A/N: Whaaa? Can you believe your eyes? :)
I'm not too late but as promised, here's VERY lengthy Part II. I'm honestly crazy for writing all this lol. It warmed my heart so much to read your reviews and that you all enjoyed Part I, and I didn't lose you by fleshing out the scenes a bit more (future chapters will follow this trend). Triple crossing my fingers I don't lose you this time around either!
Cheers to this update giving a little more love and light, and I hope you all enjoy!
What Is The Plan? — Part II
"What about them?" Peter whispered in her ear. "Maybe he met her online?" He tilted his head in a northeast direction. "Gray haired guy with the brunette. Two o'clock."
Alicia subtly angled her upper body to point towards the couple seated at the far end of the bar for a better look.
She swallowed a mouthful of wine and pocketed this new tidbit—that people met online for romantic encounters. (The scope of her inept technological knowledge knew of the concept only.) All five of her taste buds and six senses were roused by the dark ruby vintage's multi-layered palate while she observed the duo over her wineglass.
For a minute, she sipped, savored and sorted through an imagined list of possibilities for how the older man and younger woman's paths crossed, then turned back to Peter.
"No," she said with a surge of confidence. "They met at work."
He stretched out an arm along the top of her chair and reached for his quarter-full glass, a coy smirk stamped on his lips.
"Why work?"
"Work, because…" She deposited the glass on the bar and prolonged the consideration of this out-of-thin-air reason. "She's not dressed as if she spent time getting ready for a… date. They're both in suits. Perhaps they just left the office."
Perched on the end of the bar like a pair of foxes, Alicia and Peter watched the woman place her hand on the man's forearm, which segued into a languid massage. In return, the man arched forward, slanted his head and mouthed something that caused the woman to grin from ear-to-ear.
"I'll add," Alicia continued, in a marginal drawl, "they also seem very comfortable with one another. As if they've known each other for some time."
"So you don't think that" —Peter nodded to the pair— "can happen from two strangers meeting in a place like this?"
The question gave her pause.
She skimmed her fingers along the width of the glass as she searched his face for signs of a revelation. Of his own experience to be unearthed.
Did he meet one of his… in a place like this? Did he—
These thoughts. Suspicions. Had no expiration date.
The many peaceful attempts she made in regard to his transgressions might as well have been filed under exercises to pass time. Cloned aide-memoires, residing in a house of mirrors. Their impromptu ugly heads reared wherever and whenever, whether she liked it or not.
She didn't notice Peter studying her until she locked eyes with him.
He swapped his empty goblet for a glass of water and sighed as he took a sip. His one-two move and sigh went without saying that he was tuned in to her suspicion.
She felt foolish. The alcohol, which she blamed for this stumble down the wrong track, muddled with her judgment, blending past and present.
Mere hours ago they danced around it. He wanted to talk about it and she said no. Yet here she was, putting them right back in that position.
Instead of addressing the elephant wedged between them, he dipped a hand below the bar counter to rest atop her thigh, precisely a few inches above her knee.
A soothing touch. It said, let's not.
His thumb coast down to her knee and commenced in a light caress. The faint curve in direction was akin to flipping on a faucet. Tension trickled from the nape of her neck with every measured brush, and sent tingles high up her thigh.
Alicia reached for the glass again and drank a long sip, allowing her gaze to linger on him over the crystal brim. The corners of her mouth upturned into an impish, sideways grin.
Yeah, she agreed, let's not.
"I wonder what people think about us," Peter said, alluding back to their game.
This little game, of novel backstories on patrons seated around the transparent stone and oak wraparound glass bar, coming and going, started roughly an hour ago when Peter thought he recognized an old friend—now long gone. The mistaken identity led to him concocting a story about the man, and woman that joined the stranger minutes later.
Minimal swaying, on his part, induced her to play along.
After dinner at one of their favorite restaurants, they arrived here to partake in an hour and half private tasting led by Chicago's best sommelier.
They chose to spend the rest of their night at the city's most exclusive wine tasting bar. Architecture designed to parallel a chic, intimate cellar and walls lined with backlit tiered shelves of wine bottles from across the globe with foliage crisscrossing between like vines, served as the backdrop.
Hours had rolled by since the tasting ended and they ventured to the front of the house to settle along the bar. Their no-name game kicked off and resulted in them losing track of time in each other, and Alicia, mostly solo, polishing off a fine, reserve nineteen ninety bottled French Bordeaux.
"Hmm… us. Let's see." Alicia licked her lips and probed her hazed mind. "They probably think we are on our first date," she said lowly, pivoting her body in the chair to fully face him. "That we have had too much wine…"
She grinned and bit down on her lower lip once she saw Peter's hooded eyes lingering on, what she suspected, her velvet hued stained lips, then drift. She followed his southbound eyes, which came to a halt on the frontal low cut of her dress and lifted cleavage.
Unmistakable warmth spread in her chest and up her neck.
"My eyes are up here, Peter."
He smoothed an index finger back and forth along his upper lip, smiling with his eyes. His magnetic gaze fanned the warmth in her torso to a low flame.
She tightened the cross of her legs at the sudden heat sparking throughout her body.
"I'm just admiring the view, babe. You really, look sexy tonight."
Alicia looked away, unable to contain a bashful smile, then looked back.
Unbeknownst to him, there was a lacy garment beneath her dress aiding his viewing pleasure, one she was positive would add more to their night later. And she would be lying if she said she did not miss him looking at her this way.
Many days she wondered if he ever would again.
"So we have had too much wine," he said, centering her back on the game. "What else?"
"We'll leave here, arm in arm…" She bent her head to one side, granting him an even better view and planted a hand on his thigh. She lightly squeezed. "You finish."
"I kind of like having our story untold. Been enjoying watching how it unfolds."
She erupted in a deep chuckle and picked up her glass. "Does our date end once we leave here?"
"No. Actually, we're going around the block." She eyed him out of the corner of her eye as she finished her drink. "I booked a suite at The Langham."
She mulled over this new information while she emptied the glass, not leaving a drop behind. "We're staying… downtown, tonight?"
A relaxed smile spread on his face. "We are. Surprise…"
Alicia set the glass down and checked her watch. It was twenty minutes till eleven.
"Peter, the kids—"
"Are fine. Mom's with them."
She propped an elbow along the back of her chair. So high on Peter and wine, she accepted Jackie staying overnight without a word.
Low-lidded eyes penetrated his.
