"However, I must remind you that we are under instructions from the bishop to eat nothing and drink only water after sunset until we are united by him in holy wedlock tomorrow -- and that we are to sleep alone and separately tonight. As I recall, we both agreed to this." Victor said, making me pause as my fingers played over the ripples of his back.
"Ah. So we did." I said, reluctantly taking my hands off the shoulder blades. "Well, that will make tomorrow night all the more special. So --", I said, looking around. "This is your room." There was something more going on than just adherence to the bishop's instructions. This was a little test Victor was playing on me -- to see whether I would try and persuade him otherwise, manipulating him. Very well, if he wanted to forgo getting laid tonight for the sake of testing my intentions, so be it.
"Yes. You are the first person -- other than myself -- to cross the threshold in many years." Victor told me.
"Really? Who makes the bed and does the dusting, then?" I asked, flashing him a little grin.
"Servobots," he said. "Thought you would catch me out, didn't you?"
"I can try, can't I?" I gave the room a once-over. It was simply -- even starkly -- furnished, but with the sort of simplicity only the very very rich could afford. It showed in the materials and the designs. There were bookshelves, a fireplace with a large comfortable looking chair before it, a bed that was no larger than a double, and a few paintings on the walls. The photograph of Victor's parents on their wedding day, stood on the table by the bed -- I recognized the gaudy frame Boris had chosen for it.
"It's a very private space." I said, after moment's reflection. I stepped closer to peer at a painting on the wall. It was a Vermeer -- one of my favorites, The Woman Holding a Balance. It was a very serene and beautiful picture of a woman, who looks heavily pregnant, standing in front of a table with jewelry and coins scattered on it. Behind her hung a large painting showing the Last Judgment.
She stood between realities, carrying within her the future, and she held a small set of scales, in her hand, lightly and delicately, waiting for it to come to rest. Faced with a choice between the material and the spiritual, she chooses to make the two balance in her life, and herself, and consequently her face is lit with an inner glow, the light of peace.
I could hardly imagine anyone more different than Victor, than that woman in that painting.
"Is the National Gallery of Art aware that you've got their best Vermeer?" I asked him.
"That is not theirs -- look at it again." He challenged me.
I did. It was looking at a 'Can you spot the difference?' mindbender, only I didn't have the other picture to refer to. "Her jacket might be a brighter shade of blue -- but I think the wall to the left behind her is bare in the one the Gallery has, while in this one, there's a mirrored candle sconce hanging on it."
"Very good. Vermeer painted two versions. This is the first, and to my mind, the better of the two." Victor looked at it judiciously.
"I can hardly argue with you -- I just thought of something."
"What?" he asked.
"Your wedding present." I went back to my room, and pulled out the case in which the Malleus had come. Victor had followed me, and watched as I placed the case on a table and gestured to it. "I'm not sure whether you would welcome this as an addition to your collection of rare manuscripts -- or whether you'd get more pleasure out of destroying it, but I thought that either way, you would get a great deal of pleasure out of it."
He unsnapped the case and lifted the lid. "The Malleus!" He exclaimed, greatly surprised. "Yes, I will certainly keep this, as an example of what to strive against. Thank you, my dear. How very unexpected, and how original."
"Thank you." I replied.
"As it so happens, I have a wedding present for you as well, but you shall have to wait for tomorrow night."
"Another present? After the jewelry and everything?" I asked.
"It gives me great pleasure to give you things, my dear."
"I would like to work my way up into a scold about how you're far too extravagant, where I'm concerned -- but somehow, I think you'll give me an opportunity to do that at some point in the future. Well, if we're not going to go to bed together, I will bid you good night." We parted, with a fairly chaste kiss, at his door -- and I -- went to bed.
After all, it had been a very long day, and a night spent sleepless before that. Tomorrow was likely to be the biggest day of my life thus far, and I wanted to be ready for it -- and whatever it might bring.
A/N: Yes, I know, I'm SUCH a tease. But I was suffering naughtiness writer's block.
Also, for those of you who are fans of Robert Angevin, check out my fic Richard, the Third. It's his real name--and his story.