Chapter 2:
Feels Like Heaven
The rain was rough on the roads as they drove across the state that morning. Having stopped once on the outskirts of town for one last substantial hunting trip, they had done their best to keep from getting too soaked before the storm strengthened well into the afternoon. Even with the ghastly weather, Esme still found it impossible to pout. She suspected the rain would continue until they arrived at the airport, but to her surprise, the storm had dissipated into a gentle drizzle by the time they reached the city.
By this time in their lives, it had seemed almost preposterous that neither of them had ever even visited an airport before. They had seen pictures of course, and plenty of advertisements in the evening news honoring the wonders of commercial flight. Emmett and Edward had built scale models of airplanes alongside Esme with her preferred architectural structures. They just never took the chance to purchase a ticket and hop aboard. While Esme was slightly disappointed that her sons would be missing out on the first experience of flight, she was immensely grateful to be sharing it with Carlisle.
They traveled by airplane for the first time together, Pan America, as neither of them had known precisely what to expect. The foreign experience had only made everything that much more exciting.
Esme had nearly swooned over her adoration for the commercial flight. That she could sit, perfectly comfortable in a cushioned seat by a window as she flew through the atmosphere in this sleek, industrial wonder was an impossible delight. The airport was bustling with importance and excitement. The pilot just looked so dashing in his uniform, and the stewardess looked so lovely in her matching navy blue jacket and blouse, and all those eagle wings stamped everywhere looked so patriotic...
The take-off was incredible – and that was saying a lot for a vampire. Scarcely any experience save for the ones they treasured together could be described with such grand adjectives. But this came awfully close.
The sudden rush forward, the insane pressure of opposing forces as the runway sped by outside the tiny window, the frightful thrill of defying gravity as the airplane left the ground... It was like living a preposterous dream. They had waited far too long to try it.
It took eleven days and five overnight stops to travel half-way across the world. In hindsight they would find that these days leading up to it all were just as much a part of the adventure as the days that followed their arrival. It was endlessly entertaining to pretend they were just scraping by, dime by dime from their pockets. In reality they had more security on hand than many of the unfortunate countries they passed through, but playing the part of a desperate traveler was undeniably rich.
They stayed overnight in Seville, Spain, in an adorable street-side inn where they were given a room with a cramp iron balcony and a single lantern for light. They were lucky the sky had been afire with starts that night. Instead of cold Sangria, they drank warm blood on the outskirts of the city. In the morning, they returned to their bed, satisfied though they'd gotten not a wink of sleep. They happily declined their continental breakfast and headed off to catch their next plane.
They endured a chain of flights across Europe, and upon reaching Istanbul, Turkey, they settled in for a train ride into the Middle East. The barren landscape that whizzed past their window was occasionally decorated by a stunning temple in the middle of nowhere. Every second they came closer to their destination, and every time they stopped to trade passengers, Esme stomped her foot in impatience.
She was only more endearing in her anger.
"I'm beginning to wonder if we might have made better time had we simply run the rest of the way there."
Laughing at her glaring expression, Carlisle shifted closer to take his wife under his arm as they stared out the sand-dusted window.
"It will all be worth it when we get there," he promised.
The train stopped at every other station along the way, and while everyone else celebrated the simple act of breathing fresh air, Carlisle and Esme found their peace in the local wildlife of wherever they happened to be. They just hoped none of the animals they fed on were endangered.
Finally, they reached the end of what would forever be known as the longest eleven days of their life. The families around them were exhausted, but the only pair of vampires were wide awake and brimming with energy at their arrival in cloudy Bombay.
For a stunning minute or so, they were transported back to the Pierpont Morgan Library, stuffed into their corner on the floor, surrounded by open books. Back then these had just been pictures printed on paper... Now they were real, solid, three-dimensional wonders, right before their very eyes. And all of it was waiting for them to explore in a way even their infused imaginations never could.
