Chapter 22
Bear
The old farmhouse is painted white wood on the outside, porch and all.
Inside, the hardwood floor is a dark honey.
All the walls are white, and thick door frames, the staircase, pillars, and other architectural details are dark wood.
Parts of it are closed off to visitors, as they're admin and party prep offices, but we don't miss it.
We're guided up to the second floor, until we reach a large bedroom suite.
More white and old, burnished wood meet us.
In this room, some small corners are also decorated with dark, flowery wallpaper.
"Very pretty," Pen says.
We thank the staff member. They point out that our phones and personal items, as well as a change of clothes, were provided by our family and friends but, otherwise, everything else is a gift from the venue. Including the handmade bathroom products and the candles littered all around the room.
They take their leave. I stare at the door as it closes, leaving Pen and I alone.
My… wife… turns in a circle, paying closer attention to the space.
"Oh my God." She strides to the large four-poster bed. "Did you see this?!"
I reach her in a few rushed steps.
She points at the white duvet with an accusatory finger. Rose petals take the shape of a heart.
She picks up petal by petal. "How embarrassing."
I surround the bed. Something else caught my eye on a side table. "Why embarrassing?"
"Newsflash, Leon. Everyone thinks we're fucking each others' brains out right now."
I can't help it. I laugh. "That's not how I would go about it."
"Not… what?"
"The wedding night. It requires seduction, or it's not special. So I would—"
It's only then that I stop myself. Many words too late.
"Nevermind." I shake my head. "Embarrassing, you said?"
"It's weird!" she insists, though I hear the mounting humor in her tone. "There are lots of people still working on the first floor. That's right below us! Not to say anything about the people still at the party! I wasn't prepared for any of this."
"Wait until you see what I just found." I take one glass, long bottle in one hand, and a small dark jar in the other.
"Feathers?!" Pen's eyes go wide.
I shake the small jar. "And chocolate body paint."
"Oh em geeeeee." She starts laughing.
I read the small script on the label. "Sugar free. No irritants. Safe for all body parts."
"Well, now I know what else to add to my sexy bucket list." She snorts, but goes back to laughing right away.
I go quiet. Without comment, I put both things right back where I found them.
Seems Pen also has one of those bucket lists, and I don't know what to do with the knowledge.
"Right." She clears her throat. "Oops. Anyway. I found the champagne. Want some?"
She strides to a bucket with ice and a bottle in the corner.
I shake my head. "I'm good."
She sighs and tries to open the bottle. When she has trouble, I take the bottle from her.
She watches my hands deal with the tiny wires, and work on the cork. "Do you think it was like this in olden times?"
"What do you mean?"
"Weird. Having your wedding night surrounded by people."
"In a period drama I watched once, there was a whole wedding party waiting around to make sure the wedding night went through without a hitch. They wanted no question it was consummated."
I'm distracted by the stubborn, high-pressure cork, and the sound it makes as it pops. At the last second, I hold the bottle over the metal bucket to catch the light stream of bubbly that spills onto the ice.
"You have no idea what this looks like, do you?" Pen complains, hands on her white-covered hips, and a smirk on her face.
I glance at her, then at myself. Holding the bottle with two hands right over the bucket… and more or less at hip level. As it spills the last of the liquid from the tip. I mean, the top.
I lick my bottom lip. Humor can come to the rescue. It has to.
"Huh," I say. "With the bottle like this in my hands— it feels too familiar, I guess."
I arch an eyebrow at her.
She gapes. "Are you implying that… that your… bottle size… I can't."
I chuckle. "I'll stop if you want me to."
"You should! Also stop talking about consummating weddings and stuff. We didn't talk about that."
"Because it's not necessary to make weddings legal anymore. You're still my wife. That's the point."
"Oh my God," she says for a third time. "I am your wife."
She's flustered. It makes me flustered.
I give her the bottle. She skips the glass flute and takes a swig.
"I'll stop," I say. "Sorry. I thought we were joking around."
I needed it to be just joking around. If we could laugh about it, then we might kill any tension before it comes up.
"We were joking around," she replies. "Of course. I'm sorry. It's just awkward and I'm trying to adjust to everything and I may need a minute or two."
She takes another swig, before putting the bottle in ice again.
I put my hands in my pockets and watch her. Unease returns to my belly.
"Let's try again." She clears her throat. "What's the plan tonight?"
I lift a shoulder and try to be casual. "We get ready. Get in bed. Sleep."
Do whatever is necessary to calm things down.
"Get on our phones and dissociate." She nods. "Sounds great."
I pretend the word dissociate does nothing to my insides. Like it doesn't imply we'll retreat away from each other, in the hope we'll find our cool again. It helps change the mood, at least.
We begin collecting our things to change and get ready for bed but, no matter how hard I look, I find nothing to sleep in.
I scratch my eyebrow. "I'll have to sleep in my boxers."
She stills. When she moves again, it's slow. "Should be fine. Right? It evens out the score for the other day when you walked into the changing room without notice."
I nod. She doesn't know I offered to undress that day expecting her to say no. It's fine. Today we're pretending none of this matters. It's the only thing we can do— or I can do— in the wake of that kiss.
I start unbuttoning my shirt.
She reaches toward her lower back. Bites her lip. "Totally fine. We can be casual."
Her skirt turns loose and she drops it to the floor. She stands in front of me like this is normal. She’s only wearing her lacy crop top and off-white, skin-tight, mid-thigh shorts of some sort. It heightens her hips and the curve to her waist.
I find it harder to breathe all of a sudden.
"What are you doing?" I ask in a low tone.
It may have been a little menacing, but there's nothing I can do about it now.
