A/N: Obviously this is going to be an explicit chapter. Please see FFN for the censored version and AO3 for the adult version.
Trigger warning: Please note that this chapter includes the telling of a story that involves an intentionally disturbing sexually abusive adjacent scene. This scene is told from the perspective of one of the victims, and it focuses on their feelings and trauma sustained from this. Additionally, this chapter deals with heavy, murky conversations about consent. Some readers may find the content of this chapter genuinely triggering.
Birds of a Feather
The Curse of the Black Pearl
Chapter Fifty-Six
The Wedding Night
Carrying Syrena was a familiar action by now, one Philip rather enjoyed. So the manor was filled with laughter as he carried his bride appropriately bridal style up the grand staircase and down the hall to his- their room.
A few of the staff saw them on the way. Most appropriately averted their eyes, and some even blushed. But Philip could have sworn when they passed stiff lipped housekeeper and ever-present chaperone, Mrs. Tomlinson, she gave the couple a wink.
Syrena turned the handle and Philip eagerly kicked open the door. The room was as Philip requested: clean, clear, and lit by artfully placed candles.
When Philip set Syrena to the ground, she instantly pulled him by the cravat into a hungry kiss. His arms were around her in an instant. Philip could never tire of the taste of her lips, like sweet salt water he could become bloated on, always thirsting but never fully quenching.
She moaned in his mouth, not caring about who could hear them. In fact, she wanted them to hear her. She wanted everyone to know the care and pleasure this man – her husband – could bring. Syrena shivered as she thought about what more he would do to her that night.
"Are you cold?" he rubbed her arms to warm the shivers.
"No," she ghosted lips over his. "Although I wouldn't object to getting under the covers and finding something warm to do."
Something stiffened in Philip, and it probably wasn't something that should on his wedding night.
"Perhaps…" his eyes cast nervously about the room. They set on the white tail deer skin rug in front of the fireplace, "perhaps we could go enjoy the fireplace."
Syrena looked at him oddly but let him lead her by the hand to the rug. They sat down together, and the fire crackled loudly as the silence filled the room.
"You know, I shot this myself," Philip's fingers ran over the rug.
"Did you?" Syrena feigned interest.
It seemed to work, because Philip brightened and continued, "Yeah. You know when we moved here, I didn't think there would be deer, but then-"
He was silenced when he felt Syrena's hands on his shoulders. She lifted onto her knees and sidled behind her husband, moving in for a shoulder rub.
"Do you like this?" she purred in his ear. Her nose nuzzled his neck and Philip's head lulled back as a groan ripped from this throat. "Sounds like you do."
"Your hands on me," he babbled, fighting the confusing mass of emotions buzzing in his mind. "It feels so good."
Softly she bit his neck, "Tell me where to put them."
Philip's mouth felt dry, and no words came out.
Syrena cocked her head to the side but side nothing. When imagining his wedding night, Philip had probably always imagined himself the seducer not the seduced and that was probably why he was thrown off.
She moved her hands up his neck and then to him scalp. Syrena learned new noises of Philip as she found each unexplored spot. Her hand trailed down and untied his hair ribbon.
"There," she tossed the ribbon aside. "One piece down. My turn now."
Philip dumbly nodded and inspected his bride.
Instantly his mind filled with the image of what he knew was beneath that clothing. That beautiful, lithe body that was now his own to explore.
His hands shook at the thought and his breath quicken. Why was he nervous? He was a man on his wedding night. By all rights he should have thrown her on the bed the moment they entered the room.
"Philip?" Syrena asked. "Are you going to take something off me?"
He swallowed, "Uh, yes. Of course."
Noticing her hand on his shoulder, he got an idea. Tenderly he kissed the inside of her wrist and gently removed the red hibiscus bracelet.
"Alright," he dropped the bracelet to the ground. "Your turn."
Syrena shook her head, "You are such a tease. Come now. You have to do something more than that."
"If you insist." Philip turned around and pressed his lips to her, the roughness of his facial hair scratching her skin so pleasantly. He leaned forward and hands moved over her own shoulders. They encircled the back of her neck and unhooked the necklace. Philip drew back and dangled the necklace in front of her. "Another down."
Syrena rolled her eyes but had a huge grin on her face, "You are terrible. Come. Because of your dawdling, you now get to help me with my hair."
Philip laughed as she pulled him to his feet and towards the dressing table.
