Chapter Twenty-Seven Poppy—Before
| Twenty-Seven |
Poppy—Before
I’m a married woman! I still can’t believe it.
I finally met Isabel, and she was darling.
I must admit, the texts and phone calls between Bennett and her had me worried at first. I’ve never been able to have a man as a friend.
Somehow, I always end up in bed with them.
But when Bennett called her to let her know we were getting married, she came right away to stand up for us.
Since he doesn’t speak to his family, I know that having Isabel here was important to him.
And she and I hit it off like a house on fire, as they say.
In fact, I hated to see her go. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a close girlfriend.
And Isabel is my cup of tea, funny and just the right amount of catty as we laughed and watched the Housewives while drinking ourselves into oblivion.
Bennett was right. It is beautiful here and peaceful.
In the mornings, I take long walks on the property.
I like to sit by the pond and watch the ducks as they glide along the water.
There’s a trail in the woods leading away from the house, and I feel cocooned by the trees surrounding me and the sounds of birdsong all around.
It’s been a balm to my soul, and I’ve created more pieces in the past three months here than I did the entire time I was in the city.
True to his word, Bennett built me the most amazing studio.
Floor-to-ceiling windows let in all the light, and it’s detached from the house so I can work all hours of the night without worrying about disturbing him.
This is the joy of living with another artist. We both understand that when inspiration strikes, it doesn’t look at the clock.
We have an agreement: If either of us is working, the other never interrupts.
I’ve never even seen the inside of his office, but it’s okay.
I get that everyone needs something that is theirs and theirs alone.
The only fly in the ointment is Felicia. From the moment we met, there was an instant mutual disdain. After Bennett had introduced us, his phone rang, and he left us alone.
“I would appreciate it if you’d let me know how you plan to spend your days,” she said, looking me up and down. “Things run on a schedule here.”
I bit my tongue and gave her a neutral look. “I’m sure we can accommodate each other’s schedules. Won’t be the end of the world if we’re in the house at the same time, though, right?”
“As you’re the new mistress, I suppose it’s up to you. But if you don’t mind, I’d like the kitchen to myself between five and six so I can prepare your dinner. Please let me know if there’s anything you’re allergic to.”
I wondered if she wanted to know so she could make me sick. “No allergies. But I prefer a Mediterranean diet. Perhaps I can give you some suggestions?”
“Oh, I usually prepare the menu for the week, but I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You do that.”
Bennett returned looking back and forth between the two of us. “How’re my two favorite ladies getting along?”
“Swimmingly,” I said, smiling at her.
Ever since, we largely avoid each other.
We don’t really need her here full time.
Seriously, how clean does a house need to be?
And elaborate meals every night? I would be fine with wine and cheese.
I’ll make Bennett see it my way eventually.
Her presence here is not really convenient.
He doesn’t feel it since he’s locked away writing all day.
And because she adores him, that much is obvious.
But I hate having to tiptoe around another woman.
Especially one whose hostility toward me is palpable.
If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was jealous.
One thing that has helped is that I got a part-time job at the local coffee shop.
That and my studio cuts down on the time I spend in the house during the day.
Still, Bennett was surprised, reminding me that we don’t need the money.
But it’s not about money. He’s an introvert, but I’m the opposite.
I thrive on interacting with others. As much as I love my solitude when I’m working, I need the balance of company.
And something about the routine helps my creative flow.
Plus, I’ve made a few friends there, which has been crucial to keeping my sanity, especially on those occasions when Bennett’s writing keeps him locked in his office all evening.
I’ve grown especially close to Henri. He was born Henry but prefers the French version.
He’s a character. He’s in his late twenties, and his partner, Victor, a rich lawyer, also continues to tell Henri that he doesn’t need to work.
But Henri’s motive in getting a job at the coffee shop was the same as mine.
Victor is a workaholic and Henri needs other people too.
We spend at least two nights a week at one of our houses, drinking wine and watching reality TV.
But tonight, it will be only Bennett and me. We’re celebrating our six-month anniversary and have reservations for dinner in town.
“Good morning, Mrs. Cromwell,” he said, as he leaned over to kiss me. Still half asleep, I mumbled a good morning and opened my eyes. He was holding a bouquet of white roses, their fragrant aroma filling the air, and I sat up in bed and smiled at him.
“Where did those come from?”
“I snuck out yesterday and got them.”
“Well, why don’t you put them in a vase and then join me?” I said as I kicked the covers off to expose my naked body.
His eyes grew warm, and he put the flowers on the nightstand. “It can wait.”
Six months and we still have sex every night and every morning. It’s never enough for either of us, and I wonder when things will start to fade. He threw off his pants and shirt and got on top of me. He stared into my eyes as we made love, never breaking contact, and it was like being hypnotized.
“You belong to me, forever and ever,” he whispered.
“Always,” I answered. The same script every time. But I didn’t care. The only thing that mattered to me was being one with him. He was my drug, and I never wanted to quit. When it was over, I lay next to him, my head on his chest.
“What are you going to do today, my love?” he asked.
I didn’t need to ask him what he’d be doing. It was his habit to write every day, all day, except on Sundays.
“I’m going to check out some antique stores. I still need a few pieces for my collage on time. I’m hoping to find one of those old pocket watches.”
“When am I going to get to see it?”
I lifted my head to look at him. “When it’s finished. When am I going to get to read some of your new book?”
I knew the answer before he spoke. Not until he’d revised it at least five times. I only said it to make a point.
“I’m getting closer to finishing,” he said.
“Well, babe, you’d better get back to it, then, shouldn’t you?”
I moved to get out of bed, but he pulled me back. “Not yet.”
“Okay, then. Let me give you a little anniversary present.”
I disappeared under the sheets.