Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
HAPPILY EVER BEFORE
Arden
He said we were celebrating, that was the word he used. Maybe he has something to celebrate. I don’t. His message told me to come straight from work, and that’s what I did. Standing on the side door of the museum waiting for him to let me in.
The door cracks open and his hand reaches out for mine. My grip slides into his without question and I slip into a non-public entrance. It's a fluorescently lit hallway but the light that surrounds us is golden. His hand tightens on mine, as he steps back and lifts our joined hands, he whips his wrist and me into an unexpected twirl right into him where he catches me with both arms. He’s unexpected. He was as soon as I met him, and amidst the big moments of my days he fills the in between in all ways. It causes me to break into a smile and throw my arms around his neck with a kiss that is slow and mindful, one that feels like he’s telling me his secrets.
He guides me down the hall and up a few flights of stairs, using his id card to bypass locked doors, never once letting go of my hand.
"Is anyone here?" I ask, feeling in some way we’re doing something wrong. I know the museum is officially closed for the evening. "Am I even allowed to be here?"
"You’re with me, it’s fine."
"Oh… it’s fineee is it? I thought we shouldn’t settle for fine." I say tauntingly. He stops from where we are hurrying through the maze of secret passages.
"You know what, you’re right."
"Usually." He steps towards me and his thumb tilts my chin up toward him.
"I’ve noticed." His lip curls in a delicious smile, and he shares it with a kiss. "Now are you ready to celebrate?" he asks as he pulls away.
"What are we even celebrating?" I ask.
He swipes his card and pushes open the door, the room is empty. Not a soul. Except maybe the ones preserved in paint. Just a bottle of champagne left on the bench where we first fought.
"We’re going to sit there and figure something out."
We don't sit as we did the day we met. The bench is wider than one you would see at a park or somewhere with a singular focus. This is meant to allow many people facing all different directions to share the space. But the only space we share is each other. He sits cross-legged and I do the same. Not looking towards any of the walls, but he’s looking only at me.
"Alright Arden, you hate your job, your day sucked…" he starts, his hand wraps around the neck of the glass champagne bottle, while the other one begins to delicately untwist the wire top containing the cork.
"You want me to drink champagne because I hate my job? I know shitty jobs can lead people to drink, but that’s not really what I’m going for."
"No, I want you to sit here with me, drink champagne from this bottle, and realize that there’s something that happened today for you to celebrate. Even if everything else is terrible. Right now, it’s just us and this bottle of champagne, and we can’t waste it. We need to come up with something, no matter how small, to drink to. For starters…" and with that the bottle pops as he pulls the cork out, immediately raising it to his lips catching the overflow in his mouth. "For starters, I’m going to celebrate that this cork didn’t go flying and hit one of these paintings."
I reach for the bottle. Our knees are touching, and I don't think I knew we were so close. But somehow we always seem to be connected.
He clicks his tongue and shakes his ever so slightly. "You have to come up with your own reason before I hand you this bottle."
"It can be anything?" I ask.
"Anything," he says.
"I…" I think about my day, the big boulders of it not worth even the worst champagne.
"Come on darling ," he prompts in jest, "I can see something working behind your eyes. I want to hear one thing that made you smile today."
I’m not sure if this was part of his ploy, but the only thing I want to celebrate is him. But I don’t say that. I can’t say that .
"I found my missing chapstick!" I nearly scream with excitement. He leans forward and we meet in the middle across our laps for a kiss. The taste of champagne lingering on his tongue. The taste of my chapstick on his lips.
"Cheers to that." Is all he says as he pulls away and hands me the champagne. I take a swig from the heavy glass bottle. The bubbles hit my tongue, and he might be onto something. I look around the room, the gravity of it as we sit here in solitude.
"I found a heads-up penny on my walk to the train." sip.
"I…this is hard…" I say, a bit defeated already.
"Come on, you’ve got something else," he prods as his hand comes down across my thigh, as he slowly moves to coax it from me.
I think about some of the moments of today that might be worth celebrating, and the overwhelming sense is that I might be sitting here wasting this bottle. When I just want to crawl into his lap and have him kiss me in the way he robs me of all stress of the outside world.
"Today I got clarity.” sip.
I hate that this is my response, but I did. The kind of clarity you can only get from hearing your colleagues prepare for your failure like it's already pencilled on their calendar. At least now I know that the list of people I can trust at work, starts and ends with me.
"I spoke to a couple today that has been married for sixty-five years and every week they come and sit right here…" He takes a sip and as he tilts the bottle back, his eyes darken so slightly not breaking my stare. "They said if you sit here long enough as strangers, you can fall in love."
He says this as I tip back the bottle and get a rush of foam, choking down a swallow as the bubbles hit my throat. I burst into a fit of coughing and he puts the bottle down to free me from the added burden of holding something while I’m gasping for breath wondering if champagne is coming out my nose. His quick assessment returns that I’m not actually dying, as he brushes the hair from my face, catching some remaining drips from the corner of my lip. I pull it under my teeth, almost embarrassed. But his smile is slow, not cautious, as it spreads across his face and guides mine to do the same.
His hands reach for my face and the pull toward him isn’t in his grasp, but my body. The way it comes to life with him. His tongue moves against mine, unbothered by the audience of portraits and lovers who were once inspired to do the same. So much so they were immortalized in paint for us to revel. I’m wrapped around his body as his hands move against mine, laying me back down against the wide wooden bench. His kisses find their way to my neck as my hands slip up his shirt.
"We can’t do this here," he gruffly whispers, the warmth of his words brush against my skin. His kisses transform from the deep passion filled ones, to softer presses of his lips, slowing down as he straightens us both back upright. Our feet are on the ground now, facing the portrait in front of us as he slips his hand into mind.
"Did you know, she was his mistress, in fact for a time he paid for her… affections ?" Will looking ahead at the portrait of a woman, nude, but glowing. "Would you have been able to tell the nature of their relationship without research?"
I rest my head on his shoulder in a way that feels natural and inhale him.
"This looks like it was painted with love."
"It was, his marriage wasn’t one he wanted, they say she was the love of his life, and she made the choice to be in his life in any capacity." His thumb strokes and swirls the skin on the back of my hand.
"Are you asking me to be your mistress, Will?" He looks away from the immense painting in front of us and curls his head to meet mine with a kiss on my forehead.
"I’m telling you, I’ll be anything to you. Your mistress," he laughs "your champagne," he takes a sip, "your friend," I catch my breath, "I’ll be whatever you want to call it, but I want this."
"I do too… I just don’t know what that means." I’m concerned he will be hurt, scared this is going to be pushed into an ultimatum. I can’t force him to stay in the inbetween.
He smiles and takes a slow sip as we near the end of the bottle before passing it back to me.
"What are you celebrating?"
"Us, darling ."
We pass the bottle back and forth until it’s empty, but we are both full. And by the bottom of the bottle my terrible day was drowned out by sips of champagne and my lungs are full of him.