Weatherby Swann sat outside on the garden bench, watching the distant tide. He glanced vaguely upwards where the window to Philip's room was.
The night was clear and crisp. He nursed a glass of white wine by himself as he thought about what had happened that day and everything in his life that had led up to it.
It felt like it was just yesterday that he sat on another garden bench drinking white wine in the moonlight. Only back then he had a little sister with auburn hair to share with him.
"So you're really engaged?" Weatherby asked his sister.
The redhead sighed and sipped at her wine, "If not officially then soon enough. I meet the gentleman in a few days. A Cutler Beckett. Have you heard of him?"
"No, but if Father likes him-"
"I know, right?" Rebecca swirled the yellow liquid in her glass. "Maybe he'll be nice."
Weatherby cleared his throat, "You know, you don't have to do this."
"Yes, I do. It's the only way that I can get Father to ease up on Katherine."
"That's not your responsibility."
"Well, you weren't exactly doing a good job taking care of it, so I stepped in."
A cold silence fell over them.
"I'm sorry," Rebecca lowered her eyes. It was so rare to see her that submissive; she truly regretted it. "That was out of line."
"No, you're right, I have failed my wife," Weatherby took a long drink. "Ugh. Why do we choose white wine on these garden nights?"
"Because it's the only stuff I can get from the liquor cabinet without Father losing his mind over unladylike behavior. It's acceptable for a woman. Sweet and blonde, just like Katherine."
Weatherby chuckled, "You would think we could swap it out for a burgundy. Rich and red like you."
"I'll drink to that."
They clinked glasses and sipped at their wine.
"Maybe this is a good thing," Weatherby said hopefully. "Maybe this Cutler Beckett will be a good match for you. Katherine and I paired well."
"You picked her out." Rebecca sighed, "Although it's not like I have any prospects I had my eye on."
Just that moment, a clatter came from above. They looked up to see their new houseguest, Nathaniel Swift poke his head out the bedroom window. He spotted them and waved. Weatherby waved back while Rebecca gave him a cheers with her glass. Nathaniel retreated back into the room and shut the window.
"How long do you think he'll be around?" Weatherby asked.
"Hopefully not too long," Rebecca answered. "This house already has the position of biblical know it all filled."
Weatherby chuckled, but then his thoughts turned to why Nathaniel Swift had been invited to their home. How their reputation had changed after Lord Bartholomew got drunk at a dinner and in a rage thrown Katherine face first into a glass table in front of her own family. He remembered holding young Simon back, the blood running down Katherine's face, the curses that Rebecca had thrown at their father.
How he had failed Katherine so deeply that Rebecca decided to offer herself up like a lamb in the Old Testament.
"Do you think there are families out there who are happy?" Weatherby stared at the stars.
He felt Rebecca's head rest against his shoulder.
She whispered, "There has to be… somewhere. Right?"
"Somewhere," he bowed his head atop hers.
"Make me a promise, Weatherby."
"Anything."
"Our children… we never force our hand when it comes to their marriages."
Weatherby thought about it, and then nodded, "Agreed."
He sighed heavily as he remembered that promise. As he drank white wine alone on a garden bench, staring up at the stars, he thought about Philip's hasteful marriage and Elizabeth's previous engagement to Norrington.
Marriages he had forced.
"I'm sorry, Rebecca," he whispered to the Heavens. "I… I'm sorry for everything."
And a tear slipped down his cheek as the cold wind blew and he felt so alone.
"Oh, Philip."
Philip liked the sound of Syrena moaning his name. She was seated at his dressing table, his lips sucking at her neck. There was a spot he had found just under her right earlobe that made her moan in a fantastic way.
Her hair pins had been combed out by meticulous fingers that slid through the dark strands of silk. Red swollen marks marred her jaw from how many kisses he had tasted her with. He had found her neck had been doused in some unfamiliar floral scent that he did not recognize as one of Elizabeth's perfumes. (He would later learn that Rachel had suggested they run out and buy Syrena a perfume that specifically Elizabeth didn't wear as to not weird Philip out.)
"I want to touch you, my husband," Syrena groaned.
She twisted around in her chair and wrapped her arms around his neck. Syrena seductively pulled the bronze tricorn from his head and threw it towards the balcony. Where it landed, she didn't particularly care.
Philip knelt to the ground, causing himself to look up at her. She bent down with those rosy lips and claimed his mouth once more. Syrena moaned appreciatively when he slipped his tongue into her mouth and did that thing she so liked.