"You thought of everything…"
Around them, glasses clinked, corks popped, endless chatter, and melodies of jazz lulled through speakers strategically positioned about the room. A harmonious quartet of life. And yet, life with its upbeat vibrato thrumming around her, dimmed, to just him.
Some thing, deep in her, inexplicable, coiled with the budding heat and chiseled parts stoned.
She likened it to an awakening.
This feeling, was not new. It had been on hiatus, and as of recent, emerged with a gentle force. Bit by bit.
She wanted more. Craved more.
All a surefire indication she was unwound, ready and willing for whatever else tonight and their future would bring.
Peter appeared to pick up on her aura for he leaned into the space between them. Lower lip tucked into his mouth and palm steadily marching along her outer thigh. His dark eyes told a story she had read a thousand times. One that left her breathless.
Alicia seized his busy hand and stopped its journey just as it reached the hem of her dress.
"When are we leaving?" she asked, her words warm and honeyed.
His timbre was barely above a whisper: "We can leave now if you're ready."
"I am." She snagged the empty wine bottle and held it up to her eyes for closer inspection. "But, before we leave, we need at least two of these for home."
"I'm on it."
He peered to his left at the doorway to a room, which led to a small in-house cellar that also fronted as a store.
"I'll get those plus the other five you liked during the tasting." She smiled warmly. "Be right back."
"Don't take too long…"
Peter grinned and stepped down from the barstool. "Won't take longer than a minute."
With two quick kisses to her cheek, he walked off. She flipped her hair over her shoulders and shook her head, smiling.
Occasions of doubt, in which she pondered if they could get back to this, here and now, littered her mind. For so long, the prospect dangled inches from their grasps. It seemed impossible. She would be naïve to say it still did not feel impossible, regardless of how their evening panned out thus far.
Perhaps it was the alcohol and a certain element of je ne sais quoi she had yet to place since the day she met him, but tonight, their wavelengths, everything, aligned. Pieces fell in their respective places and she trusted they would stay this way going forward.
The affirmation sowed a seed of happiness as she reached into her purse for her cellphone, prepared to check on home.
Two missed calls and four text messages from Owen filled the notification screen.
The bar, still buzzing with colorful conversations and music, drowned out in her ears. She unlocked the device screen and scrolled through the text messages.
7:09 p.m. Pick up! Mom is headed to the ER.
8:15 p.m. She's not in good shape. Bad abdominal and chest pain. Really weak. Being admitted for the night. Why aren't you picking up?!
Alicia's heart pounded against the wall of her chest.
8:45 p.m. She's in room 512. Waiting for more tests.
9:50 p.m. She may need surgery and is asking for you! CALL ME.
One too many glasses of wine sloshed violently in her stomach. She clutched the edge of the bar and drew in deep breaths.
"Excuse me. Miss?" Alicia glanced to her left at a man standing in front of two vacant seats beside her. "Are these taken?" He pointed at the chairs.
They engaged in a five-second staring contest before she shook her head.
"Are you okay, Miss? Look like you've seen a ghost."
She shook her head again, harder, and turned the other way.
She breathed a chain of quick breaths through her mouth as she tried to calm her trembling hands enough to reply to Owen's last message.
"We're all set. This must be the place to be tonight," said Peter, coming to stand beside her. He surveyed both ends of the bar. "It's getting packed."
She stared up at him. Mute. Tongue leaden and numb.
"Babe?" Worried eyes swept up and down her frame. "What's wrong?"
"It'snotme." Her voice rushed back at once. She gulped a breath. "My mom. She was—sh-she was admitted to the hospital."
"We'll leave now. I'll swing by and pick up the crate tomorrow."
She felt her head nod in response, her sympathetic nervous system on autopilot. Adrenaline the only factor stopping total self-paralyzing in this fight-flight-freeze instance.
Peter stepped back and held out her coat while she slid down from the stool. She stuck her arms through the sleeves and grabbed her clutch.
Alicia stood by and waited while Peter discussed a pickup time with the bartender, sliding her wedding band up and down her finger in repetition.
Every moving and breathing thing around her faded to black as the relationship with her mother—the good, bad, and undetermined—jumped to center stage.
Along with, death.
She thought the worst. She always did in dire turn of events. Alcohol exacerbated it.
The urgency in Owen's texts would not quiet.
They would make it to the hospital in time and her mother would be in perfect health, she chanted to herself.
She's fine…
#
Peter turned down the volume dial on the radio. According to the car's navigation system, they were fourteen minutes away from the hospital. He checked the rear and side view mirrors. Traffic was light, as expected, for the hour. They would arrive way ahead of time.
His gaze ping-ponged between the bare freeway and Alicia. She'd been quiet since they left the wine bar.
After checking in with Owen, she stared out the window, not saying much else on the matter. Peter presumed her cryptic mood would change upon Owen's last update: Veronica was stable and would live through the night.
But she resided in her own time and space.
"Hey." He reached out and gently squeezed her thigh. "You okay?"
She nodded, head still turned.
Peter inched forward, shifting his focus between her and the road as he tried to get a glimpse of her face.
Is she crying?
One-night, years ago, while out, they received a similar call about her father. When they arrived to the hospital, her father had—as noted by the attending physician at the time—stayed alive long enough just for Alicia to say goodbye.
He surmised that to be her train of thought now.
"She'll be fine, honey." Peter swept his palm up and down her leg. "Veronica's as tough as they come."
"Mom always says she has too much life to live to die."
And, bingo.
The reassurance of his statement fell short. Her grave and somber monotone saturated every air pocket in the car, transforming their atmosphere to funereal.
"I know in my head she'll be fine, Peter. But now—"
"She's not going to die."
Alicia blew out a shaky breath. "My father… he suddenly became so ill in two days. The up and down, and after he…"
"Your father lived a good life and Veronica has many years left to live. Focus on that. Alright?"
She nodded then covered his hand and pressed her head against the headrest, and closed her eyes.
Peter checked the navigation screen. The timed distance to their destination reflected in the upper right corner of the display.
Ten minutes.
Ten minutes was all he had to muster up the courage and tell her about the offer for governorship.
He waited weeks for what he planned as the perfect moment and now—this was not the time. A synaptic signal kept firing in his brain, routing to his conscience, reminding him of this sheer fact. And his conscious overlooked it. Because, he reasoned, at the rate his luck was going, there never would be an opportune time that worked in his favor.
So if not now, when? After tonight, he was unsure if there would be a perfect time.
He tightly gripped the steering wheel, as his mouth grew dry.
