Change of Heart
By S. Faith, © 2011
Words: 59,705 (11 chapters in all) / 6,243 (this chapter)
Rating: M / R
Summary, Disclaimer, Notes, Style Note, etc.: See Chapter 1.
Chapter 11: Change of Heart
It was a bit strange to Mark to wake up in a bed that was not in the home in which he had lived for so long, and he had a moment of utter discombobulation before he remembered he was at Bridget's. He glanced to his side to see Bridget was still fast asleep. He smiled, leaned and pressed a kiss into her temple before rising from the bed.
He dressed in his clothes from the day before, went to the bathroom to splash water onto his face, then headed for the kitchen intend on making some coffee, which should have been a relatively simple task. It wasn't.
First there was the matter of finding the coffee itself: eventually he realised by smell alone that it was in an old biscuit tin in the pantry with the sweets. Next was the search for coffee maker—how an object which was used daily could be so well concealed was beyond his understanding.
He heard a chuckle behind him. Aidan.
"Morning, Dad."
Mark turned around with a sheepish grin. "Don't suppose you know where the coffee maker is."
Aidan went to a cupboard over the range. "It fits up there perfectly and anything else small would get forgotten as being out of sight."
"Why not just leave it on the counter top?" he asked as his son pulled it down.
"Mum claims she'll drink less coffee that way," he said, "but I suspect she just ends up buying more cappuccinos at the café." Mark laughed as he got the coffee set up to brew. "At least this bizarre coffee maker storage rationalisation won't be in effect for much longer," Aidan added. "At least… I hope it won't."
Mark grinned. "That's my hope too," he said, "but I haven't talked to your mother about it yet." It occurred to Mark at that moment that he had not kept his promise from the night before. "You know, Aidan, you deserve to know the full truth of what you saw in the office, what actually happened," said Mark, "or rather, didn't happen."
Aidan looked perplexed. "What didn't happen?"
"Despite what you thought you saw, I did not sleep with Portia that night," he said.
Instead of the look of surprise Mark expected or an indignant demand to know why his father was lying, Aidan only gave him a little smile. "I… actually thought you might not have."
It was Mark's turn to be shocked. "What?"
"Well, obviously at first I thought you had," said Aidan, running his hand over the hair at the nape of his neck in a very familiar manoeuvre. "But then… well, I saw that picture of Mum with her pregnant belly still on your computer desktop and… well, to keep that there… didn't make sense in light of what was supposed to have happened. I guess I'd been too angry to notice the little things that didn't add up, angry at you, angry at me… and feeling guilty because you had been fighting about me. But the picture got me to thinking, and then… well, I was talking to Marilyn… and she totally agreed that you were, and I quote, 'obviously' still in love with Mum, so I knew I'd been right."
Mark was about to ask why he hadn't spoken up sooner, but if Mark had himself believed it to be true, then there would have been no point in Aidan saying a thing. "You know that if I had realised it sooner, or ever, I would have said so." Mark shuddered to think of the path he might have taken if not for Sebastian's interference. "I didn't remember what happened; what you'd said you'd seen was pretty damning… and Portia herself told me we had."
"Ugh," said Aidan. "Two-faced, backstabbing, conniving cow… I never really liked her and I'm glad we won't have to put up with her anymore."
Mark laughed, then affected a mock-stern tone to say, "Respect your elders, son." This caused Aidan to laugh too.
"After all," Aidan said with the same tone, "cows are holy in parts of India."
The two of them were still chuckling when Bridget appeared, blinking sleepily and looking confused. "What's so funny?" she asked. "I could hear you clear up to the foyer."
"Nothing, love," said Mark, slipping his arm around her waist and kissing the top of her head. "Nothing at all."
…
Despite her implied desire to take things slowly in their reconciliation, they were very nearly inseparable after that Sunday afternoon. They did have dinner the next night, which resulted in their spending the night together in the master bedroom at the Holland Park house.
