Author's Notes: Merci bien for all the reviews! You guys are the most fun collection of readers ever. Sorry for any head explosions that occurred after the posting of the second chapter.
Jill: *assumes lecture tone* Yes, that is thought to be one origin of the carrying across the threshold, although it stems from an earlier tradition that supposedly kept the bride safe from evil spirits. If you're interested in my research (which would be scary, frankly ;) ) e-mail me and I'll show you where I got all the info from. Le français, c'est rigolo!
Nefret: I can tell you're going to cause trouble again with the plot predicting. Especially when you see this next chapter. Pleeeeeeeease behave yourself! ;)
PZB: Here, at last, is the "you-know-what". But you knew that. ;)
3. Qui etes-vous?
As she eased off the bed and slipped away, Evelyn really did intend to take only five minutes. She carried with her a small toiletries case and a change of clothes. She turned in the doorway and glanced over her shoulder at Rick. He still had his eyes closed. More than one devious impulse occurred to her, but she shut the door firmly before she could act on any of them.
Though given to teasing, Evelyn was not a cruel person. She knew that delaying her husband much longer was bordering on the sadistic. After all, it wasn't as though she herself weren't eager to go on. She simply wanted to look as ravishing as she possibly could, and, taking into account everything she'd been through over the past couple of days, such an accomplishment just might take more than five minutes.
Oh, she understood that Rick would be pleased with her no matter how she looked. His ability to appreciate her natural charms in any and all states of dress was one of his more endearing qualities. Even on days when she looked perfectly ghastly, when her hair and clothes were a cock-eyed mess and her skin seemed the wrong colour entirely, he never failed to let her know how attractive she was to him. Not that Rick was given to effusive or fulsome praise, but he didn't need to be; his feelings were in each hungry look, in every worshipful touch. It was a self-perpetuating cycle: he found her beautiful, and so she felt beautiful, and it showed. The glowing girl who looked back at her from the mirror was proof of that. If only her hair weren't so tangled and matted. And her face could do with a bit of a wash...
After rigourous applications of hairbrush and hot water had restored some semblance of order, Evelyn's attention wandered to the nightgown she'd picked out. She held it up to herself critically, frowning. It was a silk and lace confection, expensive, purchased on a whim, and a good deal more revealing than anything else she owned. It was also, after being stuffed hurriedly into the side compartment of one of her bags before Rick could see it, more than a bit wrinkled. She held it against the bathroom door and ran her hand over it, trying to smooth it down, with little success. It was really the most frivolous slip of a garment; there was nearly nothing to it. Which, she reflected with a mischievious smile, was rather the point.
While far from being what anyone would call a woman of the world, Evelyn had read enough and heard enough to have formed some very definite ideas about bridal nights in general, and her own in particular. She reasoned that a nightgown was highly impractical and counter-productive, unless it inspired one's husband to remove it. Which this one almost certainly would, crumpled or not. Once started on this merry track, Evelyn's train of thought began to meander a bit, a dreamy expression stealing over her face.
She was in the process of working at the side-fastenings of her dress, only half-concentrating on the task at hand, when she first heard the noise. She dismissed it, initially, as the wind, or perhaps the building settling. It didn't particularly concern her as she shimmied out of the dress, which pooled at her feet. Standing before the mirror in her simple white slip, she misted a little bit of perfume onto her hairbrush and ran it through her hair--a trick she'd learned from her mother when she was young. The perfume had been a gift from Rick, although she suspected that Jonathan had been at least partly responsible for its selection. Whatever his failings were--and they were numerous--her brother was an old hand at picking out presents for women.
Evelyn suddenly felt a strange chill, as though she were being watched. When she looked into the mirror again, she happened to catch a glimpse of the little window behind her, and her heart leapt into her throat.
Someone was there!
She whirled around, torn between the impulse to cover herself and the instinct to confront the invader of her privacy. The face at the window had vanished; perhaps she'd merely imagined it, she reasoned, or seen her own face somehow reflected in the window-glass.
When the knock at the bathroom door came, she very nearly jumped out of her skin. She knew it was Rick, of course--who else could it be?--but that didn't stop her heart from bumping against her ribs as though it were about to break through. Then the doorknob rattled. She looked at it, startled. Rick wouldn't be trying to get in, not without saying anything first. And it was then that the face at her window reappeared--a man's face. He looked her over, grinned, and made a vulgar motion with his tongue.