"Peter?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you okay?"
He caught her attention shuffling between his face, and hand methodically squeezing and releasing different parts of the wheel. Until she said something, he didn't realize he was fidgeting.
"Oh yeah… yeah. I'm fine. Listen, uh, before we get to the hospital, we need to talk about something."
"Okay," she said after a beat.
The heat in the cabin of the car felt as if it was blowing out of a hose that tightened around his neck with each mile. Peter equated it to be being trapped in a sauna with no way out. His instinct said to crack a window but Alicia's earlier mention of how cold she was—'freezing'—stopped him.
He steadied one had on the wheel and slid the other from under her hold. He clumsily undid a top button on his shirt and widened the collar before settling his palm back on her leg.
"Um," he started, "the Democratic Committee, wants me to run for governor in the next election."
This decision, that he agonized over too many times to count, was met with silence; a new type of silence layered on top of their previous, albeit solemn, contented silence.
Peter stole a glance at her. Sure enough, as he suspected, she was staring at him. Rendered speechless.
The hum of the engine accelerating on the freeway resonated as a buffer for this new silence, which swelled in the cabin and his ears. And it was worse—excruciating and long. The uncertainty that arose from every second passed, tripped his blood pressure.
He did not know what to make of it.
The probability of her saying anything, at all (given the added events of the night), he estimated to be seventy-out-of-one hundred. Of the many things he loved about her, he found this the most consistent challenge. Her calculated responses tested his restraint and forced him to establish, what he coined, an admiral annoyance.
Their silence carried on for a full, painstaking minute. He resigned on the fact that she would not say anything on the matter until, after a few more painfully quiet seconds, she answered.
"What?"
He glanced at her again. In the millimeter second of that glance, the confusion he saw once they passed under a street lamp, contoured across her face, nearly made him forget what he planned to say once she did respond.
"The DNC wants me to run for governor," he repeated, regaining traction. "Eli's been lining some things up if I decide to run but with—"
"You're telling me this now, Peter? Now?"
He shifted in the seat. "Considering how tonight's going, it doesn't seem like there will be a good time to tell you. I need to let Eli know my decision on Monday."
"Monday?" She pushed his hand from her leg. "How long have you known this?"
"Does that matter?"
She scoffed. "This is what you've been avoiding telling me." There was a discernible edge in her voice now. Peter groaned; he knew how this would end. "For weeks. Am I right?"
"It hasn't exactly been weeks. I planned to discuss it with you sooner but things kept coming up. The kids, you at work—"
"Me at work?! What does that have to do with you not telling me?"
"Oh, come on. You have been working late hours to avoid dealing with what happened in the session the other day."
"Seriously?"
He glimpsed at her as he changed lanes. "I'm wrong?"
"This isn't about me, Peter! You waited until you were boxed in a corner by a deadline to tell me. Is this some political tactic? Inflict the pressure on the other party so they cave?"
His jaw clenched. "That's not what I'm doing."
"Unbelievable," she muttered under her breath. "This is the purpose of tonight, isn't it? This date," she spat.
"No. As I told you the other night, I wanted us to enjoy a night out and talk without interruptions."
He peeped at her out of the corner of his eye. She stared straight ahead, her mouth agape, head shaking. Stunned, he'd describe her, if he had to choose a word.
And so okay, maybe he should have listened to his conscience and rethought of when a better time would be after they checked-in on Veronica. He poorly judged the time as now. He could admit to that much.
"You were campaigning me," she said, her voice filled with what resonated on his ears as disbelief.
He sighed heavy and loud. Cue the dramatics. "Alicia. I was n—"
"What… you needed to give me a necklace to make sure you get my vote and—"
"—you know that's not—"
"—so that I'll—"
"—I only wanted us. to. talk.—"
"—you know what I'm going to say!"
Peter sharply looked at her. Even in the darkened car—aside from trace ambient lighting on the rearview mirror—the whites of her eyes shone in the dim light. Big and bright like a ghost fire.
"Estimated time of arrival is two minutes," the navigation system transmitted.
His thoughts spiraled.
The gut wrenching anticipation he had earlier in the day about this moment, blossomed, along with, relief.
"Was that a no?" He propped an elbow on the windowsill and huffed. "You don't want me to run?"
When she didn't answer, he looked her way. Her face was back to the window.
That was a no.
Peter slowed the speed of the car and veered right down an incline, coming to a stop at an intersection. He took in her hard profile—shook his head—and checked both oncoming lanes, then made a left and drove on to the hospital entrance.
"Not going to say anything else?" he cautiously asked.
"Peter." Her tone was tight. Controlled. A warning.
She breathed audibly, yet slow and even. A giveaway sound that he had sucked what was left of her patience and converted it into rage.
"My only concern right now is my mom."
"You are approaching your destination," announced the system as he entered a roundabout.
Peter ended the navigation and wheeled the car up to the ER entrance. He watched as she unbuckled the seat belt and cinched the belt of her trench coat, purposely avoiding eye contact.
"Go on up. I'll park the car," he said.
She gripped the door handle. "She's in room five-twelve."
A steely look exchanged between them before Alicia opened the door and exited without looking back.
#
She's fine… she's fine… I'm—
Alicia glanced up into the ceiling and closed her eyes. Her lungs filled with air she didn't want to release.
Worry about Veronica's health wasn't all that had her immobilized in a tranquil corridor outside the door.
A permanent side effect of her last miscarriage? She loathed hospitals. The engrained stench of over bleached floors and sheets, and questionable foods, churned her stomach. Work had, for the most part, desensitized her.
Breathe.
But not enough to stop the play-by-play that happened whenever she visited a hospital and saw information in passing for the labor and delivery wing or overhead a pregnant woman's hair raising howls.
Breathe.
Her hands pressed to her legs, balled in small fists.
I'm here for Mom. She's fine.
Queued anxiety driven worst-case scenarios, ran rapid across the forefront of her mind.
"We're all on borrowed time," her father used to say.
His time ended too soon and she could not hard stop the train of fear that her mother's to be of the same fate.
She opened her eyes, alleviated her lungs by a long exhale and stared at the cracked door.
Animated murmurs from the other side, Veronica's the main voice of all, filled her ears. It sounded as if she was sniping at someone. Sniping, but full of life no less.
The tightness in Alicia's chest waned. She needed to hear that.
Blowing out a final, rattled breath, she shook off ill feelings from past hospital stays and her argument with Peter, and pushed the door open.
