27. “Little More （Royalty）” - Chris Brown #2
Axel wants to see the llamas next and—still high from his ride—skips ahead of us down the path.
I’m still high from being in the circle of Henry’s aura.
I have to admit, there’s a part of me that is incredibly turned on watching him with Axel.
A mothering instinct, I suppose, trying to find the best mate to help raise my children.
I’m not sure if it’s the hormonal tempest going on inside me or the remnants of yesterday’s sexcapades, but I reach for Henry’s hand, entwining our fingers as I point to the zebra enclosure on our left. “Look,” I say, a little breathless at being so close to him. “Aren’t they stunning?”
He merely grunts in agreement but doesn’t pull his hand from mine. I desperately hope it isn’t just for the cameras.
The llamas aren’t too interested in us, even when Henry hoists Axel up to offer them a handful of grass. We eventually give up and keep moving down the path. The cameramen follow behind, giant monstrosities mounted over their shoulders as they document our entire excursion.
“You think they ever get tired of lugging around those big things?” I step closer to Henry and slip my hand back into his.
He allows me to hold it, but that’s the extent of his commitment. “At least they get buff shoulders out of the deal.”
I squeeze his fingers to get his attention. “I’ve held hands with dead fish who participated more. What is up with you?”
He gives me a sidelong glance. “Just cut it out, okay? I’m sick of putting on a show.”
He swoops Axel up in his arms and props him on his shoulders. The two of them take off down the path, yelling like they belong in one of the enclosures themselves.
Putting on a show? Is that what we’re doing?
I do my best to ignore the knife buried in my heart. I thought we were getting to a better place, but apparently I’m an even bigger fool than I thought.
I catch up to them at the Highland cows, tiny little things with horns longer than Axel’s arm. They’re kind of cute, if you can overlook the fact that they could trample you with their hooves if they had a mind to.
As we step inside, I keep an eye out for any cow pies lurking in the tall grass. While it might complete the farm girl look I’ve adopted for the day, I can’t imagine riding home with that stench would be pleasurable for anyone.
My careful observation saves me from stepping into a soft mound. It does not, however, save me from walking straight into the low-hanging branches of a tree whose entire purpose on earth appears to be gouging people with its massive thorns.
“Ow!” I say as a thistle scrapes my bare shoulder. I try to move away, but it has punctured the wide strap of my white tank. It’s too close to my face for me to extract it myself.
Davies has already assessed the situation and is making his way into the cattle enclosure. Before he can reach me, Henry appears at my side. I yelp in surprise.
“You’re determined to leave as much of yourself in this place as possible, aren’t you?” He sizes up the embedded thorn.
“Just get this thing out of me. Where’s Axel?”
He nods over to the other side of the enclosure. “Gonna try his hand at cattle wrestling.”
I peer over his shoulder. A park guide is helping Axel twirl a rope as big as the kid’s wrist. “This should be interesting.”
“Hold still.” Henry reaches for me.
“Ouch! What are you doing?”
He holds up the offending thorn, brows raised. “Saving you?”
A quick peek shows that, while the thorn is gone, between the giant hole and the blood, my top is also headed for the garbage.
“Shit.” Henry is inspecting my shoulder. “She’s bleeding,” he says to someone behind me.
Davies hands him the first aid kit he apparently keeps on him. Henry pulls out an antiseptic wipe and begins cleaning the wound. I don’t even register the sting. I’m too busy focusing on the feel of his hands on my skin, firm and gentle, holding me in place like he does in bed.
He’s sticking the bandage on when Axel swings the rope. I grab Henry’s arm. “Oh my god, look!”
He turns around as Axel maneuvers the rope in a poor circle and loops it over the cow’s horn. The cow looks at him as though he’s as interesting as dried mud and continues chomping grass.
I laugh and clap enthusiastically. “You did it!”
