After they talked, Angela had gone to her suitcase to get changed for bed.
"Tony, I just realized something."
"What?"
"Well, nothing I brought to sleep in is really...appropriate for our um, circumstances."
"What'dja bring?"
Right. He knew everything she owned. And of course he knew she preferred sleeping in silk nightgowns. But, she never wore them in front of him without a robe on. "Um, the green lacy one, and the black short one, and the white satin shorts set."
"That shorts set, that would be ok, right?" The black short one was definitely not allowed to leave that suitcase.
"Not exactly Tony, it's um, well it's very comfortable, but the top, it, ah, clings. It doesn't leave much to the imagination. Not that your imagination necessarily goes there. I just. Don't think I should," she rattled nervously. This was awkward enough without adding her in lingerie to the mix.
As she met his eyes in a bashful apology, she can see that his imagination train has already left the station; stunned speechless, repeatedly smoothing his chest with his hands, eyes wide and uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and turned away from her, strutting to his suitcase. "I have it. I have something, Angela. I have the perfect thing," he sang nervously. He dug through the top layer and pulled out some sweatpants and a red cardinals T-shirt.
"Or, if you prefer to sleep cooler, I also have boxers."
"Oh no, Tony, I couldn't - "
"What? They're just shorts." A big grin spread across his face and she could feel his eyes teasing her.
She challenged him with a narrowed-eye, tantalizing smile and took the t-shirt gratefully, picking up the silk shorts from her suitcase and tucking into the bathroom. Tony settled back in bed, picking up his book.
A few minutes later, Angela emerged, flinging open the door, her dress draped over her arm. She had his t-shirt tied in a knot at her waist, the white silk shorts fluttering tauntingly around her long, toned legs.
She fussed with the sides of the shirt, loosening the knot a little. "It's a little big, but this works, I think." She looked up at his face, a mirror of the one a few minutes earlier. Her eyes twinkled at him, and the corner of her mouth turned upward, amused by his arousal. "Maybe...not the right choice, then?"
"Ah, no, it's great. Very chaste," he squeaked. He hadn't thought it through, giving her that shirt to wear. For starters, she may as well have been wearing lingerie, he was so turned on by her strutting out fresh-faced, her hair piled atop her head, his favorite shirt hugging her small waist.
But he was then struck by her image – like a baseball bat upside the head – triggering a cascade of fractured shards of memory. Marie, in their small bedroom in Brooklyn. Marie, in St. Louis. Marie, in their hotel room on the road. Marie, padding out of Sam's nursery, cradling a tiny swaddled bundle. Marie always slept in his Cardinals shirts, their oversized girth swallowing her petite frame. And it wasn't until just then that he recognized the significance of Angela standing there, shyly seeking his approval of her in his favorite shirt.
Suddenly his heart was tightening up; he felt the walls closing in. Angela swiftly crossed the room and perched onto the side of the bed, gently laying a hand on his arm.
"Hey – you okay?"
He nodded, blinking over his glassy eyes.
"Marie?"
He nodded again. "I didn't think about giving you that shirt. I –"
"I'll take it off. I'm sure I have something else. I'm sorry. I didn't think about it either."
"Hey yo, you didn't know," and then, a stern, "don't take it off."
"No, Tony, I–"
His hand covered hers tightly. "Don't take it off, Ange."
She searched his dark eyes for confirmation. They were soft and sad, but plead with her with an intensity that made it difficult to remain locked in his gaze. "Okay," she said quietly.
He patted the bed next to him. Wordlessly, she obeyed, quickly shuffling around the bed and sliding her feet under the covers. She slid down onto the pillow and looked at him.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
He shook his head. The suppression of the many tangled, confused emotions he was feeling – the grief, the desire, the guilt, the arousal – was suddenly threatening to swallow him whole.
He said, staring straight ahead, "Sometimes it's just a lot."
She nodded. "It is. I'm here, Tony." She put her hand on his other arm again and squeezed it. It had been so easy to blame their confused relationship on their unique situation, but for the first time she recognized how much the wounds from their first marriages might be clouding their ability to see the path forward.
He nodded. "I know."
They lay there quietly for a minute, just letting her presence comfort him as he processed whatever was affecting him so deeply. Finally, she uttered a warm, "Goodnight, Tony."
A strange, almost deja vu sensation came over her, being in bed next to Tony, telling him goodnight. It had been so long since she had someone like this next to her in bed. Not just a lover – for there had been a few of those – but a companion, a partner. Someone familiar, and comforting, who knew her better than anyone else. Not even Geoffrey came close to being that person for her, which, she now realized, may have been because she already had it. Tony, she realized, had filled that role for her for several years now.
Oh, they were so complicated. The physical boundary had been re-established, for now, but this was a new, different level of intimacy, sleeping in his favorite T-shirt, lying next to him in bed, the last person she sees when she closes her eyes. Somehow it felt exactly right for Tony, her partner in nearly every sense of the word, to be the person sleeping next to her. She reflected on what Tony had said. 'We belong together.' That's what she was feeling. We belong like this.