A new rainbow of colors and a new plethora of scents were swirling gaily around them as they mingled with the deliciously alien environment. Young children who may or may not have had a home scampered in mad circles, their skinny brown legs caked with dust, their eyes wide and perfectly round as they navigated their way through the crowded street. People went about their business, their heads covered in brightly colored patterns and sheer veils to hide their lips as they spoke. Men shouted prices while women defended their honor, and the heat seemed to have a voice of its own, pressing around everyone like an overprotective mother as they moved along with the current.
Esme rushed through the crowds on her way out of the station, untryingly graceful and so pale in comparison to the sea of bronze faces surrounding her; it looked as if she were being followed by a stark white spotlight from above. She somehow reminded Carlisle of the heroine in a grand musical production, preparing to twirl on stage with her opening number. He laughed freely at the image this wayward thought produced in his head, and somewhere ahead of him, Esme whipped around to find her husband through the weaving people. She knew his tender laughter anywhere...
Reaching out with her slender arm, she caught onto the only other deathly pale hand in the heat of the chaotic crowd. Like magnets they came together, grinning like children who had stumbled into a land made of candy. They were in their own little world, clutching a leather suitcase and a single carpet bag, surrounded by the hectic hustle of foreign tongues and bartering tourists. They were unaffected by the company, untempted by the heady scents, undeterred by the heat. They were, simply and purely, together in a place they had waited torturous months to discover. Standing here on the harbor, hand in hand, they were no longer foolishly pining over an atlas sprawled over their laps. Now they were a part of the wild world, and this was only the start of an epic journey.
-}0{-
The fog had dispersed shortly after their arrival, and the oncoming sun had sent them into rented shelter more quickly than they had hoped. Through the afternoon, they became acquainted with their modest yet comfortable dwelling, enjoying the peace of having nowhere to be but here.
The sun was gentle enough that they chose to sit out on the porch, beneath the shade of a fine cloth canopy. From their shelter they could safely watch the comings and goings of ships in the harbor across the bay. It was pure heaven to feel the warm caress of an afternoon breeze, sent in from the briny waves. The sea was shining, a most entrancing shade of opaque emerald under the weary sun. The water was choppy in a lazy, content sort of way. It fit well with this place, they thought.
At the distant gong of the harbor bell, Esme lifted her head from her husband's shoulder to glance at his face with sparkling eyes. Her gaze revealed clearly how thankful she was to finally have a moment just for them, and he could not deny it – after a deliriously busy trip, this place was their haven. They were no longer confined to the courtesies and restrictions set onboard a plane or train.
They could do whatever they most desired, now...
With an exchanged stare of silent understanding, Esme took Carlisle's hands and led him back inside where the shade was deeper. The door was left open, welcoming in the sounds of the sea, and the comfort of the breeze, and the scents of jasmine. There were several brightly colored cushions on the floor, candles that they hadn't been expected to light until after dark, but Carlisle had lit them anyway. He loved candles a little too much.
He slipped off his belt and stepped out of his shoes, the mundane shedding of accessories made thrilling under her watchful gaze. Once adequately disheveled, he struck a match to light the rest of the shallow candles, bending invitingly at the waist as he crowned each wick with a glowing tiara of fire.
His wife sighed happily as he lit the last votive and dipped the match into a vase full of sand. A tiny tendril of blue smoke rose from the ash, curling seductively, like a thin wispy arm reaching toward heaven.
It melted away into the fragrant air, and they were alone at last.
Carlisle kissed Esme once on the forehead as her practiced fingers slowly plucked the buttons of his loose white cotton shirt. His fingers likewise faced the challenge of untying each tedious pair of laces behind her sunshine yellow dress. They had worn their most comfortable clothes on purpose for traveling. But they would be more comfortable without them.
Each time Carlisle opened his lips to say something, Esme silenced him with the gentle gift of her mouth against his. They didn't need to speak – not when they had such glorious ambiance to speak for them.
Eventually Carlisle surrendered to the conversation of untainted silence, his stomach fluttering as Esme's soft little hands moved from cotton to khaki.
Her dress dropped to the ground and she daintily brushed it aside with her foot. Without a single word, her dark eyes told him silently, "I need you."