She glances at me. My shirt is open. She studies my chest, like she doesn't know the tattoos I have there.
"If you feel something," she says, "it's just biology."
Like us remembering this is extremely important.
I frown. "Got it. But why are you undressing?"
"Habituation." Her eyes look hopeful. "I'll see you in your underwear tonight. You'll see me again in a minute. Married couples get used to each other after a while, right? At some point seeing your partner in their underwear has to get old."
"I doubt it."
"It has to. It can be like that for us, too. When you're in your underwear, is that any different from you being in shorts? I'll pretend it's shorts, Bear."
"Go right ahead." My voice comes out gravelly. "But don't get naked in front of me, please."
I can hear the wheels turning in her head.
"I wouldn't be naked," she says. "Underwear isn't naked. And I'm not wearing the blue lingerie today— this set is more—"
Shit. My brain is too happy to fill in the blanks. Anticipation is too quick to fill my belly. Visions of Pen undressing for me, modeling lingerie for me, giving a teasing, 'come hither' smile for me…
"Don't tell me." The words make it out through grinding teeth.
"It's just—"
"I'm not as good as you at telling myself it's just biology, Penélope."
Her eyes widen. My heart drums away as I wait for her response.
I tighten my jaw. Nothing is going as expected, my heart is struggling through a rollercoaster, and I'm not sure all of my molars will survive the evening, I'm grinding so hard.
But we shared a thousand little magical moments today, and I won't get to process them until the morning.
And now she's standing in front of me across the bed we'll share, wearing very little clothing.
She nods. "I'm sorry. I was trying to make it… normal, but it isn't. Can you help me with the buttons on my back, though? If you don't mind. That will be the last of it."
I lick my bottom lip. I nod. Can't really get her to ask the concierge for help. That would make me too bad of a husband.
I make myself impassive and I go around the bed to her.
Her long hair is up into curls and a loose, low bun type of thing. She starts taking pins out and helping her is automatic. It makes sense. There must be a hundred little metal clips keeping the hairdo in place.
It's tender, but I don't let myself think about it, or the way her skin breaks into gooseflesh. Or the shaky breath I can hear coming from her.
"Thank you." She takes the pins from my hand.
I gently push her hair over her shoulder, so I can undo the long row of small buttons at her back.
I gulp. My fingers are thick, but I handle the tiny silk-covered buttons diligently. More skin appears. This time, she shivers. Makes a sound that has my cock standing to attention. Shit.
"I'm sorry." Her voice is thin, all of a sudden. "Ticklish."
Nearly twenty years since I met her, and this is the first time I hear her react like this and call it being ticklish.
If it's true, it's better than the way I'm responding to all of this, with trembling fingers that slow down my work, and blood going to all the wrong places.
Hell, my brain isn't cooperating at all either.
It's providing images of kissing her shoulder, nibbling on her earlobe, taking her to bed… like this was a real wedding night…
Good Lord, Leon Karlsen. Stop this right now.
I take a deep breath and beg for a reprieve. A boner is one of the worst things that can happen, when I'll be undressing soon and getting in bed with my wife.
Just biology. Habituation. Science. Normal. Natural. Casual. Please.
The piece of clothing comes loose. She holds it in place with her arms crossed over her chest.
"I don't need help with my bra, thanks." She gazes sheepishly at me.
With one hand, she grabs her clothes from the bed and runs across the bedroom.
I lift my eyes to the ceiling, arms jarred, hands fisted on my hips.
It's the only way I manage not to watch her skip to the bathroom.
The image of her flesh stirring as she walks, the tight undershorts, all that skin— it would get seared into my mind.
That's dangerous at a whole new level, tonight.
I finish undressing and sit on the side of the bed to wait my turn. Yeah, I'm hard, and it's difficult to hide. I lock my fingers over my lap and hope for the best.
What used to be confusion now is worry. I'm at the edge of the line we never meant to approach. I thought I could do this. That it would be simple and I'd handle it. But signs point otherwise.
She comes out of the bathroom and swiftly gets in bed. I don't get to see much— there's not much to safely look at. Her nightgown is a tiny cream-colored thing. I'm glad I don't get to study it very closely. I don't think I could handle it.
Pretending I'm not hard, I keep my front away from her sight and walk as casual as possible to the bathroom. I close the door behind me. I take a deep breath, put my hands on the vanity, and hang my head.
I am getting swept up by the fantasy of the night. By a kiss that rocked my world. By a ring on my finger I've been dreaming of for ages. I'm so overtaken by the evening, I'm looking at my friend and thinking of sex. Things I was never meant to feel for her.
And all the while, my cock twitches in my underwear, demanding attention. Hoping for some action.
Maybe I should rub one out. Bite my lip not to make a sound and make myself come— it wouldn't take long. I'm not sure how I'll be able to sleep otherwise.
But no. I take off my underwear and step right into the shower.
Without mercy, I flip the faucet on to a very cold temperature.
The gasp that tries to leave me gets chewed back.
I bring my toothbrush and toothpaste and get busy with the menial task, right there under the chilly stream hitting my shoulders.
Tonight, had I given in and touched myself, I would have consummated my wedding to Pen in my mind.
Lost in my imagination, I would have pressed my lips to her, exploring her mouth with my tongue, revelling in how different it felt to kiss after sharing our vows.
I'd be fucking her slow, then fast, and then…
Hell's sake, Leon.
I put the water to freezing.
When I finally come out of the bathroom, I find several pillows in the middle of the bed.
"It should help, right?" she asks.
I nod, but I'm not surprised when it still takes me ages to fall asleep. And not at all surprised, when they're all gone the next morning, and she's in my arms once more.