Chapter Four:

"It takes a lot to know a woman, a lot to comprehend what's coming."

-'It Takes A lot To Know A Man'-Damien Rice

"What are you looking at Michelle?"

Back against the rail on the pier, she bites her thumbnail, gaze fixed in the distance.

"Do you see someone you know?"

Her brown eyes flicker to Arthur and she smiles prettily at him. "I thought I did", she tells him.

Arthur turns and looks in the direction her eyes were once fixated. He squeezes the hand he's holding and slides his fingers until their entwined. "I don't see anyone familiar."

She pushes off the rail, on her tiptoes and tilts her head to catch his eye. He turns her way, looking slightly startled at her sudden proximity.

"It doesn't really matter," she soothes, leans in and pecks his cheek. "Because I'm here with you." Her kiss moves towards the corner of his lip.

Arthur's got this adorable blush dusting the apples of his cheeks. But after a moment, he too leans in; eyes closed, and kisses her. Michelle knows his eyes are closed because hers are open, glancing discreetly at the person in the far distance on the other side of the pier. She can't tell from this distance. All she can make out is a head of curls that she may or may not be familiar.

A pleasant sigh is the signal for her to close her eyes again. Michelle angles her head to deepen their kiss, to show she's giving him her full attention. As always though, Arthur pulls back because he doesn't really like public displays of affection. But he takes it as a sign of her affection. He puts his free hand on her face and pulls back to rest his forehead against her.

"I love you. You know that, right?"

She swallows thickly and closes her eyes, their lashes mingling in their closeness.

"I know," Michelle whispers.

"And I'll always be here for you."

"I know, Arthur."

A pause.

"Why won't you say it?"

Michelle pulls back and looks up at him curiously. "What?"

Blond brows draw down in confusion or disbelief or both. "I love you. You haven't told me that in days."

Her eyes dance away from his, down to the side and then back up again. "That's not true. I told you yesterday."

"When?"

"Last night, when you were sleeping. I whispered it in your ear before I went to sleep."

He smirks a little and she tilts her head at him with a funny look. "Did you sleep good last night?"

Arthur rolls his eyes. "Are you taking credit for my sweet sleep?"

"Sweet words make sweet sleep." Michelle kisses him briefly. "I love you, Arthur Kirkland."

The hand on her face slides down to her waist and he pulls her into a hug. Michelle gets her arms around his neck and fixes her head in the curve of his neck. The wind from the river blows between. A kiss presses gently to her neck. She looks in the distance at a fading head of curly hair turning the corner.

She still can't discern if it is him or not.

Their usual room is unavailable and there is something about that minor inconsistency, that minute deviation from their plans that sets the course for a barrage of things in Michelle's mind.

There is a sofa in this room. They make good use of it. They're a mess of tangled limbs with her arms and legs all wrapped around him, a hand tangles in her hair while the other wraps around her lower back.

She wants to say his name. She wants to moan it when his lips latches on to her throat and sucks hard on the spot where her pulse races. Michelle is so close and he's breathless and she's gripping finger's full of his hair. They're both covered in each other's sweat. He's sucking and licking at her neck. She bites hard on her lower lip, digging her heels into his back. Her gut clenches and tightens with the need to release and, god, she wants to hear her name on his lips.

His hips adjust and hit her a different way. Michelle gasps; back arching off the sofa as her orgasms rocks her.

"Ahh, baby," she whines with shaky breath. She trembles and shakes and clings desperately to his form. He let's her while she pants, 'ah, baby' over and over until the tremors settle.

It's not his name but it's as close to it as she can get.

Michelle makes sure to book their flight on a Friday. She was tempted to push her appointment up earlier the day before but, as it is, she has no contact information for him. So she and Arthur leave for Seychelles early Friday morning. It's the first trip they've gone on that isn't about Arthur's job.

Her grandmother has a nice little guesthouse for them when they get there. He likes to joke that her grandmother doesn't like him but that's not true. Michelle's grandmother adores Arthur as a person. They share a love for tea and she gets that they are married and need personal space.

So they make good use of the guesthouse at night when they come from the sandy beaches not to far from the house. Arthur is always so gentle with her. His touches are delicate, intimate, always putting her first. He holds her hands, fingers laced above her head, kisses her cheek and whispering sweet nothings in her ear.

