All of It (37 page)

I feel the same way. “I love you, too.”

We wave to the rest and run out the back door to the garage. Dimitri packed our suitcases yesterday (he’s being very secretive about our trip) and put them in the Porsche so they’d be ready to go tonight. Just as I’m about to click my seatbelt in place I look down at my wrist and see the bracelet winking at me in the light. “Hold on a minute, I’ll be right back.”

I run back inside, to Sunny’s surprise, “Where’s Bob?”

“I believe he’s sitting in the living room.”

He is. He’s sitting on the big leather sofa watching an old sitcom, and from the look of the unnatural angle of his neck I would bet he’s asleep. I tip toe around in front of him and find that he is. I kneel before him and jostle his shoulder gently. It takes a moment for him adjust to wakefulness.

“I’m so sorry to wake you Bob, but I wanted to return the bracelet.” I take his hand and turn it palm side up curling his fingers around it. “It was so thoughtful of you. It meant a lot to me to wear it during my wedding day”

He smiles and his tired eyes twinkle. “You’re welcome, Miss Veronica. Alice will be pleased to hear you wore it. I’ll tell her tomorrow when I visit her.”

“You’ll tell her thank you for me?”

He nods. “I will.”

I pat his knee and stand. Before I exit the room I stop. I turn around and say, “I love you Bob.”

He turns his head stiffly. “I love you too, Miss Veronica.”

Life is sometimes …. ceremonious.

The flight departs at 12:45am. I still have no clue where we’re headed, though I suspect it’s international since Dimitri insisted I get a passport. Dimitri covers my eyes as we approach the gate so I can’t read the sign and then places me strategically in a seat in the waiting area without a clear view of it. I can’t hear any of the announcements that are most likely being made over the concourse speakers, because I’m listening to his iPod with earbuds. He’s thoroughly keeping me in the dark. I don’t mind. He put a lot of thought and time into planning the honeymoon so I don’t want to ruin the surprise.

As soon as we take our seats in first class I remove the earbuds and ask the flight attendant for a blanket. I’m still wearing the dress and have Dimitri’s suit coat on over it, but my legs are chilly. “We should’ve changed clothes,” I tell him.

He shakes his head.

“Why not? We would’ve been more comfortable.”

“I don’t think you understand how incredible you look in that dress. It does crazy things to me. I’m thinking about calling the store in Vegas to see if I can buy six more in your size, so that way you can wear one every day of the week.” He looks like he means it.

“It’s more a special occasion dress. I don’t see myself pushing the shopping cart around the supermarket in it.”

He coils his arms around me. “You know, I’m never going to think about grocery shopping the same way again. I might even take up cooking to encourage extra trips,” he says, smiling roguishly.

“Thanks for always making me feel beautiful and loved.”

“You are. Always,” he says, kissing my forehead.

The flight attendant returns with a blanket. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“A pillow, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” Dimitri requests.

“No trouble at all.” She looks to me. “And you, miss?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

She nods. “Well, let me know if you change your mind, the flight to Paris is a long one.”

I’m stunned. “Can you repeat that please? I’m not sure I heard you correctly.”

She looks puzzled, but repeats, “I said, let me know if you change your mind.”

“No, the last part, can you repeat the last part please?”

“The flight to Paris is long?”

“Shut the front door! Are we really going to Paris?”

She’s looking at me like I have two heads.

Dimitri is sitting in the aisle seat closest to her. He cups his hand to his mouth toward her as if to hide what he’s about to say, but he doesn’t lower his voice. “We were married tonight and we’re going to Paris for our honeymoon, somewhere my wife has always wanted to visit. The destination has been a secret … until now. You’ll have to excuse her; she may be experiencing symptoms of temporary shock.”

The flight attendant smiles. “I’m sorry to have spoiled the surprise.” She looks apologetically to me. “Can you forgive me?”

“Are you kidding? Of course! I’m on my way to Paris! I’d kiss you if you were closer.”

She laughs. “Well, congratulations to both of you.”

“Thanks so much,” Dimitri says, and glances at her nametag. “Gabrielle, you can call me Dimitri.” He gestures toward me. “And this is my wife, Veronica.”

I wave.