She started to pull her hand away from his arm, but to her surprise he reached across and took her hand in his, studying her face reverently. His thumb stroked the back of her hand. She wasn't sure how, but she knew he was telling her he was feeling it too. "Goodnight, Angela."
Angela woke up sleepily, still groggy, but much refreshed compared to her jetlag the day before. Next to her, she could feel Tony breathing steadily. Her mind flashed back to the previous night. She had fallen asleep quickly, but at some point in the night she woke up, disoriented, desperate for water, and found Tony's hand in hers, his other arm draped heavily over hers. He was more handsome than ever, she thought, admiring a lock of hair drooping lazily over his eyebrows. She slipped out from his grasp, and padded to the sink with a glass. She gulped it greedily, then returned to bed and after some hesitation rejoined his hand with hers. To her delight, he had slipped his arm back over her, still peacefully sleeping in the moonlight. With her eyes still closed, she could still recall the feeling of her hand in his.
"'Morning," she mumbled sleepily, her eyes fluttering open to see Tony, still in his pajamas, sitting up in bed reading his book.
"Morning, how did you sleep?"
"Like a dead person. Jetlag plus wine is a lethal combo. How did you sleep?" she asked, propping herself up into the pillows.
"I woke up early, but feel a lot better than I did yesterday."
"Good. You needed a good night's rest."
He smiled warmly, his eyes taking her in. The golden morning sun was casting a glow over her deliciously disheveled hair, and part of her face. There was something new this morning between them. Her in his t-shirt, sleeping next to him peacefully was strange, and satisfying. What began as a reminder of what he had lost was replaced by a keen awareness of how much he had missed waking up next to someone – having a partner to talk to the first thing in the morning. Someone who cared how you slept. Someone to bring coffee to, read the paper with. He was particularly pleased that for the next few mornings at least, his someone was Angela.
"Good. I've already been downstairs. There's a cappuccino and a croissant on your nightstand –" she shot him a look, admonishing him for waiting on her on his vacation – "as your friend, I wanted to do that. I'm sure you would have done the same for me if you had woken up first. By the way, Rosa has 'big plans' for you this morning."
She sat up and smoothed her touseled hair. Her nose wafted over the cup as she slurped the frothy foam. "Coffee without getting out of bed. I could get used to this sleeping in the same room thing," she joked. He laughed. There was something strangely wonderful about waking up in bed next to Tony. In spite of her fears, it was happily more comfortable than awkward.
She tore off a piece of her croissant and said through her muffled bite, "What's the big plan? Just for me?"
A smile teased at his lips. Who was this adorable creature, casually devouring a croissant in the bed next to him? "I don't know. Rosa wants to show you around her herb garden? I don't know, she's being mysterious. Aldo wanted to talk to me, and give me a tour of the vineyard, just me. But I'll make sure you get the grand tour too. I gotta tell you this crazy story he told me about my parents in the war. But I have more questions for him; I'm going to get the whole story first. I think we're going into Palermo for lunch. Aldo is giving us his driver for the day."
"Oh that'll be fun, Tony. I'm excited to see it."
"And hey, don't let Rosa tell you any more crazy things. We're good, you and me. No more secrets. Capice?"
She smiled. "Capice. What time is it?"
"8:00."
She smiled. "Good, I have a little time to laze around the bed with my coffee." She squinted at his book, unable to make out the title without her glasses. "What are you reading?"
"The Winds of War. I got sidetracked on the plane reading those travel books so I haven't made much headway."
"Oh I *love* that book, Tony. Did you see the mini-series?"
"No, I remember it. Marie watched it, while I was traveling with the Cards. I had to call her early those nights it was on because she was so into it." He stared at his book. "I ah, remembered her reading this book and that there was a part of it that takes place in Italy."
Her heart turned over listening to him talk about Marie. He so rarely mentioned her, and yet for the second time in a matter of hours her memory was threatening to overcome him. She wondered if there was something more than grief torturing him. He wouldn't look at her; she rubbed his arm and said gently, "Maybe it's on VHS. When you finish it we should see about renting it when we get home."
He smiled wordlessly, studying her face.
"What?" She pushed her messy hair around her head. "I know I'm frightening in the morning but it certainly isn't the first time you've seen me looking like this."
"Hey oh, you're not frightening! You're lovely. You're more than lovely, you're –" his voice had turned to a low growl, but he stopped himself, letting the silence fill the word for him. "–Always. I was, ah, just thinking how old and married this feels, reading in bed drinking coffee together."
"Ah, well, no one I'd rather be old and married with," she remarked, before adding a self-conscious, "Old and married and platonic, of course."
"Of course. Which is to say, old and married," he joked with a wink.
She looked at him through arched eyebrows and patted his hand with a sultry, "Speak for yourself."
His own eyebrows shot up and a small smile played at his lips. He turned his attention back to his book, not daring to look at her again. Angela covered her mouth as a light, triumphant chuckle escaped. Maybe this mishap of Rosa's was working out after all.