Carlisle was more than happy to give Esme whatever she needed.
With tender arms he folded her into his embrace and slowly descended into the pillows, upsetting a bowl of unbitten fruits from its place on the floor. The aromatic cluster of colors tumbled away, forgotten as the couple lost themselves in a tide of unseen desire.
The afternoon sun grew weary outside their open windows, but the wind from the sea strengthened encouragingly as they made love on the scattered cushions. An audience of candles slowly extinguished one by one as their display grew more passionate; the final flame flickered shyly, attempting to endure the peak of their ardor. But at the last gasping feminine cry, it was stunned into a slender thread of smoke.
-}0{-
The bright hours of the late afternoon slipped lazily by as they lay together on the floor, soaking in their own joint solitude. After the firm clutches of their passions released them, they were blissfully content, watching a hazy purple sunset from their nest of elaborately embroidered pillows. A tangle of two solid ivory arms lay prone against a brightly patterned scarlet cushion, their fingers weaving together in quiet collaboration, never parting.
Esme at last turned her head on the pillow to face her husband, finding his eyes peacefully closed, yet somehow vigilant all the same. She felt that even when his eyes were shut, Carlisle still watched over her from beneath the shade of his eyelids, that he could see her perhaps even more clearly when he was not truly looking at her. He saw her in utter darkness, he sensed every aching angle of her presence around him. He caught the scent of her every stolen breath and sent each softly back to her, buried beneath her beauty.
Cautious as if reaching to touch a sleeping baby, Esme let the tips of her fingers graze delicately over the slope of his jaw. She had hoped to coax his eyes open, but instead she had coaxed a tender purr... which was just as nice.
Smiling rather giddily, Esme trailed her fingers slowly down his throat to rest against the smooth plane of his chest.
"I'm touching your heart," she whispered as if in warning.
The smallest smile flickered on his sculpted lips for a fleeting moment. "Hmm. Aren't you always, love?"
"I suppose I am," she consented with a kiss to his chin.
A nudge of something warm and impulsive filled her belly as Carlisle leaned back slightly to stretch his arms. She shamelessly savored the glorious fit of flickering muscle as he exhaled heavily and settled one arm securely around her head, sliding closer. His face tilted up to the ceiling, studying the coffee-colored stucco with rich ocher eyes.
With his free hand, he absently fondled one of the tiny gold tassels on the corner of the cushion he held between them. Subconsciously, Esme's fingers joined his of their own accord, tugging each of the shiny yellow threads in turn until their fingers had helplessly begun to mate. What had started out as innocent boredom had quickly turned into a playful battle. Carlisle's fingers had deftness and strength, yet Esme's had grace and guile – as was natural, neither one dominated.
Eventually they reached a mutual surrender, hands clasping together to proclaim peace at the end of their frivolous little war - though many a golden thread had sadly lost its life.
"The sun is going down," Esme noted absently. A shiver of palm leaves outside the shady porch seemed to confirm the news.
"When evening falls, we'll go back to the marketplace. I want to show you so many things," Carlisle sighed wistfully, "There are artists and musicians and vendors selling everything you can think of."
Esme raised her head hopefully. "Like in the books?"
He lovingly touched the tip of her nose as he smiled. "Far better than the books."
"You still haven't taught me any useful Hindi phrases like you promised," Esme reminded, feigning disappointment.
Carlisle raised his eyebrows. "Well, we should change that now." With a straight face, he introduced his wife to her first foreign phrase, "Shubh sundhyaa."
Suppressing her urge to laugh, Esme asked, "What does that mean?"
"Good evening," he replied politely.
She allowed herself to giggle as he tickled his fingers along the side of her neck. "How charming."
"Let's see, what else might be useful?" he mused, looking heavenward for inspiration. "Accha means 'good', and Boora means 'bad'" He ticked off his fingers as went along, "Haan is 'yes' and Naa is 'no.'"
Shaking her head slowly, Esme held her fingers to his lips to gently silence him.