"When will you move back?" he asked as they laid there in the dark.
"Oh, Mark, I don't want to move back here," she said matter-of-factly.
He froze. "You don't… what?" He pushed himself up, switching on the bedside lamp. She pushed herself up as well.
"It's contaminated, Mark," she said. At his expression she burst out into a laugh. "I'm kidding, Mark. It's just that I really like having a pastel blue house—" He must have looked apoplectic, for she laughed again. "I really am kidding. We'll come back here. There are too many memories, and I really sort of miss this bed. Besides, we can always paint this house blue—"
"Nearly gave me a heart attack, you naughty girl," he growled, then pinned her down to the pillow to kiss her. "Don't ever stop."
She kissed him again, then smiled. "Though you know, perhaps I shall set fire to the guest room bed."
He laughed once more. "I am very grateful," he said.
"For what exactly?"
"Well, lots," he said. "But right now I'm particularly grateful for a son old enough to keep an eye on his younger sister."
"Mm," she said, obvious pleasure in her voice. "So am I."
She then proceeded to show him the depths of that gratitude.
…
When Mark called to advise his mother about the reconciliation—and about how the split was based on a complete fabrication—she went stone silent for many minutes. "Oh, Mark," she said. "It relieves me greatly, though I must be honest and say I feel a little ashamed that I thought you were ever capable of such infidelity."
Bridget informed her own parents and their reaction was similar; in fact, Pam demanded to talk to Mark and when she got on the line she cooed over him so effusively that he actually began to blush a little.
Aidan and Lizzie were obviously excited: that their parents were reuniting, obviously, as well as that they would be returning to the house in which they'd grown up. Bridget took care of subletting the rental house through the end of the lease agreement, and made arrangements for movers to bring their things back to Holland Park. Unfortunately the movers could not come any sooner than the second week of June. "That's okay," said Bridget. "We'll just pack our bags full of the important stuff, and come back now."
For his part, Mark got to work immediately at halting the bureaucratic nightmare in which their divorce proceedings had most providentially gotten caught. Besides this very critical action, there were two other things to which Mark had to attend.
The first was to pick up the car they had purchased for Aidan. Bridget insisted in pitching in half from her own money; he decided not to put up a fight.
The second took a little bit more in terms of arrangements; tracking down a certain address without his wife's help, then taking time from his work day to pay said address a visit.
As the door swung open, the expression of astonishment was about what Mark expected.
"Hello Sebastian," Mark said. "Sorry to drop in so unexpectedly like this, but I felt it necessary."
"To take me by surprise?" he said with a grin. "Well, mission accomplished. Please, come in." He stepped aside to allow Mark passage. "To what do I owe the honour?"
Mark had been giving a lot of thought to what he might say to Sebastian since the events of that Sunday, which seemed an age ago but was in actual fact just four days prior. "I just wanted to express," Mark began, "a very heartfelt thank you."
"You're welcome, Mark," he said. "I felt an obligation to the truth… and to Bridget's happiness."
Mark only understood then that while Bridget had never considered her relationship with Sebastian very serious, it seemed quite obvious Sebastian did; he held up a good façade, but it was not something that was easy to sustain, and it was starting to show signs of strain. "I know how hard that must have been for you," Mark said, "sacrificing your own happiness in the process."
"I couldn't have lived with myself if I hadn't."
Mark held out his hand, and Sebastian accepted it. "Thank you," Mark said again, "for your honesty and generosity. I would be honoured to call you friend."
Sebastian grinned. "Perhaps we liberals aren't so bad, eh?" he joked.
"Not so bad at all," Mark said. "After all, I've loved one unconditionally for more than twenty years."
Sebastian smiled. "You don't mind then, do you, if I drop by the house to drop off a gift for Aidan's birthday?"