"There you are!" boasted Owen. He shot up from one of the bedside chairs and strolled over to her.
Alicia closed the door. She did a quick scan of the room. There were three people in the room besides her, and only two she recognized…
She stumbled when Owen practically threw his arms around her.
"Peter and I were out and my phone was in my purse," she said, hugging him back fiercely. "Sorry I missed your calls and messages."
He stepped back, hands on his hips. "She's been going on about her plans to haunt you if you never showed up and she died. But don't worry. She's just mostly wound up from the pain meds."
"So she's okay… now?"
"For the most part. No official diagnosis yet. The doctor mentioned two days of observation and testing…"
Owen's words went in one ear and out the other.
Alicia's concern morphed to distraction by the back of a man. A dark haired man sat in a chair opposite the one her brother had occupied. He was holding—and kissing?—her mother's hand.
She rapidly blinked. Surely she was seeing things. She craned her neck around Owen's shoulder to get a better look.
The man was very real, and still there.
"Alicia!" said Veronica, peering over the top of the man's head. She raised a hand in the air, flagging her over. "Finally! I told the doctor he couldn't operate until you were here to go over my patient rights and all that stuff."
Alicia and Owen shared a knowing look before she trekked to the opposite side of the bed to get a better view of the man. She kept her eyes on him—he smiled in a polite manner and she smiled back—as she leaned down to greet Veronica with a kiss to the cheek.
"Mom, what do you mean by operate?" Her eyes cut to the IV jutting out of Veronica's right arm and sickly pallor of her skin then to the pieces of equipment surrounding the top of the bed. "What's wrong? Why are you here?"
"Oh, something with my colon." Veronica waved dismissively before turning to the man. She beamed, despite the telltale feverish patches dotted across her face as she reached for his hand. "I didn't plan for us all to meet under these circumstances but… here we are." Her smile broadened. "Jared, my love, this is my daughter, Alicia. The renowned lawyer."
My love?
Alicia tried to be mindful of the muscles in her face. Specifically the expressions they would convey. In her still semi-drunken state, it was hard to control them.
Swift amusement replaced prior remorse. The corners of her mouth twitched, threatening to spread into a full-blown grin.
So this was Jared.
The Jared her mother was seeing post second divorce and gushed about?
The Jared, with his tanned skin, striking blue eyes, deep set dimples and athletic build, was a stark contrast to the geriatric man she assumed had been keeping her mother company.
"Nice to meet you." Jared rose a few inches from the chair, leaned across the bed and extended his hand to which she loosely shook. "I hear about you and your children often."
At this point, Alicia was sure her mouth hung open as she took them in.
She felt she was floating outside of her body, poised as an invisible spectator to the events cycling beyond control. And her mother, resembling a weak and hollowed version of her former youthful self, positively glowed, in a sickly way, as she gazed at Jared, confirming this was a joke.
Tonight, with its left-field landings, was all a joke.
Right?
Alicia cleared her throat. "N-nice to meet you, as well. Jared."
Veronica wrung her hands together. "I'm so glad you all finally got to meet one another!"
Jared's cellphone ringtone timely sounded off, interrupting what Alicia ranked as one of the most awkward moments she's ever found herself in.
"Ah. One of my top investors in Singapore. I need to take this, doll."
Doll? Alicia, wide-eyed, slowly looked to Owen who shook his head, smirking.
"It'll only be a minute," said Jared, phone clutched against his chest. "Call me if the doctor comes back before I do, yeah?"
"Yes. Don't be long. I might die without you."
Alicia cocked her head to the side and studied them, wondering: Was that supposed to be funny? From the way her mother was propped in the bed like a porcelain doll, it seemed a real possibility.
Jared grinned—they grinned—(so it was ha-ha funny) then gave Veronica a quick kiss and turned to leave. But not before she could slap his retreating behind.
Alicia passed a hand over her face. She was in the twilight zone. She was sure of it. Borderline drunk, in the twilight zone. The only way from here was up.
She fumbled behind her for an arm of the chair, latched on and pulled it close to the bed, then plunked down. Pour after pour she guzzled of the vintage Bordeaux, she regretted. Her head was light and painful spasms jumped across her stomach.
She took deep breaths.
Veronica turned to her, still beaming. "Amazing, isn't he?"
"Mm. Yeah, amazing. But, Mom…"
She folded her hands and rested them on the edge of the bed, and leaned forward. She glanced at Jared's empty seat as she struggled to find the right words to articulate all she witnessed in the past five minutes.
"Isn't he a little young?" she blurted.
Veronica drew back, a bemused expression now on her face. "No. Why do you think that?"
Alicia turned to her brother for support.
"Don't look at me," said Owen, pulling out his phone and waving it through the air. "I'm busy. Leave me out of this."
Rolling her eyes, she turned back to her mother. "H-h-how old is he?"
Veronica shrugged. "Forty-three."
Alicia's eyes bulged.
"Oh," Veronica started with a hoarse laugh, "don't give me some self righteous speech about seeing a younger man."
Alicia raised her hands. "I wasn't going to."
Veronica wagged a finger. "I can see it all over your face."
"Funny you said that. I remember the self righteous speech you gave me about dating Peter."
"Well, I was right. Right? And did you listen to me? No! If you had, I could have saved you from your current situation."
"Which is?"
"Sounds like my cue," said Peter, walking through the door. He greeted Owen before sidling to the bed. "How you feeling, Veronica?"
"Much like I did on the night I drank too many Tuaks in Bali. Railroaded but stable."
Peter tipped his chin up toward Alicia, a brow arched. With a curt shake of her head, she answered his unspoken question that no, her mother was not okay.
Veronica leaned towards her. "What is he doing here?" she loudly whispered.
"Mom," Alicia hissed.
"I'm right here," said Peter, chuckling.
"It's not personal, darling."
Alicia slumped against the chair, groaning.
"What?" said Veronica, her lips pursed as she tucked the thin sheet across her waist. "It's not. I only asked because—"
"Mom, we're all family in this room. Your—Jared…" Alicia chose not to finish that sentence. The undercurrent of amicability was sure to dissipate. She sat up and licked her lips. "Now, you sound… okay. What's going on with your col—"
"Veronica, it's time to check your vitals again." A nurse walked into the room, pulling a vital signs monitor cart in with her. "Sorry everyone, but only one other person besides me can be in the room during the exam."
Veronica reached for her hand. "Alicia. Stay."
She looked down at the top of her mother's clammy palm covering her own.
