The porter deposits their bags in the hallway of the spacious suite in old-fashioned elegance; the dim lights, the lush carpet, the flickering warm fire in marble fireplace, the plush velvet of the seats, the dark mahogany wood on a bed, its size surpassing any they had seen before greeting their tired eyes. There are rare and flowing pieces of art everywhere, and since Tuscany may as well be the art capital of the world, it's no surprise.
"Anything else, signor?"
"No, everything's fine." Chuck hands the porter a twenty bill. "Shut the door on your way out."
"Ringraziarla, signor." Thank you, sir. The door shuts softly behind them, and they're finally alone.
His eyes are on her; they always are these days, and she's eyeing everything carefully, as if inspecting his choice of suite. Pleasure wells up in him and on impulse, he wraps her in his arms from behind, his lips on her graceful taut neck.
"How do you like it Mrs Bass?" he murmurs.
She pretends to be displeased. At least he thinks so. "Please stop calling me Mrs Bass."
"How do you like it, darling?"
"You've outdone yourself, Chuck."
"Good. I was hoping we'd spend most of our time here."
She turns and puts on a teasing, coy smile. "Not if I can help it."
"Oh, God, don't tell me you already made a schedule for us."
"As a matter of fact, I did. We can't miss any of the sites I planned for us."
"Are you serious?" he questions with a smile. He doesn't say that it doesn't matter where he goes, really, as long as it's with her. After all, they have only a week together. "And what about the plans I had, Mrs Bass?"
"Well, since we're married in your mind, I get to win," she replies as a matter-of-factly, teasing.
"And why is that?"
"Because the wife always wins, Chuck. You'd be too scared I'd leave you."
He winds his fingers around her waist, and somehow, a retort of winning only against Nathaniel comes to mind. But stopping to think, he realizes it may scare Blair into denial again, ruin their week. He bites it back and kisses her cheek affectionately.
"You're right," he tells her. "Whatever you want to do, we'll do it."
Her phone rings loudly, echoing in the room. She throws him an apologetic, quick smile, pulls her phone out and shuffles to the corner to answer it. He walks nearby to the bar and pours himself something that looks close to his dear Scotch, since he doesn't understand much of Italian, straining to hear her conversation. A few words are all he can make out: "fine, just arrived, okay, kids, Tuscany's great, hotel information, Anne." Chuck gives up after a few minutes and takes his glass of wine to the desk where he examines brochures and menus that bore him, except there's nothing to do.
"That was Nate," Blair explains a few minutes(too long, he thinks) after, a bottle of water and a pack of Strepsils in her hand. She gulps some water down and pops in one Strepsil tab.
He examines her face for a trace of fear, or withdrawal, or anything he should be warned against. But Blair has always been good at hiding herself, and all he can find is a smaller smile than the one he left on her.
"What now?"
"He just wanted to make sure I landed safely, like he always does when I fly out." She pauses and he leads her to the bed where they lie facing each other. "He's a good husband."
He keeps silent, pondering on the statement.
"Anne's staying over again. It's been difficult for her, sleeping alone in her bed without the Captain."
Funny, he's slept in an empty bed most of his life. Excluding those women he never really felt anything for, of course.
"Nate also said something about Daniel coming over. I think it's good for now that Audrey's being stubborn and refusing to accept his apology. Josiah wants a new lacrosse stick, and Nate says he received detention for fighting with this other boy who was insulting Audrey. He's a good brother."
Chuck shifts and tries to keep the bitterness from surfacing on his face. It isn't like he wants to, or needs to here this, her talking about her family while she's with him. Why can't she see that? The purpose of this trip is to figure things out alone, and yet she's still thinking of them. It's supposed to be just them, no one else.
He never would have predicted himself to be jealous of a little boy.
"I'm tired. Can we just sleep?" she breathes, and he finds that her eyes are looking straight into him. He looks away subtly, at her bare arm, and with his fingers trace her smooth, cool skin. His lips find their way to touch them, softly, and it's killing him, because he's had years without this. It isn't enough yet.
For a fraction of a second there, his eyes suddenly cross hers; somehow he feels she's figured him out in that time.
"Sorry," he mumbles, and stops. He shuts the lights and pulls the covers over them.
"What's wrong with you?" she whispers.
"I'm tired," he replies shortly, pursing his lips for a smile. "And you're right. We should just sleep."
"That's not it. Chuck, I know you."
He smiles ruefully and snuggles in closer, despite the size of the whole bed. Kissing her, he slides one of his hands under the snug covers and reaches for hers.
"Nothing. I'm just. . .I can't believe this is happening, that's all," he lies.
"Me too." And she gives a little laugh through her nose. "Who would ever believe I, of all people, would do this?"
He kisses her again. "Me. I know your dark side, Archibald."
A furrow appears quickly on her brow—he can see with the moonlight—at the last word he said.
"Are you still not going to tell me what you hope will come out of this?"
"No. If it happens, though I'll tell you," he whispers.
"Life is absurd."
"Life is absurd," he agrees, and closes his eyes. Maybe he should whisper a prayer of thanks for bringing her to him again. Maybe that would help him hold on to her, with divine intervention.
Later when he's sure she's asleep, and he still isn't, he tells her he loves her over and over and over again. It's all probably hopeless, he knows, but no matter, he's still going to fight for her to love him again.
TBC:)
Soon, I hope, since I don't know if they have English computers in China.