"Not at all," Mark said. "In fact we're having a little birthday cake with lunch on Saturday. You're welcome to join us. You've been such a feature in the children's lives—"
"I appreciate the offer," he interrupted gently, "but I will have to think about it."
Mark felt suddenly foolish for even having asked. "I understand. Well. I'm sure we'll meet again soon."
"I'm sure we will, my friend," said Sebastian. With that, Mark departed.
…
Mark's return to chambers after reuniting with his estranged wife was interesting to say in the least. The majority of his partners seemed very pleased for him, excepting perhaps Horatio, but that did not surprise him. Portia regarded him, treated him the air of someone wanting to punish him, as if perhaps she anticipated he would beg her to take him back; in other words, she ignored him. These tactics of hers worked to Mark's satisfaction completely. In fact, he was quite grateful for them.
It was fortunate that Aidan himself had garnered so little media attention, even though the story continued to spiral out of control; wealthy, influential parents began to speak out and call for Victor Hawthorne to step down. Even more children stepped forward, not just for being bullied by Ethan, but by his two male cousins as well. Hawthorne's political career appeared to be over.
Mark, however, cared more about his son's seventeenth birthday as the month of March wound down.
On that Saturday morning immediately after breakfast, Mark and Bridget invited Aidan down to the street. "Mind a little walk?" Mark asked.
"No," he said, visibly confused.
In her infinite curiosity, Lizzie naturally joined them. They began to walk together, Lizzie tailing behind until Mark stopped and turned to face his son. He thrust his hand into his pocket. "I have something for you."
"Oh?"
"Mm," said Mark, then folded his fingers around the set of keys there. "Yes." He pulled out his hand and held it towards Aidan. "Here you are."
"What?" Aidan asked as the keys landed with a jingle in his hand. "This is—" He froze then looked to his father. "You didn't."
"We did," said Mark with a grin, then tilted his head towards the economical little blue Fiat Panda parked at the kerb.
"That's… mine?" asked Aidan. "I'd seen it but… I just thought it was a neighbour's."
"That's yours," confirmed Bridget.
Aidan went up to the window and looked inside. "Like James Bond's," he said reverently.
Mark chuckled. "We can have a spin 'round the block if you like," he said.
Aidan turned with a wide grin. "Yeah."
Mark glanced to Bridget. "Do you mind?"
"Ooh, let's go!" said Lizzie.
"Go ahead," she said with a wink, more than happy to allow this father-son time. "We'll wait here."
"Mum!" protested Lizzie; as the men climbed into the car, he heard Bridget say something quietly to her daughter in a mildly conspiratorial tone.
Aidan took the wheel, started the car, and they were off for their short jaunt. Mark was impressed at his skill for such a young age, and said so to his son. "Thank God you didn't take after your mum in that respect," he joked.
For the briefest flash of a moment Mark thought he'd gone over the line and insulted Bridget in Aidan's eyes, but unlike that awkward comment over lunch with Portia, Aidan grinned, then laughed. "I'm glad you drive when we go out, to be honest," he said. "Mum's a bit of a nightmare driver."
"A bit," Mark agreed. "Of course, this is just between you and me."
"Of course," said Aidan.
Aidan displayed his ability yet again when parking the little car; easier than a sedan, to be sure, but parallel parking could be a challenge for even experienced drivers. Bridget and Lizzie still stood there awaiting their return, and only when the car's engine was disengaged and the two of them emerged did Bridget smile.
"How'd it go?" asked Bridget.
"He's an ace driver," said Mark.
"Well," said Bridget, "no talking on the mobile whilst driving, and especially no texting. No call, no message, is worth a—"
"I know," said Aidan resignedly, then turned to hug her. "Thank you so much. I'm just… overwhelmed."
"You're a good son," she said, "and you deserve it."
Next Aidan turned to Mark, who accepted a hug. "Thanks, Dad."
When they went back into the house Aidan went to his room to get primped for his big day, but Lizzie went down to the kitchen with her mother and father. "I can help," she said with a grin.