Suddenly, he lifted her into his arms – her own locking automatically around his neck – and he carried her over to the bed. The mattress bounced her slightly when she landed on the magenta silk sheets.
"These are nice sheets," Syrena ran her hand over them admiringly.
"Thank you, Penwall," Philip muttered, standing at the foot of the bed. He also noticed that the blanket had not been laid on the mattress, instead neatly folded up on the desk when they wanted it. Philip decided to give his valet a raise.
Syrena took his distraction as the moment to attack. She lifted on her knees and grabbed the ends of the ornate green and bronze jacket. Tiny bronze buttons declared themselves her enemy as they guarded the gateway to her husband a bit too well. After struggling for several moments, something flashed inside of her. Just a moment of Full Siren possessed her and she ripped open the coat, sending buttons flying about.
"Easy," Philip warned as he watched a button roll on the floor. "I don't want the next to be me."
"No. I want it to be me," she grabbed him and kissed all sense of thought from him. In that moment they were a united mass, no beginning or end, just bound as one in that singular kiss.
Philip had to pull apart to catch his breath. Syrena didn't let him take that long. Using strength Philip tended to forget she had, Syrena threw him down on the bed and crawled atop him.
She kissed him passionately again and then down his neck. Her feet nudged at his shoes, and then she bent down and pulled her own off. He took the hint and reached down to rid himself of his own. His breath caught when he saw her pull off her stockings from her legs and exposed that soft, tanned flesh he was far too familiar with already.
"Yours too," Syrena instructed, reaching for his own stockings.
Philip caught her hand and stopped her. Some warning bell hammered in his chest at the thought of Syrena touching so high on his body.
"I'll, uh, I'll do it," he hesitantly pulled off his stockings. Philip glanced at the discarded clothing on the bed and gently swept them to the floor. He considered leaving them in a neatly folded pile behind the dressing screen as he liked to do, but he was sure the servants would judge him more if he didn't leave his and his bride's clothing a mess on their wedding night.
"Here," Syrena gently unpinned the stomacher brooch from her front. "I don't want this to get broken or go amiss."
Philip nodded, finally recognizing his mother's brooch. Aunt Katherine's veil and hairpin they had very neatly placed in the boxes provided to be returned to the family vault. Philip looked from the brooch over to the portraits of his family on the bedside table. He thought about it for a moment, then pulled off his father's cross and swept the cross, brooch, and portraits all into the drawer for a little privacy.
"You know, you looked very handsome today," Syrena admired what was left of her husband's wedding attire.
"Not as eye-catching as you," he kissed her shoulder.
"Of course not. I was the bride."
Philip laughed and pulled her into his arms. She felt so right in them, and his mind felt so at peace.
My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.
For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone;
The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land;
For years he failed to understand the Song of Solomon, so lost in the literality of the metaphors. Yet as he held Syrena, peace and understanding came over him. She was his Rose of Sharon, his Lily of the Valleys.
But of course, that made him think of another verse; one that made him nervous.
My beloved is mine, and I am his: he feedeth among the lilies.
Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, turn, my beloved, and be thou like a roe or a young hart upon the mountains of Bether.
Philip knew what he was supposed to do next, but how could he be that young roe of the mountain with strength and virility? Syrena expected things from him that night, and all of the guests they had bid farewell expected it of him too.
He expected it of himself.
Then why were his hands shaking?
"Help me get this gown off," Syrena commanded.
Philip paled, "Wh-What?"
"My gown." She climbed off the bed and started attacking the front laces of her first layer of dress. "It is heavy and bulky and really too hot for the Caribbean."
Syrena stopped when she realized that Philip had not followed.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Nothing. It's just-" Philip didn't even know what he was going to say.
But Syrena suddenly smiled, "Oh, I understand."
"You- You do?"
Carefully she moved to the foot of the bed and leaned over his body alluringly.
Her breath was hot on his skin, "You want to watch me undress."
"I, uh," Philip croaked.
Syrena appeared to take that as a yes. She kept her eyes locked on his, burning dark with lust as slowly she untied lace after lace. Every movement was calculated to seduce and draw him in like that dark siren she was. Philip watched that lithe body sway around as she undressed for him.
Let marriage be held in honor among all, and let the marriage bed be undefiled, for God will judge the sexually immoral and adulterous.
This was his marriage bed. His marriage bed where he would take his wife into one flesh with him. God would judge him if he defiled his marriage bed… if he was sexually immoral.
