Honeymoon

Chapter 89

THEY EMBRACED AND KISSED like a couple of overheated teenagers in the foyer of the house in Back Bay. Nora had just arrived.

“What a treat,” said Jeffrey, holding her tight in his arms, stroking her hair. “I’ve got you for an entire long weekend. Imagine that.”

“Don’t be sarcastic, now. I feel bad, though, about keeping you from your novel,” she said. “I know how close you are to being done.”

“Actually, I’m not close at all.”

She looked at him, confused, and then he broke into a grin.

“You finished?”

“Yesterday, after a marathon all-night session. I must have been channeling my frustration over not hearing from you.”

“See?” she said with a playful poke at his chest. “I should leave you hanging more often.”

“Funny you should say that.”

“What do you mean?”

“The hanging part. I changed the ending; that’s how my main character dies now.”

“Really. Let me read it.”

“I will, except first I want to show you something. Come.”

“Yes, master. Anywhere.”

He took her hand and led her upstairs. They passed his library, heading toward the master bedroom.

“If you’re about to show me what I think you’re going to show me, I’ve already seen it,” she quipped.

He laughed. “Such a one-track mind!”

Steps before the doorway to the bedroom he stopped and turned. “Now close your eyes,” he whispered.

Nora obliged and he guided her into the room.

“Okay, you can open your eyes now,” he said.

Nora did. Her reaction was immediate. “Omigod.”

She looked at Jeffrey and then back above the fireplace again. She walked toward it, slowly. An oil painting—of her.

“Well?”

“It’s beautiful,” she said before realizing how that might sound, since it was her portrait. “I mean—”

“No, it’s beautiful, all right.” He wrapped his arms around her from behind, rested his head on hers. “How could it not be?”

She continued to stare, and finally tears welled in her eyes. He really did love her, didn’t he? The painting represented how he felt, how he saw her.

Jeffrey gave her another squeeze. “See, it wasn’t a mattress. It was a canvas.” He glanced over his shoulder at the mahogany four-poster. “Of course, now that we’re up here…”

Nora turned around to face him. “You really know how to get a girl into bed, don’t you?”

He flashed a grin. “Whatever it takes.”

“I love it.”

“And I love you.”

They kissed and undressed, making their way toward the bed. He lifted her gently, a feather in his strong arms. He laid her down on top of the duvet and paused before joining her. His eyes unblinking, he simply wanted to enjoy the view. And Nora let him. He deserved to look at her naked; he was so good to her.

They made love slowly at first. Then feverishly, holding nothing back. Their legs and arms intertwined like a fuse. Until, finally, they exploded. At least Jeffrey did—and Nora played her part to perfection, at least as good as Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally, though not to comic effect.

A minute passed as they embraced, neither saying a word. With a deep exhale, Jeffrey finally rolled to one side. “I’m hungry,” he said. “How about you?”

Nora propped up her head with the pillow. She couldn’t help seeing her portrait on the wall, and for a moment she stared into her own eyes. She wondered if there was any woman in the world quite like her.

“Yes,” Nora finally answered, softly. “I’m hungry, too.”