The two of them alone—granted there would be another party present—in this scenario, caused her internal temperature to rise. Her sobriety was too feeble to handle the unpredictability that was her mother's mouth.
Veronica under the influence of medication or not.
Alicia looked to Peter. He stood idle. Of course he was waiting for the signal she was fine with this. Ever the protector in spite of their moment in the car.
She nod in his direction to which he returned, and then left the room behind Owen.
She sat back as Veronica fell quiet and complied with the nurse. Seeing her, chained to the bed via a series of tubes, back dropped against plain walls and fluorescent lighting, was, surreal.
Although Veronica had a permanent smile on her face since she walked in, her eyes, dull and pinched, said she was weak. And her voice, no matter how lively she attempted to sound, said she was tired.
Regret and fear corkscrewed into a ball and lodged in Alicia's throat.
Times she chose not to phone, chose not to respond to Veronica's emails, chose not to send more pictures of the kids, pained her. More than she was willing to admit. A burdened catalog of times immersed in a garden bed of resentment.
From the second she read Owen's messages, the decade upon decade hard-edged resentment verged on frivolous.
"Alright! Your blood pressure is good now," said the nurse, pulling Alicia back to the present.
"You look nice tonight," said Veronica, gaze sweeping over Alicia. "Owen had a hard time reaching you. Where were you?"
"I need to check your temperature now," said the nurse. She positioned a thermometer in front of Veronica's mouth, instructing her to position it under her tongue and hold while she fetched more encased pillows from the bottom of the cart.
"Peter and I were out."
"Oh?" The device slipped. Veronica caught it right before it fell to the floor. She tucked it to the side and spoke out the other corner of her mouth. "So you are really—"
"Veronica, can you please try not to talk?"
Veronica rolled her eyes at the nurse propping two pillows behind her then drifted her gaze back to Alicia. A judgmental look swept up and down her frame again.
"Ninety six point three," said the nurse, taking the thermometer from Veronica and disposing it. "Dr. Hardy will come in to go over the sigmoidoscopy and biopsy procedures with you in just a minute. How's the medication we gave you for the pain?"
Sigmoidoscopy and Biopsy?
"Working wonderfully. Tell me. Can you put some in a little baggie to go?"
The nurse laughed. "No. We've discussed this twice already. Now before I go, are you comfortable? Need anything else?"
"Yeah, can you bring me a dry martini with extra olives?"
The nurse smiled. "I'll be right back."
Soon as the door closed, Alicia undid the belt on her coat and scoot to the end of the seat.
"Mom, the procedures she mentioned… Can you now tell me what's going on?"
"It's my colon, Alicia," she said, annoyed. "I'm as healthy as a thirty-year-old and there's a problem with me."
Alicia mentally bookmarked to ask at a later time if that's why she was with Jared. Did she consider them within the same age range?
"The doctor suspects cancerous polyps in my colon." Veronica sighed. "I've had abdomen pain for about a month, and over the past two days, it's gotten worse. Along with a host of other symptoms." She paused; her hand flew to the center of her chest and massaged.
Alicia's breathing quickened. "Mom what's wrong? Do I need to call the nurse?"
Veronica vehemently shook her head and reached out to pat her hand. "Damn" —she took several deep breaths— "medication. Gives me palpitations."
"Did you tell them that?"
She nodded. "I'm fine. I'm fine, Alicia. Normal side effects and all."
Alicia warily eyed her.
"Now where was I?"
"Your abdomen pain was getting worse."
"Oh, yes. While Jared and I were having dinner tonight, out of the blue, I couldn't sit upright. Of course he panicked and forced me to come to the hospital. After an exam, blah, blah, blah…" She rolled her eyes. "This, doctor, decided from the location of the pain and what he felt during the exam, that I need an emergency sigmoid—whatever she said. And will biopsy what they find.
"If it is cancer, then surgery and chemo, and—" She flopped against the pillows, out of breath. "Honestly, Alicia." She laughed. "I would rather die than go through that."
Alicia didn't know what to say.
She couldn't recall a time in her life when she witnessed her mother sick. Ever. Veronica was a billboard for strength. Nothing ever got her down.
To behold the sight of her so frail in the bed, even with a jovial spirit, it was a tangible reminder that she too, was on borrowed time.
Alicia swallowed a mountain of budding tears. She wanted to take Veronica's hand. To comfort her as well as herself. In their guidebook of Mother's and Daughter's, the chapter on compassion was virtually blank.
Emotions and affections were sidelined, or harbored at a distance.
She clasped her hands in her lap to curtail the urge to reach out.
"Mom, if that is the diagnosis, then, you'll pull through it. Me and Owen will be here to help you."
Veronica smiled; her eyes welled with tears. "You know the one thing I'm afraid of?"
Alicia blinked. Part of her wondered if they'd given her too high of a dosage. She was never this candid about her feelings.
"Surgery," said Veronica. "Can you believe that?"
Alicia chuckled. "I actually can. Dad only had two surgeries and you never went to the hospital either time. You feared the worst the outcome."
"And the waiting. It was the waiting! It was too overwhelming. He hated that I never wanted to wait."
Alicia sucked in her cheeks, eyes now damp.
"He'd bring that up whenever we had an argument. But I always picked him up after he was discharged." She affirmed with a hard nod. "We… we supported one another. Right up until the end."
Alicia stared down at her hands, trying to stifle tears from falling.
"Your father was a good man. I've thought of him a lot lately." Her tone softened. "He was always there. I never had to question if he would show up. At times, I was too selfish to see that."
A knot lodged in Alicia's throat. Bigger than before.
This confession, if that's what it was, in an odd way, ushered her focus to Peter. Hearing Veronica admit her own selfishness made her too wonder if her initial reaction to his proposition, was, selfish. Whether she was selfish in dismissing him.
She still could not fathom the gall of his bad timing. But they both knew when she climbed out of the car, though unsaid, what her answer was.
"Your father was patient," Veronica mumbled. "He always stepped up when I didn't know how to step in. He especially did that with you and Owen."
The dam Alicia fought to keep at bay, broke.
"Oh, Alicia. If you're going to do that, I'm not going to talk about your father anymore."
Alicia quickly dabbed her eyes and tucked her hair behind her ears. "Sorry." She looked over at Veronica for a long minute. More involuntary tears slid from the corners of her eyes.
So many things she wanted to ask, to say, fast tracked to the tip of her tongue. Time felt as if it was slipping through her hands. This was the final moment of all moments.