The dress dropped to the ground with a heavy thump of fabric.
"Food is meant for the stomach and the stomach for food"—and God will destroy both one and the other. The body is not meant for sexual immorality, but for the Lord, and the Lord for the body.
She was so beautiful, and that shift was so thin. There wasn't much left until she was as bare as Eve in Eden. Philip wondered if Eve's body was even half the treasure he knew Syrena's body to already be.
Flee from sexual immorality. Every other sin a person commits is outside the body, but the sexually immoral person sins against his own body.
"Now it's your turn," she smirked seductively. She stood before him in shift, stomacher, stays, and nothing else. Soon enough it would just be the latter.
He wanted to see her again in that nothing.
But I say unto you, That whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart.
Ok, now he was being ridiculous. He couldn't commit adultery with his own wife. And she was his wife.
…Wasn't she?
Syrena crawled across the bed and settled between his knees. She placed a kiss on his lips, and he lost himself in her again.
What did having a wife feel like? Was it supposed to be something different than this? Yes, he had gone through with the wedding, but it still didn't feel like anything had really changed for them.
This still felt wrong.
Draw boundaries, allow yourself to slip up, go up to the line but not past.
Whatever turmoil his mind was having, it certainly wasn't reflected in his body.
Her hands worked the buttons of his shirt, this time being a lot more gentle with much more cooperative fastenings. Philip shuddered when she pulled the shirt apart to expose his slightly hairy and well toned chest.
"I have wanted to touch your body for so long," Syrena whispered. "Every time you held me against your bare chest, I just wanted to run my hands and lips all over it."
He caught her hands. She looked up at him quizzically, and when she saw how pale his face was, she finally clocked into what was happening.
"Philip?" she asked worriedly. "What is wrong?"
He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
The husband should fulfill his marital duty to his wife, and likewise the wife to her husband.
The wife does not have authority over her own body but yields it to her husband. In the same way, the husband does not have authority over his own body but yields it to his wife.
Do not deprive each other except perhaps by mutual consent and for a time, so that you may devote yourselves to prayer. Then come together again so that Satan will not tempt you because of your lack of self-control.
It was a sin to deny her this right.
"Are you alright?" Syrena asked.
"I-" Philip choked out. "I'm just a little nervous."
She looked at him, not entirely buying it. He gave an innocent shrug.
"Alright," she turned around. "Can you unlace my stays? They untie in the back, and I can't reach them."
"R-right."
Syrena pulled her gorgeous inky hair to the side and waited.
Philip reached out a hand and then pulled it back. It would not stop shaking. He could not stop shaking.
I don't want to do this.
The thought came through his brain like a shot. What on earth was that about? Of course he wanted to do this. He was a man on his wedding night. Frankly, he should be done by now.
But he didn't want to do it, just like how only two nights earlier during the thunderstorm he hadn't wanted to.
"Just think about what you would do if society let us. Nothing that would offend God, but how you would touch me if we were free."
He would have touched her that night, but he wouldn't have breeched those boundaries. Not yet. His whole life, sex had been something reserved solely for his wife. Now, in the blink of an eye, he was married and supposed to just give everything to Syrena.
His mind was whirling. In his heart, he loved Syrena, utterly, endlessly, devotedly… but wife wasn't yet a word that felt right upon her breast. She was Syrena Barbossa, not Syrena Swift. Not yet. One day, yes, she would be. But today wasn't it. Today was no different than yesterday when she had been fiancée, nor the literal day before that where she had simply been beau.
In forty-eight hours, his entire world had flipped upside down, and he wasn't ready yet to just like that new normal.
He needed time.
"I'm sorry," he bowed his head forward on her back. She smelled nice and her skin was soft beneath the shift. "I'm so sorry."
Syrena turned around, "Philip, it is okay. You are nervous. I am too."
"It's not just that."
"Then tell me how it is."
He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
She placed a hand on his cheek and softly said, "Go."
"What?" he frowned.
"Go outside. Take a walk. Get some air. Then come back here and tell me what you want."
"Syrena, I want you."
"I know," she smiled kindly. "But I don't think you're ready for me. That's okay."
"No, it's not."
"Yes, it is." Syrena took a deep breath, "If I came to you tonight and told you I did not wish to consummate our marriage yet, would that be okay?"
Philip stared at her in shock, "Of course it would be okay."
