25 BEN
BEN
“I mean, is there anything better than Fall in the city?” Janie sighs. “The leaves turning in Central Park, the cooler temps, people starting to buzz with excitement for the holidays.”
“Holidays? Who are you and what have you done with Janelle?”
“Ughhhh,”
“Sorry. Not Janelle, I forgot. What’s next on our agenda, wifey?”
“One, barf. Two, enough!” Janie says through another laugh.
Damn, she looks happy.
Perhaps City Saturdays should be a thing.
City weekends, rather. Walking around making fun of myself or saying whatever will get the biggest rise out of her.
She likes my place, I think. Seemed genuinely impressed with the art and the open design and colorful decor. I didn’t do it all myself, of course, but it has my eye, my guidance. My photos from my travels, different things I’ve collected overseas.
I like fine things, so that’s what I fill my flats with, both in New York and London. Including my sheets and guest sheets, which Janie waxed poetic about this morning. Coffee machine too.
“Enough what, darling?”
“We’ve done all my stuff, it’s your turn,” she links her arm through mine as we walk and I flex my bicep automatically, then fight a wince because I’ve been killing myself at the gym.
“Hardly.”
“Benedict. We stayed in last night with my favorite Thai, and watched the movie I chose, then we went to my favorite cafe for coffee this morning, my spot for lunch—”
“Yes, well you’re the one who’s been city-deprived, not me.”
“Come on, you don’t have anything you want to do?”
I lift my coffee to gesture around us, “Am doing it, at present.”
“You just shielded me from stepping in a puddle of what I’m pretty sure was human urine a minute ago. Walking through Midtown cannot be all you want to do today.”
“Caught that, did you? Wasn’t that so chivalrous of me?” She sighs like she’s upset even though she isn’t. I flex my arm again.
“Seriously, Benedict, What’s going on tonight?”
“It’s Ben, woman. Honestly. And you’ve not told me yet. I had planned on lounging around my flat in just my sexy gray sweatpants.” I say and she chokes on her coffee. I fight a smug smile.
“Your w-what?”
I glare down at her stunning face, “Men know things. I saw your collection of romance books being delivered to the house. Don’t ask me why plain gray sweats are like catnip for you lot but if I’ve a tool of seduction available to me, I use it.”
More choking, “You’re trying to seduce me now?”
“Turns out Kickboxing isn’t working out.”
“Benedict,” she pulls away but I quickly grab her hand and tuck it back in my elbow.
“Only joking! Mostly. What I meant was I’m prepared for another thrilling night in. Onward with our Harry Potter marathon.” She’s still eyeing me. “Though, if you think you will be so bothered by them, maybe I will don my sweats. Pay you back for your teensy pajamas.”
“Don my? Did you really just say that?” I ignore her so she goes on. “I am not that easy,” she says with false bravado. “But seriously. Isn’t there some event you’re invited to tonight? Some birthday party or—”
“It’s a grand opening.”
“I knew it!”
I smile at her smile, “Yes, well, I declined. You see my wife is a hermit, so—”
“Not a hermit. I just…like routine. And I’m already out of mine, anyway, being in the city with you, so…
” I take a turn narrowing my eyes at her, wondering if this is a trap.
I’ve seen my brother do it before, make plans in a rare moment of extroversion, only to deeply regret it at about an hour-to.
“We need to be seen, right? The Clarks doing Clark things.”
“The Clarks, eh?” I ask, liking the sound of that far too much. I wonder if she’s started the process of changing her name, but decide not to ask. I shake my head a bit. Changing her name is only a formality for keeping up appearances anyway.
“Billionaire things,” she adds. “Is it a swanky thing tonight?”
“It is, a new fusion something or other restaurant experience by some famous chef. Very hush-hush, top floor in a brand new building, prestigious guest list, invite-only, and the invitation actually came encoded.”
“Encoded?”
“Yes,” I redirect her from what looks like a smashed cheeseburger on the sidewalk. At least I bloody hope that’s what it is. I wonder how close my car is. “You had to find a separate envelope with a cipher. What’s that I hear, are you a wee bit impressed?”
“No.”
“M hmm.”
“Plus, I didn’t bring a cocktail dress.”
We pause at a crosswalk and I turn into her. “Wifey, are you fishing for an excuse to go shopping?” She coughs as she denies it. Adorable. “If you want to take me and my black Amex shopping you don’t have to put me on about going out, you can just say you want to go—”
“I want to take your black Amex shopping.”
“And me? Can I come?”