Michelle keeps her eyes closed, consumed by thoughts of another saying those things, whispering to her lovingly. They move in sync. It's not just sex. It's lovemaking. It's them feeling and knowing each, rocking and moving with one another. It's soft and sensual and so different.

"Michelle," Arthur breathes but it just doesn't sound the same without that husky Italian accent.

But she's close. She can feel it. Mere seconds later, she feels the hot flush pulsate out from deep in her belly, a rolling wave of pure ecstasy.

"Ahh, baby," Michelle cries and squeezes Arthur's hands as all of her strength goes to grabbing and holding that orgasm as long as possible.

It's moments like these that she's grateful she doesn't know his name.

"You're wearing make-up." Arthur observes from behind her. His gaze reflects back at her from the mirror.

Michelle puts down the lipsticks she has suspended near her lips and watches him. "I just thought I'd try something new."

He doesn't respond for a long while and she fears that maybe he suspects her of something. She mentally talks herself into remaining calm.

After a moment, Arthur finally speaks, "We're just going on a plane home. You don't need all of that."

Black brows draw together in confusion. "I just felt like putting on make-up." She counters, more than a bit on the defensive.

"You've been wearing it a lot lately."

"It's just make-up, Arthur. I don't see what your problem is. You don't like it?"

He steps closer into the tiny bathroom. "Why are you getting defensive with me?"

"I'm not!"

"Yes, you are. I made a simple observation and you're snapping for no reason," Arthur retorts, "I just noticed that, recently, you put it on and I personally don't think it's necessary."

Michelle purses her lips and glares at him. "I don't always have to do what you think is necessary. Sometimes I do stuff because I like it."

Arthur opens his mouth then closes it. He huffs and shakes his head, leaving out of the small bathroom without another word. She continues with her make-up in case there is some small chance that she sees 'him' at some point between the airport and getting home.

For some reason, they're both eager. He doesn't even get out of the car at the bar. It's parked in front and pulls off as soon as her pulls up. Michelle grips the steering wheel in heated anticipation when the hotel comes in view.

Her face presses against the cold glass and he's right behind her, only the brass rail circling the small space keeping her body from standing flush against the surface. The metal forces her hips back against his comfortably, or uncomfortably, and Michelle has the mirror to thank for reminding her of how hard she's breathing.

They barely make it out of the elevator.

"How far...?" Her voice is heavy with lust as he lets go of the thigh he's been palming through her black jeans, his fingers slipping away from her hip where her shirt is pushed up.

"End of the hall."

"Carry me-" she's on him with arms draped over his shoulders, hot lips on hers and a sweet tongue.

Her eyes are closed when they stumble into the quiet corridor, and it's too late at night for them to make a lot of noise in the hotel. He wraps his arm tight around the small of her back before he does what she says.

There is nothing sensual about the way he presses and pins her to the door. But Michelle's missed this. It's only been a week, like it always is, but it's a week away without the possibility of seeing him anywhere.

The key-card whispers through the reader and the lip-lock breaks so they can get inside, and he knocks the door closed with his heel and her back is against it once more.

Michelle doesn't know why he's so impatient but imagines that he's missed her too even if he didn't know she left the country. She needs to think this.

They're huffing and grinding against each other already, neither of them barely out of their clothes. Hot flashes burst from her skin when she feels his hand slide between the front of her jeans. She moves with him, desperate and needy. He whispers things in Italian, stubble scraping her cheek when he nips at her chin. She wishes more that ever that she knew the language to understand what he's saying but that doesn't make it less arousing.

"Where?" Michelle can forgive him for being so curt with her because she can barely get words out herself.

"Bed,"

In one swoop, he carries her and she's towering over him, pressing her hips down on his groin while his hands go under her shirt.

Nine times.

That's how many times their eyes lock during this. Michelle counts. And every time they meet, a new intense emotional longing hits her even more than him guiding her hips to please them both. If he notices, he doesn't show it in any other way than thrusting his hips up for every time hers grind down. At one point, they're forehead to forehead, his arms around her body as she twists crumpled bed sheets and presses her knees against his ribs. It's the most intimate, she thinks, that they've ever been.

But the moment is over as soon as they ride the wave. He pulls her off of him to shower. She goes about gathering her discarded clothes. Once she's clean and dresses, they leave in separate cars, going in separate ways to separate lives.

Michelle can count on her hands the number of times she and Arthur have had a real argument. Not a disagreement or minor dispute but a full-blown argument with yelling and accusations.