"And so it is the same for you," she spelled it out for him. "Go clear your head, My Love. I will wait as long as it takes."
He smiled at her, "I love you."
"I love you too. Now get out."
Philip chuckled, and then he kissed her cheek. Once he had located his shoes and refastened his shirt, he made for the exit.
Her tender voice rang across the room, "Philip?"
He stopped at the door and looked back at her.
"Did I do anything wrong?" Syrena asked.
"No," he shook his head. "No, this is entirely on me."
"Philip?"
He came to a stop from his pacing the garden as he found himself face to face with his uncle sitting on the garden bench.
"What are you doing out here?" Weatherby asked, empty glass of wine long since tucked under the bench. "I thought you and Syrena retired to bed."
"Oh, we did," Philip's face reddened. "I just needed some air after…"
Weatherby's eyes widened slightly, and his cheeks coloured in the same way as his nephew.
"Oh, I see," Weatherby couldn't meet his nephew's eye. "Well, it was your first time. There's no shame in it if you're finished already."
"What? NO! Uncle!" Philip exclaimed. Somehow he had managed to turn the already embarrassing situation into something worse. "It's not that, it's just… I haven't managed to get that far yet."
Something shifted in Weatherby's face, "Oh. I see. I'm sorry to hear that."
He shrugged, "Probably not as much as Syrena."
Weatherby let out a singular chuckle and shook his head. He patted the empty spot on the bench next to him. Philip sighed and joined, instantly accepting that doing so meant he was about to have a very awkward conversation.
"So," Weatherby began, "this inability to start. Are we talking mentally or physically? Because if you need me to send for the doctor-"
"Uncle, I love how supportive you are trying to be in this moment, but you have to stop before I die from embarrassment."
Weatherby let out a longer chuckle that time.
Philip sighed, "Ok, fine. It's mentally. I just don't know if I'm ready for this next step."
"I admit, I did push you into this change fairly fast. But considering the multiple conversations we had to have about appropriate physical affection while courting, I just assumed you wouldn't have any trouble."
"So did I. But I guess it's one thing to talk yourself into thinking a minor grope is okay and another thing entirely to… you know."
"Have sex?"
"Yeah, that." Philip rubbed his face, "Honestly, how did you manage to get through your own courtship with Aunt Kat without anything untoward happening?"
"She had five brothers and her estate was an hour away from mine on foot. There wasn't even a modicum of a chance for us to do anything. I didn't even kiss her until the carriage ride away from church."
"Yeah, but I doubt that you had much issue later that night."
Weatherby was silent.
"Uncle?" Philip asked curiously.
"You… might be surprised."
Philip cocked his head.
Weatherby looked far off at the ocean, "I think I understand what you're feeling right now. The pressure. The fear. The disappointing of your bride."
"I think you nailed it." Philip kicked at the dirt, "This must be the worst fully consensual wedding night of all time."
"No, that would have been mine."
Philip looked at his uncle.
Weatherby's jaw tightened, "I'm going to tell you a story that I have never told anyone, not even your mother. I charge you not to tell Elizabeth. She doesn't need to hear about this."
"Okay?" Philip said warily.
"I was nervous on my wedding night. Unlike so many of my peers, I had waited for marriage. Katherine was a bundle of nerves over the whole thing as well. She could barely look at me as we retired to the bedroom together. It was only when I told her about my own wait and fears that she started to relax."
"Oh, I see where this story is going," Philip brightened. "You're saying that Syrena and I should have open communication about this and that will make things so much better."
Weatherby was silent for a very long time, "Dear God do I wish that's how this story goes."
Philip shut his mouth. Sensing where else the story might go, a gross feeling climbed up his stomach the same way it did any time he heard a story about Grandfather Bartholomew.
"Katherine and I were just getting… comfortable, when the bedroom door opened and my father and her parents came in."
He stared at his uncle, "… You're not serious are you?"
"I really wish I was lying."
"Wh- Why would they be there? Did they want to… stop you?"
"Quite the opposite. They wanted to ensure that the marriage was consummated."
Philip's jaw dropped, "You can't be serious. He actually- I know Grandfather Bartholomew was awful, but surely-"
"He didn't want there to be any doubt," Weatherby clenched his jaw. He had never spoken about that horrid night before, and whatever emotion he had suppressed about it damn well needed to stay buried. "And he wanted to make sure that they weren't lying about Katherine being a virgin."