She smiles. “Very well Dimitri and Veronica. I’ll be right back with that pillow.”

I’m trying to keep my voice down as I turn back to Dimitri and say, “Oh my God, we’re really going to Paris?” Despite all the excitement of my wedding day, this news has given me butterflies all over again.

He smiles and nods. “Where else would we possibly go? It’s our honeymoon. I thought you figured it out weeks ago.”

“No. I know it’s going to sound stupid, but I thought we were going to a beach, somewhere tropical. Isn’t that what people do on their honeymoons?”

“A beach? We don’t even swim.” He pauses. “Although that would have meant you in a bikini for a week.” He hits the heel of his hand against his forehead. “God, I’m such an idiot, why didn’t I think of that? You’re planning all the honeymoons from here on out.” He looks at me and winks and then reaches down to squeeze my knee. “Paris is the most romantic city in the world. What better place for a honeymoon?” He whispers in my ear, “And honeymoons aren’t just about beaches. They’re supposed to be all about romance, and love, and sex … and romance, and sex … Did I mention sex?”

I giggle. “I thought the point of traveling was to see the sights and have experiences you wouldn’t normally have at home.”

He kisses my neck. “Oh, I intend to return home quite experienced.”

Judging from the playfulness in his voice I don’t think he’s referring to the Eiffel Tower or brushing up on his French.

We sleep for most of the flight. It’s direct: Denver to Paris. I’ve been spoiled by first-class seats and all the hot tea I want, which makes the nine hour trip breeze by. We eat a meal about an hour before landing—croissants wrapped in plastic with small cups of yogurt and small, waxy apples. Over the intercom our captain tells us that there’s patchy fog and that the landing will be bumpy. “The time in Paris is seven o’clock in the evening,” the voice crackles.

Our plane lands and we’re off and into baggage claim in no time. Airport signs are in French obviously, but it’s still surreal, something I never dreamed I’d ever see. I’m in the midst of sensory overload and we haven’t even left the airport yet. As we step outside I’m picturing all of the landmarks I’m going to see while we’re here. I stand on my tiptoes and peer around like I’m going to be able to see the Eiffel Tower from here. The fog is thickening and the sun, though barely visible, is getting low, not exactly perfect sightseeing conditions even if we weren’t standing on a sidewalk outside the airport. I remind myself we have five days.

My French is rusty, but as I chat with the cab driver it starts coming back. The ride ends at a hotel that appears to be hundreds of years old yet pristine. Three doormen descend as the cab pulls to the curb. They have our suitcases loaded on a cart before Dimitri has even paid for the ride.

“Merci,” I say, waving to the cabbie as I crawl out of the backseat. I’m already enjoying this trip more than I thought possible. I feel like I’m back in school on some sort of far-fetched field trip and Madame Lemieux, my former French teacher, is going to pull up in a bus behind us with the rest of my class any minute now.

The doormen greet us in French and whisk us inside to the check-in desk. The lobby is fancy,
really
fancy and déjà vu creeps over me. Dread squirms deep in the pit of my stomach. It’s the same feeling I had outside the jewelry store when we went ring shopping. This place is too nice for me. And then I watch Dimitri; he isn’t fazed in the least. And his French—his
French!—
is amazing. He told me once that he spoke a little French. But he lied. He’s
fluent.
And he’s confident, straightforward, witty, and charming …
in French
. This is unbelievably impressive, and beyond sexy. I’m stunned. And I’m no longer feeling inadequate. I’m feeling turned-on.

Five minutes later we’re on our way to our room.

“Why didn’t you tell me you spoke French?” I ask as we enter the tiny elevator. He’s swinging our hands back and forth between us.

He smiles like he’s just given up a secret. “I did tell you.”

I narrow my eyes. “You said you spoke a little French. That was
not
a little … that was
goddamn sexy
is what that was.”

His eyebrows raise and he grins wickedly. “Well then, any chance I might get lucky tonight,
Madame
?”

I nod slowly. “Oh,
oui
,” I say, forcefully pinning him against the elevator doors with my kisses. He answers without restraint. We stumble out when the doors open.

Dimitri fumbles with the heavy iron key as he tries to open the door. It takes several attempts and I hear grumbling under his breath before the door finally cooperates and opens.