"Lizzie, darling, you don't need to," said Bridget, looking to Mark with some concern. He knew from what this concern stemmed, because he had observed it himself: Lizzie had been spending an inordinate amount of time with the two of them since they had reunited.
"But I want to," she said.
"Darling," said Bridget. "You know that we're back to stay, don't you?"
"I know," she said.
"You don't really need to be around us whenever we're home together," Mark added.
"I know," she said again, but looked down. "I just like seeing you together, here at home, back to normal." Mark could see her lower lip trembling. With the way Bridget reached out to touch her shoulder, she obviously knew something as wrong, too.
"Lizzie, what is it?" asked Bridget.
She looked up at Mark then Bridget with glossy eyes. "I just—" she began quietly. "I never thought it could happen before and what if it happens again and there's something I could have done if I'd only been there—" She then burst into tears, and as she did, Mark realised that not only had her foundations been shaken to the core by the near-divorce, but she felt guilty for not having done more to prevent it and scared it could happen again. From the expression on Bridget's face, she had not been aware of this, either.
"Oh, darling," Mark said, reaching for his daughter, enfolding her tightly into his embrace. He looked to Bridget as he kissed Lizzie on the top of the head.
"I just had to make sure," Lizzie said between sobs.
Mark stroked his daughter's hair. "Sometimes things are said in the heat of anger that one doesn't truly mean," he said tenderly. "I have already apologised, and your mother has accepted… not that I don't intend on making it up to her for the rest of my life." Bridget smiled, her own lower lip quivering. He held an arm out and Bridget joined the embrace. "I can solemnly promise you," Mark continued, meeting Bridget's gaze, "that there is no one else for me but your mother. No one else I will ever love the way I love her. No one else I would ever want."
He saw a tear spill out over Bridget's lower lid. "And there's no one or nothing that will take me from your father, Lizzie, save maybe alien abduction."
Lizzie chuckled then tightened her embrace. "Almost sounds like the world's weirdest wedding vow there," she said.
"But do you feel better?" Mark asked.
Lizzie replied in a far more easy tone, "Yeah. I do."
"I'm glad," said Bridget, then kissed her daughter's cheek with the turn of her head. "So, as regarding lunch, if you like, you may help as much as you like."
"Okay," said Lizzie, then released her dad to stand up straight, then sniffed. "We'd better get started then."
Mark raised a hand to brush the wetness away from under one of Bridget's eyes, then the other. "We'd better," he said, then smiled.
The three of them proceeded with sandwich production using cookie cutters to make the sandwiches into as many fun shapes as possible. "The odd bits and ends are fun too," declared Lizzie.
"You know, our son has turned seventeen, not four," teased Mark.
"Oh, I know," Bridget teased back. "I was there."
When Aidan arrived to the kitchen with the newly arrived Marilyn as well as Daniel, they all began to chuckle. "I love the star-shaped ones!" said Marilyn.
"Let's set up the table and eat," said Bridget. When Aidan began walking along with his sister towards the cupboard, she added, "Not you Aidan, it's your birthday." She made a clucking sound at Daniel, who made to take a seat. "Daniel, it wouldn't kill you to carry the plates over."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Mr Darcy," said Marilyn, turning to Mark with a smile. "Really good to see you again." If Mark didn't know any better, he would have called her expression 'smug'; perhaps it was.
"Good to see you, too," he replied.
"Aidan showed me his present," she said. "Wow."
"I expect you'll get to ride in it a great deal," he said. "Come, let's sit."
"I think so," she said as she took her seat. "He wants to take Lizzie and me to Grafton Underwood as soon as he can."
Mark wondered why Grafton Underwood specifically—it was not exactly a hot spot for teenagers—but didn't have time to ask because Bridget came back to the table with the last of the lunch fixings, a bowl of crisps and Coke at Aidan's request, as she said, "Here we are."