They're having one now.

It starts at Alfred's house. They go to have a movie night with other friends. She and Arthur are fine in the beginning. They share the couch, laughing and joking even commenting on the movies from time to time.

When the movies are over, Arthur and Alfred have a talk about a potential sell. Michelle sits at the breakfast bar eating stale popcorn while they talk in the kitchen. There's some event going on in a city about five hours away. They will have to stay the night. It's on a Thursday.

"I can't go," Michelle quickly interjects. Both men look her way. Alfred blinks in confusion at her sudden outburst. "I have a thing,"

Her husband crosses his arms and leans against the kitchen counter, "It's a yoga class," he clarifies. "And you can skip just one class, Michelle. You've been going everyday for months now."

Her brows twitch at the dismissive tone of his and the conversation once again resumes without her agreeing as if she'll just go along with it. She throws the feel popcorn kernels in her hands back into the big round blue bowl.

"I'm not going. You two go," she says loud enough for them to hear, interjecting in the conversation.

"I thought we agreed you were skipping the class." Arthur questions with a raised brow.

"You suggested it," she counters, "I didn't agree.

Alfred's blue eyes swing to Arthur who's frowning disapprovingly at her. She can't bring herelf to care as she eyes him just the same.

"Michelle," her skin crawls at the tone, like he's speaking to a disobedient child, "Were you listening to us? This is a three-person job, much like the ones we've done in the past. Where you come with us to act as the third person. You can skip a class for that."

She purses her lips and shakes her head. "I'm busy on Thursdays, you know that. I can't do it."

"You can't or you won't?"

Michelle steels her nervous and straightens her back. "Both,"

Then the argument starts. Arthur starts with the accusations first, calling her selfish for putting a hobby over what is essentially their livelihood. Michelle counters with him being selfish and inconsiderate of how important this 'hobby' of hers is. She adamantly refuses to go with them and when Alfred finally gets tired of trying to break them up, they have to leave.

The car ride is much the same. She's yelling at him and letting him have everything she's held back for all this time. Arthur isn't one to yell but he raises his voice to match her irate tone.

"It's always about you, all the time!" she fuses, glaring out of the window. "Arthur this, Arthur that but when it's something that I want to do I have to get pushed to the side."

"This has nothing to with me pushing you to the side! You're being unreasonable over something so insignificant and you've been on this 'me' kick ever since you started taking that damn class!"

The car pulls up to their house and Michelle gets out before he even parks. Arthur's yelling after her, telling her he isn't finished with this. She slams the front door in his face. He forces it open and slams it behind him.

"Michelle!" She goes to the bathroom but he yanks the handle before she can slam that too. "We are not done."

"Yes, we are! I'm not changing my mind. I'm doing what I want for once, with or without your approval, dad."

"Oh that's very mature. Very 'loving wife' of you to up yourself above us and the things that gets the bills paid around here."

"Don't you dare," she hisses in his face as he stands between the doorway, "Don't you dare play that I pay the bills card around here, Arthur Kirkland, I swear to God I will walk out of this house and find someone else to pay my bills."

"Are you threating to leave me?"

"Maybe I am!"

"Over a yoga class?"

"Yes,"

Silence.

They both stare each other down, Michelle breathing heavily and Arthur glaring at her with bright green eyes. Finally, he speaks.

"What's so special about this class that you can't skip it?" Michelle rolls her eye and tries to squeeze pass but he won't let her. "Answer me!"

She flinches at the sudden boom in his voice. "It's just something I enjoy doing!"

He chuckles humorlessly, "Something you enjoy? It can't be that. It can't be just that. You enjoy food but you never fight me this hard when we don't eat what you want and you need food. It's more than that, enough for you to threaten to leave me so tell me what it really is. What is it, Michelle?"

Her chest heaves as he leans in closer to her. She has to take a step back Arthur just follows until she's corned by the sink. She shakes her head vehemently, "Move."

"Not until you tell me what's really going on. You've changed; everything about you's changed. You look different, you're wearing make-up, dressing differently, your entire attitude is like a stranger."

Michelle feels like a cornered wolf, desperate but still defiant. She bites her lip and looks him in the eye.

"I haven't changed. You're just now noticing the real me."

This time Arthur looks strangely at her, eyes focused and unfocused. He backs away.

"When you find my wife, tell her I'll be at Alfred's."

Then he leaves.