Evelyn was not a woman particularly predisposed to irrational terror. However, being alarmed at the sight of a strange man at your bathroom window late at night could hardly be called irrational. It wasn't as though she were expecting any strange men--or any men, really, other than Rick, and he was strange in a nice way that had nothing whatsoever to do with the current goings-on.
The man at the window smiled, and rattled the sash tauntingly. It was locked, so he couldn't get in that way, but it was a menacing gesture just the same, and Evelyn was not feeling particularly brave at this point. She backed into the sink, knocking miscellaneous toiletries into the basin as she did so. The resulting cacophony pushed her completely over the edge; she jumped, not knowing where to turn. When she heard a male voice at the door, she was in such a state of anxiety that she couldn't recognize who spoke, let alone process what was being said. The man at the window reared back, as if preparing to smash the glass, and Evelyn did the only thing she could think to do under the circumstances.
She screamed like a banshee.
It was a formidable scream, and it seemed to do the trick, at least momentarily. The man at the window ducked out of sight, and the rattling and banging at the door ceased. Heart and hands both fluttering wildly, Evelyn looked about her, realizing that she didn't have much of a chance. There weren't exactly any suitable weapons to hand, unless she hoped to beat her would-be assailant back with her hairbrush. She grabbed it anyhow.
There was a hollow thud, then another, and then the door gave way with a crack and a groan, ripped clean off its hinges. Evelyn felt her entire being flood with relief as Rick charged into the room, fists raised, jaw set. He glanced around, and, seeing that she was alone, looked to her expectantly.
"A man was at the window," she gasped, pointing to where the leering face had lately vanished.
"You okay?"
She nodded. He didn't fail to notice the way she was brandishing the sturdy wooden hairbrush, like she'd been about to clock someone with it. He had to give her credit; she had more guts than he did when it came to facing impossible odds.
He strode to the window and bent to peer out. "It's too dark to see anything," he told her. He unlocked it, yanked up the sash, and stuck his head and shoulders out for a better look. There was no one there, as far as he could tell. Still, someone could easily have climbed the wrought-iron fire escape, he noted, chagrined. Hell of a place to put it. "What was he doing? Watching you get changed?"
She nodded again. Her eyes, wide and so dark, were fixed on his face.
"Shit." He smashed his fist against the wall, wishing like hell it was the face of the guy who'd been gawking at his wife.
"I was brushing my hair, and I turned and saw him, like this." She demonstrated with a graceful glance over her shoulder. "He rattled the window a bit. And then he went," she raised her arm, echoing the motion she'd seen, "like he was about to break in. So I screamed." Evelyn dropped the brush in the sink and wrapped both arms around herself, the combination of fear and latent adrenaline causing her to tremble uncontrollably. "That was you at the door?" she asked, before realizing how ridiculous the question was. If only she hadn't panicked, she could have unlocked the door and let Rick deal with the man on the fire escape.
Rick felt a pang of guilt, realizing that his impatient pounding must have been partly responsible for her current state. "Yeah. Sorry." He moved to hold her, tentatively at first, not sure if that was what she needed. She all but melted into his arms. "Didn't mean to scare you," he murmured. He stroked her hair, wondering how she could have made it so soft just by brushing it. He tried not to notice that she was most of the way undressed, or that she smelled incredible. Unfortunately, trying not to notice something is the surest way to bring it to the forefront of one's mind. Before long, he was imagining sliding the dainty straps down over her shoulders, hearing the whisper of the fabric against her soft skin as it began to fall, revealing...
He reddened, embarrassed for even thinking dirty thoughts at a moment like this. "Sorry," he said again, flustered, not sure what he was apologizing for. It wasn't like she could read his mind.
"It's all right." He was suddenly warm, so warm, and she clung tightly to him, trying to rid herself of the chill that had come over her. "You were here when I needed you," she whispered, breath hot against his neck.
Thoroughly ashamed of his response to her closeness, and certain his observant wife would notice, he took a step back and quipped, "Well, that's why you married me, right? To keep bad guys from carrying you off whenever they damn well feel like it?"
She giggled, relieving some of the tension still coursing through her. "You're doing a fine job so far," she told him solemnly. "Keep up the good work."
He gave a mock salute. "Okay, I'm gonna go out there and look around." He turned and walked out of the bathroom, hands in his pockets, unknowingly trampling Evelyn's delicate little nightgown in the process. She picked it up and draped it over the rim of the tub, then followed him over to where their luggage stood. He sifted through her bags before locating his own, then delved in and pulled out a familiar set of objects.