Mark was on his second sandwich, a heart this time, when he heard a tapping on the French doors simultaneous to Bridget smiling and rising from her seat. Mark turned to see Sebastian standing there with a gift in hand, waving at them through the glass. Bridget swung the door open. "What excellent timing! Please come in!" As he did she held her arms out to him for a big hug, which irrationally set off a wave of jealousy through him as Sebastian hugged back a little too tightly, and too long; after all, she had slept with the man before he had ever actually slept with Portia. "I'm so glad to see you," she said, drawing back. "And you remembered Aidan's birthday. Come have some lunch with us."
Sebastian looked to Mark, slightly confused.
"I'm pleased we can still be friends," Bridget continued, glancing towards Lizzie and Aidan. "I mean… you know. But this is such a nice surprise."
He nodded. "I'm pleased too," he said. "But I cannot claim to have incredible lunch-based intuition. Mark told me I could drop by, and I did have this for you, Aidan." He held up the present he bore.
Now it was Bridget's turn to look surprised. "Mark? When did you speak to Mark?"
"He came to see me," said Sebastian. "And I… have a feeling I shouldn't have just mentioned that."
"No, it's fine," said Mark. "I didn't say anything because I didn't think it mattered if I did. It was just something I needed to do."
"It isn't as if he punched me in the face, Bridget," said Sebastian jovially.
At this, Lizzie chuckled and Daniel commented with a laugh, "It wouldn't be the first time he'd done."
Sebastian raised a brow, but said only, "Mark just came by to reiterate that he'd like it if we all remained friends."
"Oh," said Bridget, then turned to Mark with a slightly sheepish smile for him.
As Sebastian helped himself to a couple of the small sandwiches, some crisps and a can of cola, Daniel took a long sip from his beverage, popped a sandwich end into his mouth, then stood and handed Aidan the gift bag he'd come in with. "Wish I could stay longer," he said, "but I've got an appointment."
"Oh, with Kate?" Bridget asked brightly. Mark could only speculate that this was perhaps one of her friends. He would ask later.
"Er, no."
She pouted. "Well, we're glad you could stop by at all," said Bridget.
"Should I open this now?" asked Aidan, shaking it a little.
Bridget's eyes widened; Mark thought he knew why, because the rustling within sounded very familiar, but surely Daniel wouldn't have bought that for him. Bridget warned, "Aidan, I would wait."
"No, no, by all means, my seventeen-year-old godson," Daniel said, "open it right now."
Aidan's curiosity overrode his common sense and he tore into the bag and pulled out a handful of its contents. They were long strips of—
"Oh God," said Aidan, flushing deep crimson and dropping them back into the bag. Mark's guess had been right; they were a variety of condoms gleaned from several different boxes. Marilyn also flushed bright pink, looking as if she wanted to crawl away and hide in the closet. Lizzie seemed confused and Mark was not inclined to clear it up at the moment. For his part, Daniel was grinning like a devil.
"I thought who better to furnish them to you," said Daniel, "then a connoisseur such as myself?"
Bridget was blushing too, but was also smiling. "I tried to stop you," she said, placing her hand over her son's.
"I should have known better," Aidan muttered.
"Happy birthday, my boy," said Daniel, bending to kiss him on the head as if he were a small child. "Despite my resolutely wicked ways," he said, "I do think of you as the son I never had. Well. Have a good day. And night."
"Goodbye, Daniel," said Mark. "Thanks for stopping by."
After he headed up the stairs, Bridget tried to lighten the mood. "He really is sort of appalling at times, isn't he?"
"Sort of, yes," said Mark. "But this is not a surprise."
"He'd better not have been appalling to Kate," said Bridget.
"Here," said Sebastian, handing him the gift he'd brought. "I can promise you that this will not make you wish you could evaporate out of the room."
With a chuckle Aidan accepted the gift.