"But her parents? I can't see Agnes and Charles standing for that. Well… maybe Charles, but Agnes-"
"She seemed reluctant, but there wasn't much she could do about it. My father spelled it out very plainly when we tried to object and refuse. I told him that I would absolutely not consummate the marriage in front of him, and he told me that if we didn't, then he would call the whole marriage off and make public that it was because Katherine refused to consummate her marriage."
"I don't understand. Wouldn't people be more likely to side with her for the vile thing he was trying to do?"
"Not the way he was prepared to spin it. He was going to make it seem that the reason for the refusal was because Katherine wasn't a virgin."
"But… but weren't you refusing?"
"He was prepared to say that I was attempting to cover it up to save face," Weatherby explained. "Plainly put, he would make society think that Katherine was a whore and I was a cuckhold. He was prepared to destroy both of our families' reputations if we refused to let them confirm consummation via witnesses."
"Why wouldn't he just go on faith?" Philip asked. "Or-"
Philip grimaced as a thought occurred to him.
"What about the sheets? Wouldn't the bloody sheets be enough?"
"Sheets aren't always bloody," Weatherby said. "Not that Katherine at any point truly had her virginity in question. It wasn't about that."
Philip frowned, "What was it about?"
"Control. Power. Image," Weatherby answered. "The Skylarks knew that the marriage had been brokered because they had money and we didn't. My father wanted to make sure that they understood that they couldn't use their money as leverage against us. Katherine was becoming a Swann, and the Swann family was still in charge. Father wanted them to understand who had the real power, and he proved it by putting them in a position where the choice was ruining their family or humiliating their daughter. Katherine was always nothing but a pawn, and she was our pawn now."
Thinking of his beloved aunt being treated like some helpless puppet made Philip's stomach roil.
"And me," Weatherby continued. "It was a lesson for me too. A reminder that just because I now had a wife to run the house didn't mean that I would have a modicum more of power or respect from my father. I was the same I had always been, but now I would have a wife to be held against me. I married for the family, and I wasn't to get any notions that I was doing anything except for what benefited the family."
"But how did he expect you to… you know. Perform?"
Weatherby gave a dry laugh, "I'm a man. I'm supposed to always be able to perform. To always want to perform. You know, I used to thank god daily for the fact I was able to get Katherine pregnant so often because then my father could never hold it against me that I wasn't performing my marital duties."
Philip was quiet for a long time, "…Did you always want to?"
His uncle sighed, "Not that night. I would have done anything to get out of performing in front of my father and new in-laws. Thankfully Agnes was able to convince the men to allow us a thin blanket for modesty. But it was like he had been expecting it because he agreed on the grounds that Katherine was checked before and after for proof of virginity and proof that I had… fulfilled my end of the process. Then he was able to conjure up a midwife who had already been waiting to act as verifier."
"My God," Philip did the rare act of using the Lord's name in vain. "Poor Aunt Kat."
He nodded sadly, "It really affected our relationship in the first months of our marriage. We knew our duty, so we did set to our marital duties regularly… with some vigor I admit. But Katherine… Oh poor Kat was so paranoid that we were going to be interrupted again. It was three months before she let me see her above the sheets, and for the first six weeks she insisted that not only the door be locked, but that a chair be propped under the handle to barricade it."
Philip was utterly speechless. He wanted to be sick.
"Why?" he finally choked out. "Why would you tell me this story?"
Weatherby Swann looked his nephew in the eye dead serious, "Because, I want you to know that if you do not consummate your marriage on your wedding night, I will one hundred percent support you in that."
Philip blinked, "You will?"
"I rushed you into this marriage. If you are not willing or ready to take the next step in your relationship with Syrena, then that is absolutely okay. Your marriage will not be in any danger of annulment at any time, and you will not be any less of a man in my eyes. After all, it's one thing to talk yourself into thinking a minor grope is okay and another thing entirely to have sexual relations."
Watery eyes stared back at Weatherby. Eyes filled with gratitude.
"Philip," Weatherby whispered, putting a hand on his nephew's cheeks. "It's okay to not be ready."
"Is it?"
"Absolutely."
"I'm just… I'm scared. For my whole life it's been wrong. An awful sin that dirtied my soul. How do I just flip it around and embrace it with a woman that I don't even yet see as my wife?"
Weatherby sighed, "I don't have words of advice for you… but I know someone who does."
"What are you looking for?" Philip asked as he watched his uncle dig through the desk in his office.