"You brought guns on our honeymoon?!" she demanded.
"Not guns, honey. Just one." He loaded the pistol, then looked blankly at her, unable to discern any problem.
"Why even one?"
"To protect my--our--you. To protect you."
She made a skeptical noise, but said nothing.
He proffered the gun. She folded her arms, one of the straps on her slip falling down over her shoulder as she did so.
"Go on," he insisted. He knew firearms made her uncomfortable, but he also knew she knew how to use them when she had to. "I'd feel better knowing you had this."
"I don't see why you have to go at all," she sighed. "I'm not the least bit frightened, not anymore. It just startled me, seeing him there like that. We're perfectly safe here; it's a crowded hotel, with staff on duty at all hours. We even have a telephone in the room. I don't think he'll bother coming back, anyhow. He probably got quite a shock when I started screaming bloody murder." Saying these things out loud was almost enough to convince herself of them.
If she'd stopped after 'I'm not the least bit frightened', he might have believed her. As it was, though, he didn't want to push it. "Just for my own peace of mind?"
"I suppose, if you have to... but you take the gun, I don't want it."
"Okay, but what do you do if someone grabs you?"
"Kick him."
He grinned. "Yeah? Where?"
She sighed and rolled her eyes, letting him know he was being juvenile. She nodded in the direction of the area in question, and Rick realized it was probably not the brightest move in the world to have directed her attention there.
She didn't react, however, so he kept going with, "Seriously, though, Evelyn. Don't think; just act." He reached out and carefully replaced the fallen strap for her, caressing her shoulder as he did so. "Don't forget to, um, lock the bathroom window, and--"
He never got to deliver the rest of his advice; Evelyn was taking the first part of it to heart. She flung both arms around him, her mouth meeting his own with painful urgency. The pain, however, was soon forgotten in a haze of purely animal instinct. Her body had become magnetized, drawn irresistibly towards his, and she had fought the forces of nature enough for one night. In that instant, she didn't care if the entire French Foreign Legion was outside the bathroom window, as long as her own handsome legionnaire was here, in her arms.
Surprisingly, it was he who put a stop to the proceedings, gently drawing away. "Just a quick look," he said. She responded by planting a trail of kisses along his jawline and down the side of his neck. "I'll, uh, I'll only be five minutes, really," he averred, his resolve already weakening. He took her by the shoulders, and removed her to a point from which she was less capable of distracting him. "And when I say five minutes, I mean five--honey, you're killin' me here!" he protested. Evelyn, with characteristic fixity of purpose, had unbuttoned his shirt half-way and slipped her hands inside. After a couple of failed attempts, he managed to grab both those busy little hands and hold them fast. "Evie, please... I can't."
She looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. "Oh, I've no doubt that you can," she whispered.
He nodded, in spite of himself. She nodded back, and smiled conspiratorially.
Involuntarily, his hands relaxed, allowing hers to slip free and resume their work. She managed the rest of the buttons in record time, but was momentarily stymied by his belt buckle, plucking ineffectually at it with tiny fingers. He watched, momentarily transfixed, torn between helping her and backing away before this could go any further.
It was a Herculean effort, but he managed to keep his voice steady as he said, "Hey, come on, knock it off."
"Fair is fair," she told him, indicating her own rather scanty attire. Biting her lower lip, she pursued her objective with renewed determination.
"Gonna make me go walking around outside without any pants?" he teased. He knew he'd never forgive himself if he didn't make certain she was safe before finishing what she had so insistently started. "Because if you want to get us kicked out of here, that'll do it."
Evelyn laughed merrily, and her hands fell away. "We'd have to spend the night on the beach," she suggested, with a mischievious look.
"Yeah, just me, you, and all your suitcases."
She sighed. "It would be ever so romantic."
Obviously, this girl had never slept on a beach. "It'd be ever so freezing your ass off," he replied.
"Oh, I'm certain you'd find a way to keep me nice and warm..."
He started backing towards the door, hurriedly buttoning his shirt, before she could rally for another attack. "Be right back," he announced.
She sank down onto the edge of the bed, crossing her legs demurely at the ankle--an almost laughable contrast to her anything-but-proper state of undress. "I'll be waiting," she informed him.
He closed the door behind him and started walking down the hall before he could entertain any second thoughts. He took the stairs down to the main floor, working off some of the excess energy coursing through him, before marching past the snooty guy at the front desk and out the main doors.