"Before you open it," Sebastian said with a grin, "you have to promise me that it's not going to end up on eBay."
This very obviously piqued Aidan's interest. "Of course it won't," he said quickly.
"You say that now," joked Sebastian. "Go on, open it."
Aidan tore away the paper, and was stunned by what he saw. "What… what's this?" he asked; even as he did, he must have known what it was. From the relatively plain cover design to the bright red "uncorrected reader's proof" stamped across the front, as well as Sebastian's own last name running down along the spine, it had to be an advance copy of his next book. "Oh, wow," Aidan breathed, then looked up.
"Couldn't think of anyone whose opinion I'd like more," Sebastian said, and it was clearly heartfelt.
"Really?" he asked.
Sebastian nodded.
"I'll start right away."
Sebastian chuckled. "It isn't a school assignment," he said. "Besides, it's your birthday, and I understand you have some fun things planned for later?" The way his voice lilted up turned his statement into a question, and Aidan went on to explain the evening's plans. Mark's attention was distracted by the feel of Bridget's hand covering his. He turned to look at her. She leaned forward.
"Lizzie is going to stay over at Annie's," she whispered, then smiled.
Instead of cake Bridget had picked up some decorated fairy cakes; there was singing and the blowing out of candles, as well as receiving presents from Lizzie and his girlfriend before Aidan and Marilyn decided it was time to go meet the rest of their friends. "I'll probably be late, Mum, Dad, so don't wait up," he said with a smile. It was like he was in on some kind of plot, which was just as well, as Mark had some other overdue business to which he needed to attend.
"Be careful," said Bridget.
"I always am," said Aidan, then gave each of his parents a big hug in turn. "I love you."
"Love you too."
Aidan looked to his sister. "Get your things, Lizzie, and we can go with you over to Aunt Jude's."
"They're all ready to go," she said, then hugged her mother and father. "Bye."
"Love you, Lizzie," said Bridget. Mark only closed his eyes and squeezed her tightly against him.
That left Sebastian, who knew it was his cue to go. "Thank you for inviting me," he said, holding his hand out to shake Mark's. Mark nodded in acknowledgment.
"Thank you for coming," said Bridget. "I know it meant a lot to him to see you, and that book… what an honour."
"He's a bright kid, and knows my work well," said Sebastian. "And I don't think he'll sugar-coat any faults he finds with it." He turned to Bridget, took her hands, then leaned and pecked her cheek. "Always a pleasure to see you."
"Until next time."
"And if you'd like to read it when Aidan's done," he said, "you're welcome to do so."
With that Sebastian left the way he'd come in.
"I'm sure he meant you," said Mark. When she didn't reply, he looked to her to find her studying him scrupulously. "What?"
"There is no need for you to be jealous," she said softly.
"You were never in love with him?" Mark asked, feeling a little embarrassed that he'd been so transparent.
"No," she said. "He's a good friend, a kindred spirit, but not my soul-mate, my other half."
Mark was not so sure Sebastian could say the same, but rather than say that, he opted for silence.
"So where would you like to go for supper?"
"I don't want to go out," he said.
"Mark," she said with a wounded expression. "You're not really upset, are you?"
"You misunderstand, love," he said, reaching his hand out to her. "I want to have dinner here at home with you. I have four months of missing you to make up." At this her face lit up with a smile; she look his hand and folded into his arms. "In fact," he said, "for old time's sake I think I'd like to order a pizza and shag on the rug in front of the fireplace."
She laughed. "It's hardly the dead of winter."
He kissed her. "Metaphorically speaking."
She kissed him back. "How flexible are you on the order of those two things?" she asked with a giggle. He kissed her again, considered her question, and realised he was still rather quite full from lunch.
"Very flexible," he murmured.
She pushed back and laughed. "Were you actually thinking about it?"
"As if there were a choice," he said. "Though we might wish to lower the blinds."