Axel looks back at me, a satisfied grin on his face. When I glance at Henry, his eyes are full of wonder. And while Axel’s feat was pretty impressive for a three-year-old, he’s not looking at his son.
He’s looking at me.
We take a break to get lunch from the little café and sit at one of the round picnic tables clustered in front of the awning. The camera crews have disappeared for now, giving us temporary privacy.
Axel chows down his hot dog faster than I’ve ever seen a toddler do.
“If I was in doubt about his parentage before, consider me fully convinced.” I nod pointedly at the boy’s already empty food basket and then at Henry’s, which isn’t empty yet, but only because it started out containing four hot dogs, a mess of crisps, and an order of mozzarella sticks.
He picks up his single remaining hot dog. “We can’t all eat like a princess.” He looks at the salad on my plate. “Or like rabbits.”
I slug his shoulder with my fist. “Try queen. And how else do you expect me to keep my figure?”
He uses the time it takes him to chew to peruse my body from head to toe, then moves his gaze back up. It drags along my skin like nails. “I hardly think this is responsible for that,” he says, nodding first at my salad and then at me. “But if so, I have no complaints.”
I know my face is glowing right now. The luminescence is a tangible feeling. I don’t say anything, just stare back at him and envision a future where this is normal again.
Henry reaches out with a finger and swipes at my cheek. “Dressing,” he says before popping it into his mouth, eyes still locked on mine.
What is happening?
There was no dressing there. I’m sure of that. When I was Axel’s age, my mother taught me to use a napkin after every bite, which I have done ever since. A queen should never be seen with spaghetti sauce on her chin.
Elizabeth has yet to teach her son the same thing. He is smeared with mustard from cheek to cheek. There’s even a smudge on his nose.
“Buddy, I think you’re wearing more of that hot dog than you’re eating,” I say. Wetting my napkin with water, I lean across the table to wipe his face.
He giggles and squirms away from me. “It’s cold!”
“I’m sorry, but it’s either this or a cow tongue. Your pick.”
He holds still after that, and I’m reaching for the bit on his nose when something warm touches my lower back. I instinctively know it’s Henry’s hand.
My top has ridden up, so it’s not only on my back, but on my bare skin. It’s like being touched by the sun. I’m terrified to sit back down, afraid that he’ll remove it and I’ll never get to experience this toe-tingling pleasure again.
When I’ve wiped Axel’s nose approximately forty times and it’s become evident he won’t tolerate any more, I force myself back down.
Much to my surprise and delight, Henry’s hand not only stays planted on my back, but my top slides over it, leaving it covered and me a shaky mess.
This might be the most sensual experience I’ve ever had, judging from the way my thighs are quaking right now.
He skims his thumb over my bare skin, as if he knows the struggle I’m undergoing but has faith that I can get through this. My appetite gone, I push my salad away and immediately regret it. With both of them already done eating, I was the only one still keeping us here.
Henry drags his hand out from beneath my shirt, running the backs of his fingers over my hip bone as he does so.
I nearly convulse. If there weren’t a dozen cameramen lurking somewhere, as well as half a dozen PPOs shoveling down hot dogs and one curious three-year-old boy nearby, I would be looking for the nearest bathroom and begging Henry to do anything he wants to me.
The rest of the animals pass in a blur. The only things I’m cognizant of are the excuses Henry finds for touching me.
Placing his hand on my elbow to steer me away from some dangerous-looking peacock droppings.
Using it to brush the hair from my eyes as I hold a baby chick out for Axel to pet.
Resting it on the center of my back in the lemur enclosure as he leans over to whisper “These things freak me the fuck out.”
To anyone on the outside, we look like a blissful family of three, exploring the zoo and making sweet memories.
And the truth is, for a second, I allow myself that fantasy.
It doesn’t even matter that Axel isn’t my son, because today I can imagine a time and place where I do have a child with Henry and we are this picture-perfect family in the park.
Yesterday, it would have been impossible.
But I think I’ve just won back my husband.