When he didn't come charging back into the room, she sighed huffily and went to change into her nightgown. This turned out to be impossible: besides being sadly wrinkled, the much-abused garment now featured a large boot-print across the front. Chagrined, she wadded it up and tossed it into the bathtub.
Now, what else had Rick said she ought to do? She couldn't, for the life of her, remember, her mind having been otherwise occupied at the time. It was something to do with the bathroom, she was almost certain. She glanced about her, hoping for a clue, then caught sight of herself in the mirror and made one or two quick adjustments to her attire. The slip would have to do in a pinch. It had obviously had the desired effect, even if their latest encounter did end with his running from the room...
It didn't take Rick long to locate the wall of the hotel where their window was located; he recognized the view almost immediately. He scouted around, looking for the man Evelyn had seen. It was seeming more and more likely that the guy had just been a peeping tom, long gone in search of less troublesome windows.
When he turned and looked up, he recognized the view there too. Evelyn, still in her slip, was standing around in the bathroom, in plain sight of the whole damn street. He felt a flash of irritation; why didn't she just put up a neon sign? If this was what that guy had seen, no wonder he'd climbed four flights for a better look. He wondered if she'd even locked the window the way he'd told her to. She was notoriously bad for forgetting things like that; she'd left her cabin door unlocked during at least one ill-fated journey down the Nile. She'd never admit it if he asked her, though. Maybe now was a good time to find out, he thought, testing the fire escape to see if it would support his weight.
Evelyn swept her various bottles and boxes into her toiletries case, snapped it closed, and looked around once more. She still had the nagging feeling that there was something she'd forgotten. She picked up her hairbrush and absently began to brush her hair while she thought. She was probably just unsettled over the evening's events. Well, she reflected with a smile, not all of them. Most of them had been quite agreeable. It was really only the man at the window that had--
Evelyn froze when she heard it: a rattle at the window. He was back! She remembered Rick's advice, and didn't think; instead, she acted. She moved to one side and let the window slide open; then, as a head and shoulders poked through, she reared back and slammed the hairbrush down, as hard as she could.
It wasn't until a moment later, as her husband lolled, unresponsive, half-way in the window, that Evelyn realized her ghastly mistake.
"Rick?" She shook him--gently at first, then with more force when he didn't move or answer. Somehow, she managed to pull him the rest of the way through the window, laying him out on the tile floor. She called his name again, but there was still no response. At least he was breathing, she noted, continuing to shake him. Why, why, couldn't she have a normal honeymoon? There must be thousands of women around the world who did it every single day, and she was fairly certain that very few of them knocked their husbands unconscious on their wedding night. "Rick, please wake up," she urged. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so..." She stood over the sink, ran the tap, and splashed cold water on his face. He was going to have a nasty headache when he woke up--she'd fallen and cracked her head enough times to know that much. Kneeling beside him, she felt around at the back of his head. She didn't seem to have done any serious damage. Rick had always had a particularly hard head; there was no reason why it should suddenly fail him now.
"Darling, please," she whispered, smoothing his hair back from his face. "Come back to me."
His eyelashes fluttered, and she thought for a moment that her heart was going to stop beating. She hoped he wouldn't yell, although she certainly couldn't blame him if he did. Although it was his advice that had prompted her to do it in the first place...
"Rick...?" she quavered.
His eyes flicked open. He looked up at her a moment, then a lazy smile came over his face. "Hi there," he purred, not seeming particularly bothered by what she'd just done. No doubt he'd be more himself in a moment.
"Hallo," she breathed.
He sat up and glanced around him, confusion etched on his face, then reached around to feel the area where she'd smacked him. He looked startled, running a hand through his hair, then seemed to shake it off.
"How... how are you feeling?"
"Head hurts like a son of a bitch," he informed her.
She winced. "I'm not surprised."
"Apart from that, though, I'm doin' pretty good."
She slipped her arm under his and helped him to his feet. He wobbled a little bit at first, but then his balance seemed to return. He glanced down at himself, noting with amusement that his shirt buttons were all cock-eyed. Then he looked her up and down, slowly, drinking in every inch of her with approval and desire.
Evelyn gave him a pleading look. "Darling, I--let me make it up to you." She sidled closer, slid both arms about his waist. "Let me make you feel better, Rick," she cooed, resting her chin on his chest and peering up at him.
"Hey, you don't have to ask me twice," he murmured, grinning. "Matter of fact, I have only one small question."
"What's that?"
"Well, don't take this the wrong way, but... who are you, again?"