She puts her coffee to her mouth to hide her smile, “I guess.”
_____
“Are you sure this is dressy enough?” She fidgets next to me.
“Love, why do you keep asking if you’ll simply ignore my reply?”
“Good question. You just chose the shortest tightest thing, now I’m second guessing.”
“Third or fourth guessing, you mean.” I mutter, getting lost in the legs for days within my line of sight.
Suddenly I hate how big this car is, she’s miles away over there.
She huffs and I don’t argue because she’s right.
I did snap when I saw this little silver dress, hugging her everywhere.
But I didn’t even see her fantastic curves at first because of how her eyes exploded at me when she walked out of the dressing room.
My mouth went dry and my chest went tight and I could barely breathe or think.
There are no eyes in this world like Janelle’s. Not even close.
“You’re staring, boss.”
“I’m actually having a private conversation, if you don’t mind.”
“With my legs?” She smirks.
“Yes, shh.”
She chuckles, “Yeah, well, if we get there and every other woman is in a long, formal dress, you’re a dead man.”
I make a point of dragging my gaze up her delicious body until we’re making eye contact.
“A gamble worth taking.” She looks out the window but not before I catch the way her cheeks heat.
My fingers twitch at the urge to touch them, to hold her face still and tell her every wonderful thing about herself. Refuse to let her run and hide.
She shifts again, tugging at her hem and my hands flex at everything else they want to touch.
I’m…a man obsessed. If she knew the number of times I’d pictured her—her naked body, her open mouth, her bent over in my shower—in place of my right hand lately, how much would she blush then? Or would she?
Half of me thinks she’d face it full on. She knows I ogle and drool over every inch of her and while she cannot take a compliment without squirming, she doesn’t seem to mind. Hell, she wouldn’t have walked out from behind that curtain today in this tiny dress if she didn’t want me to look.
“Mysterium?” She reads as we pull up to the black carpet.
“Yes, bit on the nose isn’t it? I’ll get the door,” I remind my driver before I step out.
I hear the clicks of cameras in the distance as I round the car.
Everything is closed off to the public but someone must’ve leaked the event.
I open the door and reach down for Janie’s hand.
She takes it but I see a flash of something across her face. Insecurity? Can’t be.
“Just long enough to eat the food, then it’s sexy sweatpants and Dumbledore, yeah?”
She relaxes a fraction, “I don’t think sexy and Dumbledore should ever be said in the same sentence.”
“Professor McConagall begs to differ,” I scoff.
“I told you—”
“I know, you say they’re just colleagues. I say you’re daft. What witch wouldn’t want the wisest and most powerful wizard?”
I start to lead her into the event, which she’s barely noticing because she’s too busy lecturing me about McConagall’s professionalism. She also doesn’t fuss with her dress or scowl at the nearby paparazzi. I knew she’d get worked up about it.
Not bad for a rookie husband, if I do say so myself.
After a masked hostess scans the email on my phone, we enter what’s definitely a cocktail party. I wag my eyebrows at all of the non-black-tie attire. No long dresses in sight. But Janie’s frowning.
“Everything alright, love?” I ask quietly as I look around.
We’re in a dark, industrial space but filled with bright lights and a shit-ton of artwork and greenery. The whole concept is guessing mixtures, in the drinks, in the foods. The experience is supposed to be a test for your palette and maybe your senses as well.
While there’s soft classical music playing, there’s a huge, modern sculpture of two torsos embracing, lit with garish, bright lights. The sculpture is intentionally crude, with only some portions including details, others are chunks of seemingly untouched plaster or something?
It’s a weird vibe.
“Fine, yeah, it’s just…a weird vibe, isn’t it?” She says.
I fight a smile, “Very weird, yes. You want to go?”
“No, no, let’s eat at least. You said this chef is incredible.”
“You’re sure?”
“Benedict, you read me his entire Wikipedia page. We’re eating.”
I dip my chin, “I mean, if you insist.”
She laughs.
Yes! I’m getting bloody good at that.
“Ah, there’s Aiden, let me introduce you.”
“Aiden?”
“Best mate from college.”
She nods as we cross the space. She looks nervous again so I move my hand from her lower back to her waist, tucking her into my side a bit as we walk. Surprising me, she moves closer rather than pulling away.
“Ben. Where the hell have you been?” Aiden greets us in his signature low, grumpy tone.
“Getting married, you big ugly sod. Miss me?” He ignores my question to extend a hand to Janie.
“My condolences,” he says, his eyes dropping to Janie’s body before he quickly corrects himself.