"Tell me something romantic in Hindi," she suggested softly.
An inspired gleam cloaked Carlisle's eye as he leaned slightly closer and stroked his knuckles lovingly over the curve of her right breast.
"Yaha kaisā laga rahā hai"
Effectively ruining the moment, Esme burst into a fit of giggles.
"Now, now. You never laugh when I speak in Italian."
"Because it doesn't sound nearly as funny!"
An agitated smirk bloomed on his lips. "As I was saying..."
"I remember, I remember. You asked me a question: Yaha kaisā laga rahā hai?" she recalled perfectly.
His smirk broadened slyly as he reached down to touch her again, emphasizing each caress with care. "And you should answer me with this: Yaha svargīya lagatā hai."
In the midst of his distracting strokes, she repeated the foreign phrase obediently, "Yaha svargīya lagatā hai."
Suspicious to the way her husband's eyes had suddenly darkened, Esme had to ask. "What did we just say?"
"I just asked you what this felt like, and you told me that it felt like heaven..." He brushed his lips temptingly over hers, just barely submitting to a kiss. "...But your accent is dismal," he added.
She scoffed in offense and tossed the nearest pillow at him, mussing his hair.
Unfazed, Carlisle pulled Esme back into his arms, holding her prisoner as he lavished her face with kisses. "Though I'm certain you will improve with practice, darling," he murmured between each peck.
Esme giggled as she teasingly turned away to face the open windows. "The best way to practice would be to mingle with the natives a bit, wouldn't you say?"
It was a subtle reminder that the world outside was waiting, a suggestion that their time alone was soon to be overdue.
Carlisle hummed noncommittally as his hands roamed the valleys of his wife's curves from behind. "Let's just stay here for a little while longer, hm?"
She could not refuse him that.
"Very well." She sighed and rested her head on the pillow beside his. They both settled to stare silently out the open doors for a minute or two, just drinking in the spectacular sight of the sea under sunset.
After a while, Esme's fingers lifted to begin a languid sort of dance over the horizon from her distance. With blissful artistry, she traced the silky green waves, her fingers following the tranquil motions in perfect time.
She could hear Carlisle chuckling softly over her shoulder and it forced an instant smile from her.
"Are you painting, my dear?" he questioned lightly.
"How did you know?"
He swiftly stole her hand and boldly kissed her fingers one at a time. "I can taste the sea on your fingertips, my love," he noted huskily.
Esme shivered. "Isn't it intoxicating?"
She felt him nod. "I suspect you've made it that way." His low voice rumbled pleasantly against her back as she pressed against him.
"Carlisle..." she softly whimpered his name.
He stroked a few strands of hair away from her eyes. "Yes, love."
"I desperately wish I had brought my paints with me," Esme confessed regretfully.
Carlisle found himself frowning as he watched the waves crash softly on the shore. A brief vision of Esme curled up in the open window with her watercolors made his heart clench. It would have been the first thing she set out to do when she arrived.
"You'll remember this scene perfectly enough; you can paint it first thing when we arrive back home," Carlisle appeased, "It will give you something to look forward to when we return."
"I suppose so," she sighed, still hopelessly smitten with the scene. "It's so beautiful."
His breath was heavy on her bare shoulder as he whispered knowingly, "You wish you could carry it around in your pocket, don't you?"
Esme felt her heart give a shudder.
"How do you know me so well?"
"I'm your husband," She could hear the smile in his voice. "It's my duty to know everything about you..." he trailed off cryptically as his fingers lingered over the curve of her spine.
"I believe there are still one or two things you do not know," Esme taunted shamelessly as she turned to face him with mysterious eyes.
"Hm? And what might those be?" he asked in a low voice, the question burning in his gaze.
"Oh, Carlisle. Always so curious," she tutted lovingly, tapping the side of his cheek with her hand.
"Would you really have me believe that I am the curious one, dear?" He cocked an eyebrow, and she had trouble refuting him.
"I'd say we're about even," she conceded in a throaty whisper.
Carlisle had no complaints.
"I can live with that."