Her mouth watered, then parted, and after a nanosecond, closed.
"What?" said Veronica. "Say it."
"You… you don't talk about him. In this way."
"You don't like it when I talk about him this way."
"Because you use memories of Dad to… manipulate me, Mom."
"Manipulate? Well that's a choice word."
Alicia shot her gaze upward in an attempt to check her anger and gather her words.
"Mom, you do." She looked at her, eyes laser focused. "When I don't live my life according to your, prerogative, your go to is Dad."
Veronica sighed as she readjusted a pillow beneath her lower back. She fixated on the muted television. Alicia thought that was it. They were done on the subject.
"Okay," Veronica said after a charged pause. "Maybe, I have. But only because you're not open with me, Alicia." She looked her in the eyes. "All these years later and you're still a daddy's girl. Always taking his side."
"Is that what you thought? I took his side?"
"You were his shadow. It got worse after we divorced. Owen was never like that."
Alicia listened to her, jaw slack, flabbergasted. How quickly the tides turned.
"I will admit," Veronica continued, calm and poised, "you and your father had a special bond. But even the times I tried to fix, whatever was wrong between us, you treated me like an outsider. Like I was a visitor."
"So you're blaming me, Mom? Is that what this is?" she shrieked.
"Don't be so dramatic. I'm not blaming you. I'm only pointing out the difference between your relationship with your father and me. No matter what I do, even in his death, you're still closer to him. I never understood it when you were a child and when I think about it now, I still don't."
"He was there!" Her voice trembled in a chorus of anguish. "He. Was. There."
Alicia half-regretted the words once they left her mouth. They axed and scorched.
Three simple words burned in her throat for release, stung her tongue once freed, and pierced right to her mother's core, she saw.
Veronica collapsed against the pillows, appearing gobsmacked.
Over the course of countless years, she contemplated this moment. And now it was here, without her behest.
"I was there, Alicia," Veronica said quietly.
Alicia closed her eyes. Her right temple throbbed, and mouth was dry. Dehydration in tandem with an irritation only Peter and her mother knew how to trigger, were the main contributors for the headache brewing.
She rubbed the center of her forehead. "Mom, I don't want to fight."
"I just didn't know how to be there as much as you needed. I guess, I still don't. So if I die—"
"Mom—"
"—I want you to know I tried my best. I never regretted you. Or Owen." She reached for her hand. "And I love you. I do."
"Veronica, how are you feeling?" Dr. Hardy, flanked by two nurses, entered the room. Owen and Jared trailed in behind them.
Alicia wiped her nose with the sleeve of her coat, shut their Pandora's box and listened intently as Dr. Hardy went over standard protocol for the two procedures.
"A nip-and-slip" he explained.
Alicia frowned.
It sounded as simple as ripping off a Band-Aid and replacing it with a new one. The truth was far from such. Plain fear masked by a smile on her mother's face did nothing to pacify her qualms.
"We'll be waiting," she reassured Veronica once Dr. Hardy and his team instructed they would be back in a minute to prep.
"Come here." Veronica beckoned them over to the bed. "Give me a hug."
Owen and Alicia looked at each other, uncertain.
"Oh, I gave you plenty of affection as kids."
"Sparingly," said Owen.
They all locked in a single embrace.
Owen backed away but Alicia held on and clung to Veronica as if it would be the last time. She unloaded all the emotion she struggled to put to words into the hug, hoping it transcended that she did love her, too.
"I love you both," said Veronica. She brought them in for a final kiss to their cheeks then released them from her embrace.
Three nurses waltzed into the room, equipment in tow. Alicia stood by, motionless as the team lifted her mother's body to another gurney.
Veronica said she tried her best.
As a parent herself, she knew all too well that even when you gave your best, it was never enough.
It never would be enough.
If by some miracle, Veronica overcame this health crisis, she contemplated what it could look like if they both tried their best.
#
One startling life event is all required to transpose apprehension into a funneled perspective.
When Alicia considered multiple events in her life, she unanimously checked that requirement, perspective behind the curtain or not.
Answers were provided in vain.
She sat at her vanity and sipped from a glass of water while absently listening to Darkness At Noon in the background.
The time was late: 1:30 a.m.
They got in some fifteen minutes ago. Peter went to check on Jackie and the kids while she retreated to the bedroom. The weight of the night sat upon her shoulders like a ten-pound barbell, doubling the exhaustion vining her muscles.
From the bar to the hospital to home, she orbited in a web of bewilderment that increased in size every hour, and was stumped on how to clearly find her way out.
Where were those answers now?
"All good," said Peter.
Her hand jerked, causing water to splash over rim. So deep in thought, she never heard him enter the room.
"Did you open the vents in the spare room for Jackie?" she asked, wiping her chin and chest.
The last time Jackie stayed over one night during winter, Alicia became the post woman for trying to freeze her out.
"Yeah. She's good." He closed the door behind him.
She set down the glass and took off her earrings.
"This entertaining you?" Peter plopped on the bed. She eyed him in the mirror.
"Distraction."
She watched him remove his jacket and toss it to the other side of the bed as he directed his attention to the screen. She turned in the chair and did likewise.
A scene played of the lead actress on a call with her mother. As Alicia listened to the lines delivered, she thought of the lines she and Veronica shared, and of her health.
The procedures went well. Veronica was moved from recovery back to her room, having fallen into a sound sleep for the night when they left the hospital. Owen suggested they take shifts until she was discharged. Though Jared was there to provide bedside comfort, there was, Jared. And the unknown of him.
Dr. Hardy informed them Sunday the earliest the biopsy results could be ready for the polyps discovered. A colonoscopy was scheduled for later in the week.
Life without her mother… Alicia could not fathom. Their mother/daughter dyad was not optimal, and probably never would be what she wanted, but Veronica's presence was a constant—although fleeting—she needed.
"She's going to be fine," said Peter, breaking her thought. She missed when she became the object of his interest.
Her eyes narrowed, as if to ask how he knew what she was thinking. Then again, when they were on a good plane, in tune with each other, they read the other's mind from the tiniest expression.
"And I'm sure the test results will show it is not cancer. This is, one of those, unfortunate things."
She flashed him a sad smile, to signal both acceptance and resignation, and turned back, removing rings. She lacked the energy and courage to swim through the cavern of emotions.
Hours after the fact, only one theme permeated her mind and that was: life is short. At any moment, a heart stopped. The universal human river of blood rushed to a halt, frozen in the veins.