"Hm." She glanced around the room, then took his hand and stepped back, tugging forward. "Let's just go upstairs instead and take advantage of the acreage of our massive bed, shall we?"
"I suppose," he said, "but why?"
"Well, you know," she said with an impish grin, "you're getting too old to shag on the floor."
"I beg to differ," he said, tugging her hand back, pulling her up against him and devouring her with a kiss. He backed her into the lounging area, pulling her skirt up as he reached for the buttons on her shirt. He had always loved making love to her, had missed it desperately. He was also grateful that she had found someone who truly cared enough for her happiness that he had been willing to let her go; Mark realised in that moment he would have done the same, had she truly loved Sebastian. He paused in unbuttoning her shirt to draw his fingers along her skin, meeting her eyes.
"Is something wrong?" she asked.
"Not at all," he said. "Just thinking how fortunate I am." He reached to cup her face. "I… I always thought of you, Bridget. Always."
He watched her mouth curl into a smile, then she laughed.
"What's so funny?"
"You must have a very good imagination, then," she said, "to successfully pretend she was me."
He laughed too. "Not good enough." He grasped her hips, felt the welcome padding beneath the pads of his fingers, and made a sound of appreciation. "To me you are perfect," he growled, and with that he pulled her down onto the plush rug there.
Obviously it had not been their first tryst since reuniting, but he certainly didn't relish it any less. Every breath, every sigh, every bump that raised to meet his fingertips fuelled his passion, and in very short order had her pinned beneath him in front of the cold hearth.
In the end, after reaching a quite satisfactory climax, he retreated a little to take her in: her hair was splayed about her face, her eyes were closed, her cheeks were rosy, her lips slightly parted. Her shirt was open, her breasts bared and heaving as she recovered her breath. Perfect, he thought again.
She opened her eyes and sighed. "You've found the fountain of youth, have you?" He chuckled then pushed himself outright; a jolt of pain shot through his lower back and he couldn't hide it as it happened. She then chuckled. "Guess not."
He couldn't help laughing, either. She sat up, then took him in her arms and gave him a kiss.
"I suppose you have," he said with a grin.
"Hmm?"
"You're not sore."
"Mm," she said noncommittally.
"You aren't."
"Well, I didn't want to make you feel bad," she said with a smirk.
"Chuh," he said. "I suppose I was a bit more active in the process."
She tapped him lovingly on the shoulder and laughed.
They ordered a pizza for delivery and popped in a disc, spending the hours as the day faded into night with wine and pizza, a couple of fluffy films, and lots of physical touch: caresses, kisses, cuddling and just being together.
When he took her upstairs, to the bed they had slept in together the previous night, had made together that morning and would again the next, he grasped her shoulders, stroked them with his thumbs before bending to kiss her. He realised he was thinking of this time together as a sort of second honeymoon, and thus wished to treat her accordingly, with love, tenderness, and reverence.
A second honeymoon as such required something very special.
"Where are you—what are you doing?" she asked as he broke away and went over to the bureau.
"You'll see," he said with as much mystery in his voice as he could manage.
"Mark," she said impatiently.
"Patience, my love." He returned to the bed with the object of his search in his palm, hidden completely from view. "I have something for you," he said quietly. "I'd intended to give this to you… well. In December."
She furrowed her brow, then looked down as he held up his hand, which he turned over, palm up, before straightening out his fingers. She gasped then looked up to him.
"Oh, Mark," she said, tears in her eyes.
In his palm rested the ring he'd bought for her for their eighteenth anniversary. He picked it up, took her left hand, then slid it onto her ring finger, where it nestled comfortably against the wedding band she had taken to wearing once again. He had forgotten how stunning it was: a band inset with small diamonds and at the centre, a larger one cut in a princess style.
"I don't know what to say," she said, her hand trembling as she inspected it more closely. "It's amazing."
"Happy anniversary," he said, "even if it's a bit late."
