Maroon
She stood in front of the large glass windows in their suite at the Palace, sipping from her wine glass as she stared out at St. Patrick's Cathedral. The sun was setting between the buildings, leaving the sky a fiery red.
Against her wishes, she'd been sent up to New York for some last-minute campaigning before the midterm elections on Tuesday. Last week, mathematicians had predicted a tighter margin, giving the GOP a real chance of flipping seats on Long Island. Because her approval ratings amongst the public were higher than Conrad's, she'd been pushed to appear at the events scheduled for this weekend.
"You serve at the pleasure," Russell had reminded as he'd handed off a glass filled with two fingers worth of scotch.
Scrambling for votes spiked her blood pressure, causing headaches, heart palpitations, and anxiety attacks from hell. On their flight yesterday, for the first time, she'd popped a Xanax.
It'd barely been a month since she'd returned home from Iran. Visions of blood, bullets, and bodies kept her awake at night. Now, she could still feel Fred Cole's blood between her fingers and underneath her nails.
Fighting the urge to go scrub her hands raw in the bathroom sink, Elizabeth stared down into her glass as she swirled her red wine around the rim. Instead of comparing the color of the young cabernet to the blood that had seeped into the fabric of her favorite blue blouse, she matched the shade to the burgundy Jimmy Choo stilettos her stylist had pulled for her fall wardrobe. The pair of heels complemented the sweater she'd worn today to an event to support New York's Republican nominee for governor.
She let out a breath as she looked out over the city. The sun had disappeared over the Hudson, but, like the chandelier in the living area of their suite, the streets of New York City were lit bright with lights of yellow.
"I didn't hear you come in." When wide hands landed on her hips, she met Henry's eyes in the reflection of the window. "I take it you want to ditch our dinner reservations?" He asked as he nuzzled his face into the side of her neck.
"Why do you say that?"
Henry pressed the front of his body against her back, wrapping his arms tight around her waist. "Because I know you." He said before he kissed her cheek. "And because you've gotten into the wine already."
Elizabeth covered one of his hands with one of her own. "Guilty." She mumbled after taking another swig from her glass.
He pressed another kiss into her hair. "I can call down to see if they can fit us in at the Gold Room?" Henry stepped away only to return a moment later holding the opened bottle of wine. "Or we could order room service." He told her as he topped off her glass.
Elizabeth leaned forward, setting her wine glass on the marble ledge of the window. Facing her husband, she took the bottle of wine from his hands and placed it on the end table near the sofa. When she turned back, he reached out and gently touched her arms.
"We can watch Downtown Abbey and eat our food in bed." Even though he hated period pieces, he made the suggestion with a warm smile.
He was too good for her.
"Or you could just take me to bed." She palmed his cheek, bringing their faces close together. "And eat me instead."
His lips formed a firm line. "Eliz—"
She silenced him with a kiss.
They hadn't had sex since the night before she'd left for Iran. Since arriving home, he hadn't pressured her at all to do something she wasn't ready to do.
Looking into her eyes, he whispered, "I don't want to hurt you."
"But I need you."
She wanted him to leave love bites across her collarbone so that when she looked in the mirror the marks would distract her from the angry red wound healing on her lower back.
Stepping away, Elizabeth hiked up her skirt and slowly slipped her lace panties down her legs.
Just like the fiery red sky across New York City tonight, she wanted to feel a burning fire, red and bright, in her lower belly.
Elizabeth tugged on the waistband of his jeans, urging him forward. "How about right here? In front of the window for the whole city to see?" She quickly glanced over her shoulder, keeping mind of the abandoned wine glass as she sat on the window ledge. It was just wide enough to fit her ass.
"Babe…"
She didn't blame him for being hesitant, it'd barely been a month since she'd returned home from Iran. He knew that she still saw visions of blood, bullets, and bodies. And he knew that she still felt Fred Cole's blood between her fingers and underneath her nails.
"Please."
Elizabeth was prepared to beg her husband on her hands and knees. She needed him to replace the memories of the scarlet red blood that had ruined her manicure, that had seeped through her favorite blue blouse, that had pooled on the hardwood floors of Minister Javani's living room. She would beg him, with tears in her eyes, to replace those dreadful memories of Iran with memories of a love so passionate that it was maroon.
"Are you sure?" He asked once he'd knelt in front of her.
"Touch me." Elizabeth pleaded as his hands slid up her thighs, spreading them. "Please, touch me."
She needed to erase the meaning of the color red, replacing it with something new.
Holding her breath, she watched Henry duck his head. When she felt the first touch of his lips between her legs, she moaned.
"I love you." Elizabeth said as the first tear rolled down her cheek. There would be plenty more shed tonight.
She ran her fingers through his hair as she stared up at the sparkling crystal pendant chandelier.