They didn't talk much on the ride from the hospital about Veronica or his governorship offer.
In that quiet, she reflected on their marriage and her parents' marriage.
She and Peter's roster included obstacles couples may never experience in a lifetime, but they were a far cry from her parents.
The box, which housed the necklace, sat in her peripheral line of sight, catching her attention. She glanced down at the navy velvet square, and trailed a finger along the outer edge. He professed over and over he changed. On the table, within a box, laid a symbol of that change.
And in light of all the changes, he too, was constant.
Much like her father. Never failing to show up when she was puzzled for how to step in.
Her focus shift when Peter rose from the bed. He muted the TV and half-turned towards her, unbuttoning his dress shirt.
"I, um, thought to start moving things here around eleven," he said. "Shouldn't take long. Did you get a chance to speak with your realtor about putting my—our, apartment on the market?"
"No. I have not spoken to her."
A premature decision, one of many they had settled on over dinner while drinks and endorphins flowed with ease. She was on board and ready to sign the dotted line on those decisions, until a hard curveball of life severed the euphoric vibe.
"You okay?" he asked.
She met his gaze in the reflection. "Yeah. Just tired. I'm going to take a shower." She rose from the seat. "Can you unzip me, please?"
She turned and swooped her hair to one side as he moved to stand behind her.
The zipper being lowered rang loud in the still quiet. His hand remained in place once it reached the bottom and they met in the mirror.
A series of walls crumbling passed via the reflection.
So little and so much was said in the wordless conversation. But sorry, was the main and most important of all.
Peter snaked an arm around her waist and kissed the side of her neck, cementing the apology after their eye-lock ended.
Sleep red flagged in Alicia's hierarchy of basic needs.
She was exhausted and desired nothing more than to shower and crawl into bed. But life and its untimely series of events were never that easy to ignore.
An answer pended about his proposition.
Until they finished the conversation she did not want to have, changing the depleted bar of sleep from red to green, would never be achieved.
With a squeeze and pat to his hand, she turned to stare up at him.
"Mom and I had an interesting talk earlier, after you left the room."
His brows lift.
"She shared some things about my dad, and their marriage. About her." She crossed her arms and ankles. "What she shared made me question… myself."
"What do you mean?"
"You running for Governor." She glanced down at her feet, then back up. "There have been so many recent changes in our family, Peter. I feel like we haven't had a breath to digest. Another campaign, in the middle of it all…"
"What are you scared of?"
Was she hesitant of this type of change? Yes. But scared? It never dawned on her.
"I'm…" She rested against the back of the chair. "…maybe it's the, going back to before. Falling into old habits."
An abundance of security and confidence—of which she took comfort—in this new reality they were set to embark on, could not outweigh the high risk of a sudden new component.
"Alicia, you can't keep dwelling in the past," he said tiredly. "We're here. Now. This is us. Now."
Once upon a time, she believed in him with every fiber of her being. Come what may. Some defined it as the beauty of blind trust, or rather, trusting without reservation.
She trusted he would put them first.
Always.
The little voice in the back of her head questioned: What would happen when he slipped?
She altered her stance from lax to straight. "You said earlier the Committee wants you to run. Do you… want the governorship?"
He sighed. "I do…"
She blew out a long breath.
"…but only if you're in agreement, if you're with me."
"Don't make this my decision, Peter."
"I'm not."
"You are. If I say I don't want you to run, you won't resent me now, but somehow down the road, I'll be to blame you aren't sitting in Springfield next year."
He massaged his eyelids. Alicia was aware he was holding back. The subtle rise and pull of his shoulders confirmed it.
"They want you to run but what exactly does that mean?" she asked after a moment. "Aren't the preliminaries around the corner? The Committee have their candidates, right?"
"Yes and no." He stepped back to sit on the bed and peeled off his shirt, tossing it onto the corner chair. "One of the candidates will be asked to drop out of the race if he has not already. The other is about out of money."
"And they chose you."
"Yes." He pressed his palms together and hovered them in front of his mouth. He looked up at her. "Alicia, I do want this. I never planned to end my career as a State Attorney."
"Then what did you plan, Peter?" She threw her hands up. "What is the plan?"
"Someday… maybe the senate." He dropped his hands to hang between his legs. Her eyes widened. "But if I don't make it that far, Governor sounds like a much better chapter than my current."
She shook her head and looked the other way. "I don't know, Peter."
He rose and brushed his hands down her arms. "My running for Governor will not change anything for us or our family." He tenderly grabbed her chin to pivot her eyes back on him. "You know that."
It will and you know that, she wanted to say.
The list of outliers that lay prey to their familial unit would grow endless if he became governor.
Its draft consisted of: invasiveness of the press (which would amplify by the thousands), a finer line to straddle at work, Veronica's current dilemma and the kids—
The kids.
Grace's words sounded off in her head. Their daughter still grappled to forgive him. The brunt reminder brought every angle of doubt into a streamlined focus.
It was too much. Too much, too fast.
She removed his hands from her face.
"Alicia—"
"A campaign requires a lot of commitment, Peter." She stared up into his eyes for what felt like an eternity exchange of confusion and need for understanding. "I-I don't feel this is best for us right now."
He curtly nodded.
Silence joined the gap between them again for the umpteenth time tonight.
He went to the dresser near the bathroom and busied himself with removing his watch and emptying pockets, back turned.
She attributed the late hour to his lack of response. She expected a fight. More convincing that her reasoning was irrational.
"Are we at an impasse on this?" she quietly asked.
Peter stilled.
She sucked in a breath when she saw his torso expand, unsure of what his deep inhale would reveal. He slowly circled around, legs spread, arms folded.
"What do you want me to say?"
"Are you angry? Frustrated? What?"
"Look. We've had a long night."
"Yes, and I don't want to be at odds with you in a couple hours, Peter."
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't know what you need to hear or how else to tell you that if I run, it won't change" —he looked at her pointedly— "anything about our life. We will adjust with time."
She reeled back at the certainty in his voice. "You already decided."
"No, I have not."
Alicia leaned her head to the side, searching him from head to toe for a sign of untruth. Finding none, she said, "I respect your political abilities, Peter." She unfolded her arms and walked over to him. "And I know you would be a great governor."
His eyes were unreadable as he stroked his jawline and gazed down at her. She could see he was waiting for her to add the 'but' part of that sentence.
"Just not now?" he finished for her.
"…Does that upset you?"
