Interlude One

Max

Present day – August 2006

"Okay, are you ready?"

"Yes, I'm ready," she grins up at me. "I am also willing and able."

"Great," I return the grin, holding out my arms to her. "Shall we?"

She nods eagerly and jumps into my outstretched arms. I briefly adjust my hold on her, so she doesn't fall, and kick the door open with my foot. Carefully (I don't want to hit her head on the doorway), I carry her over the threshold of our new apartment.

"Welcome home, Mrs. Evans," I murmur in her ear.

She tightens her grip around my neck, leaning up to reply, "You, too, Mr. Evans," before capturing my lips with her own.

The kiss becomes heated quickly and I fear that if we continue like this, I will lose my balance and drop her; so I stumble across the room to the couch and gently lay her on the soft cushions, my mouth not leaving hers for a second. She parts her thighs in invitation and I settle my weight above her, my hands coming to rest on either side of her head. I let out a low groan as I feel her legs tighten around my waist and I harden in response. Man, I don't think I'll ever get tired of doing this.

Liz's hands find their way under my shirt and I shiver as her warm fingers traced small circles on my lower back. Instinctively, my hips begin moving against her and we both gasp at the friction between our bodies. I reach for Liz's shirt and pull it over her head, dropping it to the floor as I lower my mouth to her chest. I get as far as unhooking her bra and closing my lips around her right nipple, before the phone rings.

"Ignore it," Liz mutters, her fingers now buried in my hair.

"Hi, Liz; hi Max, just calling to see if you were back from the honeymoon yet…"

I try to ignore it, honestly I do, but when your new mother-in-law's voice comes over the answer phone, you just can't continue defiling her daughter, even if you're married to her. So I stop.

"What? What's wrong?" she asks when I lift myself off her.

"Liz, that's your mom on the phone. I can't make love to you while she's here!"

Liz chuckles, "Max, she's not actually here, and it's not like she knows what we're doing!"

"Still, it's just not right," I state with a shudder, crossing my arms.

"Fine," she sighs and refastens her bra, although I can see the laughter in her eyes. God, she thinks it's funny? "Let's start getting this place organised then, shall we?"

"Right," I compose myself. "Well, I'd better go get the bags out of the car."

"Okay, I'll make sure everything's tidy before we unpack," she replies, pulling her shirt over her head. She stands up and gives my lips a quick peck before heading towards the bedroom.

I watch her retreating figure for a moment, drinking her in, before turning to leave the apartment. As I jog down the two flights of stairs to the cars, my mind travels back over the last year. So much has happened in the last few months that part of me is surprised we actually made it to the wedding. We've both had a tough year and I've made a few mistakes that I completely regret, but we got through everything and now we're married. Just the thought that Liz is really my wife is enough to bring a huge grin to my face; in fact, I find myself whistling happily as I retrieve our luggage from the car and begin climbing the stairs once again.

"Okay, I've got the bags," I call out as I let myself back into our new apartment. "Where do you want them?"

"In here, please," she replies from the bedroom, her voice slightly muffled.

I carry our suitcases into the room and drop them onto our queen-sized bed, before taking a seat on the end. Liz is kneeling in front of the wardrobe, her upper body hidden inside it. I'm guessing she's trying to make more room for all her shoes. You know, before we moved our things into the apartment three weeks ago, I never realised the full extent of Liz's shoe collection. I mean; she must have at least twenty pairs in there, not counting the five pairs of sandals she bought in Barbados last week!

"Hey, what are you waiting for?" she asks suddenly. "Let's get unpacked." I look up from my musings to find her standing in front of me, her hands on her hips in a mock-annoyed stance.

I just raise an eyebrow and smirk at her. Her frown only lasts for only two more seconds before she breaks into a grin and practically jumps onto my lap.

"I can't believe we finally made it," she cries ecstatically. "Max, we're married!"

"I know," I reply just as enthusiastically, leaning in for a kiss as I murmur, "I love you."

"I love you, too," she pulls back, smiling serenely. "And don't you just love this apartment? I'm so glad we found it."

"Me, too," I tell her. "It's perfect."

It wasn't until almost three months ago that I realised we hadn't really thought through the 'let's get married' thing practically. Sure, we'd arranged the ceremony for July and I'd booked the two-week honeymoon in Barbados, but neither one of us had given much thought as to where we were gonna live after that. Part of the decision was made for us when I was offered a job with a publishing company in Santa Fe (I start on Monday) – it will mainly be office work, but at least it's a job and it pays pretty well. Anyway, as you might have gathered, I accepted the job and after graduation, Liz and I began looking for apartments in Santa Fe. We can't afford to buy a place of our own, but we have enough to rent for a few months until we can afford to put a deposit down on something.

After viewing almost a dozen places, we eventually found the perfect place. It's not massive and it's on the third floor, but it's cosy and just right for newlyweds (at least, that's what the realtor said). The front door leads right into a fairly spacious living room, with a fireplace. Off to the right, is the kitchen, which is pretty small, but brand new and all the equipment works, so we have nothing to complain about. Opposite the kitchen is the bathroom, complete with a bath and shower combo and a small countertop by the sink. We have two bedrooms, next to each other, between the kitchen and bathroom. The guest room is really small and will only fit a single bed, but our room is just the right size for us. We have a joint wardrobe, two chests of drawers, a dressing table with a mirror and, as I mentioned before, a queen-size bed; the bed that Liz is currently pushing me down onto, despite the fact that our bags are in the way.

Needless to say, the unpacking doesn't get done for quite a while.


"Okay, so what shall we make for dinner?" wonders Liz as she opens and closes the cupboards in the kitchen. I lean against the table, cross my arms and simply watch her as she moves about the kitchen. I can't seem to take my eyes off her cute butt. "Max? Hello?"

"Huh?" I look up sheepishly. She's waving her hand in front of my face to get my attention.

"Dinner," she clarifies. "What do you want?"

"You?" I try.

She smirks and raises an eyebrow, "Sorry, not good enough; I meant food. And besides, you just had me an hour ago."

"Do we have to cook tonight, Lizzie?" I ask with my best attempt at a pout. "It's our first night here and I'm exhausted!"

"Yeah, I wonder why that could be?" she grins. I shrug, feigning ignorance. "Okay, okay, we won't cook tonight. How does Chinese sound?"

"Chinese sounds great, my darling," I murmur, reaching to wrap my arms around her waist.

"Okay, great," she smiles, twisting out of my grip. "I'll just go call them."

I sigh with disappointment; I wanted to hold her.

"Oh, and Max?" she calls over her shoulder as she reaches for the phone. "Don't call me 'darling', I can't stand it."

"I'm sorry, honey," I retort playfully. "I won't do it again."

She flips through the yellow pages and dials the number for the nearest Chinese takeout place, although just before she speaks into the receiver I swear I hear her mutter,

"You bet your ass you won't, my beloved."

I shudder, getting her point. The thought alone of being called 'beloved' almost makes me break out in hives.

I think I've just learned the first rule of marriage: Never call your spouse by any kind of nickname other than her own personal one given to her by you, and you'll do just fine.

TBC…