.”

“Forgive me, Beatrice,” I bent closer and released her braid, instead moved my hand to cradle the back of her head. “But I’m still not used to your compliments.”

She tsked. “That’s a shame.” Our noses touched; her nails gently scratched my neck. “I should give them more often.”

“Yes, you should.” I nodded my agreement because I did agree, and nipped her pouty bottom lip. I freely admit: I liked to be stroked everywhere, including my ego.

“Here’s one,” She leaned back; her eyes—so lovely, so brilliant—searched mine and I experienced a moment of perfection, of bliss when she said, “My Nico, you’re going to make an excellent father.”

The End