She jumped up and threw her arms around his neck. "Better late than not at all," she said, sobbing happily into his shoulder.
…
"Not Katie too, Daniel."
Daniel had the good grace to look embarrassed. "She was very sweet and very receptive, but… not really my type."
Mark chuckled, overhearing this conversation between his wife and his friend. Bridget had filled him in on the fact that she had been concerned for Daniel, feared that he might soon end up eaten by Alsatians, so had been trying to fix him up with some of her single acquaintances. He had pointed out what a terrible idea it was knowing what she did about Daniel's personality, and that she had also been doing what she'd always hated her Smug Married friends doing; she'd sniffed haughtily and had said that what she was doing was different. Mark had not pressed for details, merely shook his head and considered what an ill-conceived idea it was; apparently, however, he had been correct as thus far Daniel had only taken them out, then shagged them, never to call again.
In the present, though, as they all had a light lunch together in the kitchen while the children were at school, she only shook her head.
"I'm giving up, Daniel," she said. "I'm just going to buy you a dog for your next birthday."
Mark laughed. "An Alsatian?" he asked.
"Yes," she said defiantly. "I'm starting not to care if you get eaten by one, and in fact, wish to make the whole process that much easier."
At this both men laughed. Daniel raised his coffee cup and took a sip. Mark heard the telephone start to ring; thinking it might be the travel agent with information about the trip, the actual second honeymoon, with which he planned to surprise Bridget, he excused himself, got up and reached or then placed the cordless receiver to his ear.
"Mark Darcy speaking," he said. The voice that responded was not the one he expected to hear.
"Mr Darcy, sir. Glad to have reached you. Your assistant said you'd be reachable at this number."
It was not the travel agent. "With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?" Mark asked; the change in his tone caught both Bridget and Daniel's attention, and they stopped speaking, instead watching Mark intently.
"My name is Morley, sir. Jeremiah Morley." The name seemed vaguely familiar to Mark, and when Morley continued, he realised why; he'd seen it in the papers. "I've just been brought on board as the new headmaster of Eton College."
"I see," Mark replied. "How may I be of assistance?"
"In an effort to… undo past wrongs, I am reaching out to you, to your son, to offer him a place with us again."
Mark felt stunned; Aidan back at Eton? It was what he'd wanted from the start; in fact, what he'd wanted since his the moment he'd learned he'd have a son. In a flash of clarity, however, he knew what his answer would be. He had spent too much time putting tradition ahead of his son's happiness, too much time thinking he'd known what was best for Aidan, for Lizzie, when it had been Bridget all along who'd known, who'd been right.
It was time to break from that tradition once and for all. It was time to forge his own rules for living.
"While I appreciate the offer," Mark said cordially, "I must decline. My son is excelling where he is now, thriving. He is quite happy in his schooling situation, and I am happy to keep him there." Bridget was suddenly at this side, touching his arm. He glanced to her. She appeared to be in disbelief.
Headmaster Morley did not say anything immediately; he seemed to be at a loss for words. "Ah," he said. "I am… surprised by your answer, if I can be frank."
"I imagine you are," he said. "Good day, sir. My best in rebuilding your school to the standards to which it once was known." With that he disconnected the call, then looked to his wife, who appeared to be utterly shocked.
"Was that…?" she began. He nodded. "Did you just…?" He nodded once more.
"Eton wanted Aidan back," he said. "I said no."
"Well, smack my arse and call me Judy," said Daniel from his position at the table; Mark had nearly forgotten he was there. "Old dogs can be taught new tricks after all."
Mark was certain Bridget would have an Alsatian-related retort ready for Daniel, but she only leapt up and threw her arms around her husband's neck. "Oh, yes," she said quietly, squeezing tightly. "Yes, they fucking can."
The end.
Disclaimer: Eton College is used here in a fictional context. The people here do not exist, the events described here did not occur and any resemblance to actual people and/or events is entirely coincidental.