He rest his hands on his waist and tipped his head back. He sucked in a breath. "No," he said on exhale. "You and the kids come first. I made you that promise, and I mean it."
His eyes said he was truthful.
She recalled when he first ran for State's Attorney.
He simply told her he was running. Not much discussion occurred. So proud of him, she threw herself into helping with the campaign, not giving another thought on her lack of input on the matter. She wanted nothing more than to help achieve his dream.
Their synergy was palpable then. His happiness was her happiness and vice versa.
That dream, part of its purpose to maintain the fullness of their happy meter, was short-changed and produced a different version of them both.
The second time he ran, chasing the same dream, he appointed her the judge. "I only want to do it if you're with me. If we're in this together." He staked his claim on change. Touted how different he was and how lawful and morally just he intended to manage the office till he was blue in the face.
She wanted to say no then, but was purblind on how to say no, without sinking the fragile ship they steered at the time.
Barely a year later, for the third time, he presented another dream for another office. Cloaked as a plan. As their choice. A different outcome promised.
Could she believe in it as much as she did the first time? Subject herself to the spousal duties of a higher office?
As she searched Peter's eyes, she was skeptical.
If this was truly their choice as he said, she needed more than forty-eight hours to fall in line.
"Instead of making a decision now, can we agree to wait for my mom's results before you talk to Eli?"
"Alicia, it's okay if you don't want—"
"We're a team." She stepped forward and reached for his arms. She pulled them around her waist as she rested hers on his shoulders. "We've always supported each other."
Beneath her cape of doubt, that simple fact never faded.
He broke into a smile. "Okay." A chaste kiss to her forehead and him swiveling back to the dresser dissolved any elaboration on his plain answer.
Her brows rumpled at his actions. He said "Okay" but it was far from it.
A hard pull strain radiated between them. Though small, it was there. For the rest of the night, she resolved, so it had to be. Sleep would hopefully provide the clarity needed.
She trekked to the closet, focused on a hot shower. Widening the double doors, she pushed the dress from her shoulders to pool at her feet and reached for a clean robe.
"Whoa…"
Alicia whirled around. About to question what had him in awe, she followed his fixed line of sight down to her body.
She was clad in the lingerie from the French boutique they spotted during their stroll a few weeks ago.
"You got it…" Peter's eyes lit up upon recognition as he inched towards her.
Desire possessed his once lethargic stance. Alicia had mapped a very different reveal of this lingerie. But given how Peter looked at her now, he would not have cared either way.
"Oh…" She glanced down at her scantily clad frame. "I did. I forgot. My surprise to you."
He took her hand and drew her against him. A warm palm moved down the arch of her spine.
"Seeing you in this almost makes me forget you want to say no."
She grinned and wrapped her arms around his neck, brushing her nose with his.
"Mm," he groaned, deep. His palm, splayed across her back, slithered lower. "You look even more amazing as I knew you would."
His mood was contagious, clouding her exhaustion.
"How about a shower… together?"
"You sure?"
Irregardless of the tension birthed in the last fifteen minutes, he was concerned about her. Any frustrations he may have from their indecision fell by the wayside.
Another validation he was a transformed man of action and not just words.
The hard outline of him pressed against her stomach also made her want to forget about the myriad of murky emotions if only for an hour.
For now, Veronica was fine. The rest of their tribe was safe and in good health. Escaping the worry, doubt, and confusion, and clinging to the light of a new path where they walked side by side, hand in hand, was a needed end to this night.
"I'm sure," she said.
She stood on her tiptoes when he lowered his head, lips puckered. Quicker than she could propose they move, he picked her up. Lean legs locked around his torso and mouths moved in a deepened slow dance—tasting, tongues stroking—as he carried her into the bathroom and set her atop the counter.
"What are you doing?" she asked when he began to pull away.
"One second."
She cupped his cheeks, holding him in place by nipping and drawing his bottom lip between her teeth. Peter secured a steady hand on her waist and inched her to the edge, flush against him.
"I thought you wanted to shower?" he said.
She shivered at the firm contact, and pressed the balls of her feet against his behind in response. She needed more. Needed to soothe the shared ache strumming between their groins.
"No?" he asked, fingertips trailing along her legs.
Her eyes scissored then bored into his. "I-I do."
With a quick kiss that ignited a countdown until the next, Alicia's chest rose and fell in deep breaths as she released him from her clutches to start the shower.
Through her aroused daze, she remembered that in a few hours, he would be sharing her space, the entire apartment, day to day. And moments like this were prone to happen more often than not.
It both elated and yes, scared her.
If he were elected governor, how long would this version of their marriage last?
Another unanswered perspective.
Peter stood between her legs again, brows tethered. He pressed the heel of his hands on the counter along the sides of her hips, and craned his torso down.
"What's wrong?" he asked, dropping a kiss to her chest.
The siege of fear and doubt banished in the wake of his wet mouth, a moist trail melting into her tingling skin.
Her breathing skipped.
"Nothing. Thinking."
"That's dangerous. For me, anyway."
Smiling, she arched upward and whispered against his lips, "It's nothing."
They began to undress each other, eyes intensely yoked.
He unhooked the garters and slid stockings down each of her legs, tossing them on the floor as she lifted the hem of his undershirt and pulled it up and over his head.
Their gaze broke only for that second, then merged once more.
That some thing from earlier in the night, hit her again just now, landing in her stomach in a one-two-three punch. Lust meld with understanding and devotion, synchronizing her mind and body to reveal a simple truth.
She loved him. She never stopped.
She didn't say that enough.
Why didn't she say it more?
Another look passed between them. She smiled and he smiled. They too were in tune, synced. In a place of growth and cohesion she could eventually learn to trust.
Peter sift his fingers through her hair, cradled her head and dove in for another kiss. She clawed at his biceps, not bothering to suppress the sounds erupting deep in her throat.
She didn't care if Jackie heard. And if she did, Alicia hoped she would be too consumed with embarrassment to ever face her again.
A blessing that would be.
She ducked purposed hands between them and pulled off his belt and unbuttoned his pants.
"I love you," she breathed once they parted, pushing fingers down behind the fabric of his trouser waistline.
Peter smiled, and reached around to lower the small zipper of her satin-laced black corset. His breath upticked from a swerve of her soft touch.
In a matter of moans, bordered on pleading, hands ripped remaining clothing from skin and lips teased places aching, leading them to ultimately stumble and join as one beneath the shower head.
The night splintered her but for the moment, with him, she was whole.
So would be their future.
Come what may, they would be okay like he planned.