Our bags are already stacked neatly just inside the door, so there’s no chance of an interruption from hotel staff. Nice.

He stops me before I step inside, and sweeps me up in his arms in one gallant motion. I gasp as my feet leave the ground. “What are you doing?” I ask, giggling.

“I’m carrying you over the threshold.” He winks. “It’s tradition.”

I feel the heat of his body through the fabric of his shirt and my dress. His arms are strong around me. I run my hand up through the hair at the back of his head. “I think I’m warming up to tradition.”

“That’s good, because there’s one last wedding night tradition that I’m dying to try out.”

He kicks the door shut behind us with his foot and carries me to the king size bed. It’s covered in a gold silky comforter and lots and lots of pillows. The bed is tall and he doesn’t have to lean over to lay me down upon it.

His body never leaves contact with mine as we hit the bed. He’s on top of me; though it’s not the weight of him that’s taking my breath away. It’s him. Everything about him. My body, from the tips of my toes to the top of my head, is on fire. The heat is rising slow and steady, filling me up.

His hands slide over the slippery surface of my dress from my waist, up over my ribs, and across my chest; they pause before touching bare skin where the neckline plunges. His touch is hot, as if the blood pulsing through him has risen in temperature several degrees. His hands stop to rest at my temples as his fingers lace into my hair. He smiles before he lowers his face to kiss me. I close my eyes and inhale as I anticipate his lips on mine.

There’s a hitch in my breathing as I feel the tip of his tongue at the hollow of my throat instead. It traces a line slowly downward where it stops between my breasts, restrained by the fabric of my dress. Kisses make the return trip and fall on every square inch of exposed skin until they reach my collarbone. I feel the strap of my dress pull aside and the kisses continue across my shoulder leaving my skin burning with sensation in their wake. The last kiss lingers and I feel the faintest bite on my upper arm and the devilish impression of a smile sinks into my skin. I keep my eyes closed and focus completely on his touch.

The tip of his nose brushes softly following the line below my collarbone, up my throat, under my chin; back down my throat to my other shoulder where he pulls the remaining strap aside with his teeth.

I have not moved up until this point, in a state of paralyzed arousal. I exhale loudly and pull up his shirttail to release it from beneath his waistband. He’s already unbuttoned the top few buttons so I strip his shirt off over his head and throw it on the floor next to the bed. My hands explore his torso like a sculptor working clay. The muscles across his chest and stomach are rigid. I can feel the excitement pulsing through him. He’s coiled up tighter than a spring.

Before I know it, every piece of clothing has been removed and we’re pressed against each other, breathing heavily, completely committed to this animalistic act of lust and love.

The kissing is so exacting and intense I have the feeling it’s not really kissing anymore. Like we’ve crossed over into a whole new world—a place no one’s ever been before. Then suddenly the kissing slows and softens … and pauses. Dimitri is breathing deeply, gritting his teeth. A few seconds later the look of concentration passes and he whispers, “Are you ready?”

My heart is slamming against the inside of my chest and the sensation of burning has engulfed me. I nod and whisper, “Say something in French.”

He moans, “Je ne peux plus attendre. Je te veux tout de suite,” as his mouth descends on mine and I feel flooded with an urgent heat and desire like I’ve never felt.

Life is sometimes … burning.

The night is the best night of my entire life. Some things are worth waiting for. In fact, I would have waited a lifetime for last night. Ten lifetimes even.

We fall asleep just as the sun’s beginning to rise and rest blissfully until noon. When I open my eyes, Dimitri’s awake and propped up on one elbow, gazing at me and sweeping my hair away from my eyes.

“Bonjour, Madame Smith-Glenn.”

I smile. “Bonjour, Monsieur Glenn.”

He smiles. “You’re right, speaking French is sexy.”

I laugh and rub my eyes. Mid-yawn I ask, “What are we going to do today?”

He wraps me up in his arms. “Someone wise once told me—” he says, kissing my temple, “—that the point of travelling—” he kisses me again on the neck, “—is to have experiences—” and again on my shoulder.

“I think that I’d like,” I say, as he nuzzles his nose into the crook of my neck, “some more of that.” I kiss the tip of his nose. “But I think she also said something about sightseeing.”