"A wedding present for you," Weatherby checked another drawer. "Blast! Where did I set it?"
Philip just stared in confusion, "Uncle, I'm sure you bought me something lovely, but surely it can wait until the morning."
"Here it is!" Weatherby proudly held it out to his nephew.
He stared at it, "…a letter?"
"It's from your father."
Philip nearly dropped it, "What? How? Why?"
Weatherby explained, "When your Aunt Lucy married, she was heartbroken that her father wasn't alive to see her wedding. It affected Nathaniel deeply, and so he wrote you a letter for your wedding day in case he wasn't alive for it. He entrusted it to Katherine, your mother, and I – even let us read it – and I've held it on to it for you."
"Why didn't you give it to me earlier?"
"Like I said, I've read the contents, so I didn't want to put any ideas in your head if they weren't already there. I believe you'll find some words of comfort on page three."
Philip ripped open the letter – pausing for a moment to linger on his father's familiar handwriting – and then flipped through what appeared to be about seven pages of words of love and advice. There were headed topics like How to Be a Good Husband, How to Be a Good Father, How to Take Care of a Home, and oddly a topic Philip doubted his father had any practical advice on: How to Deal with Interfering In-Laws.
Wasn't his advice just "run away to Africa until they drop dead?"
Stopping on page three, Philip found the passage Uncle Weatherby had spoken of almost immediately.
How to Be a Good Lover
Sexual relations are not the work of the Devil. They are a sacred rite that you should not feel dirty expressing. Of course, they need to be expressed in the appropriate circumstance. God's word dictates that one should wait for marriage. If you have gone against that word, God will forgive you, and so will I.
But do not be afraid of relations when the time comes. There is the possibility of pain for your bride and embarrassment for you both. You can work through it, however. Be kind, tender, and loving to your bride. Do not rush ahead. Let her take the lead, but you also don't have to do anything you don't want.
I know that making that switch from sex is forbidden to sex is allowed may be a difficult transition. Take your time and make sure that both you and your bride are comfortable. Do not think of sexual relations as an evil sin. Personally, I like to think of it as manna from heaven.
The Lord provided the Israelites with manna as a blessing to be enjoyed, but it was to be enjoyed in a proscribed manner. The Israelites were told not to harbour it until morning, to only eat it on the day it was collected. Those that did not listen found it smelled and was full of maggots. It was vile and rancid and not meant for the body. This is how sexual relations are meant to be practiced: within the confines of marriage, it is a blessing but outside of that bond, it is accursed. So eat of your manna without guilt; fill your belly with this nourishment to the soul the Lord provides but do not stray from his instructions. Honour your wife, do not deprive each other except if you or your bride needs that time.
The letter went on, but Philip decided to save it for later. His father had provided the words that were needed that night.
For now, he had a mermaid to consult on the topic of bread.
When he returned to the bedroom, Syrena was seated at the dressing table, brushing her long hair. She had changed into a nightdress and dressing gown, and she looked a stunning display of light and dark.
Philip came up behind her. She must have heard him because she didn't react, just smiled when he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and kissed her neck.
"I love you," he whispered.
"I love you too," she giggled, turning in the chair to face him. "Now, are you going to show me that physically tonight?"
"…No."
Her face fell.
"Oh… okay. I understand."
Philip grabbed her hands, "Let me explain."
She nodded; she trusted him.
He took a deep breath, "Have you ever entered a body of cold water?"
"…What?"
"Like an ocean or a lake."
"Yes, I understood that part."
Philip sighed, "I'm explaining this badly. Look, when you enter cold water, there's usually two ways people do it. The first way is to give dive right in. Endure the cold and unpleasantness until your body adjust. Then there's people like me. We like to dip one toe in at a time and slowly go in, adjusting little by little until we're neck deep in the thick of it and enjoying every moment."
"I understand," Syrena keyed in to the metaphor. "Are you afraid of this cold water?"
"Not exactly. I know it will be wonderful to once I get in, but the actual getting in. It feels like I was sitting on a dock, dipping in my feet, and getting myself ready to submerge myself. Then suddenly someone has run up behind me and just shoved me straight into the water, unaware and unprepared. I'm splashing around in discomfort when I know that this was something I looked forward to. I had always thought I would have a decently long engagement, be able to adjust to the idea of being a husband and being intimate in an appropriate circumstance. And now-"
"Now you are drowning," Syrena said.
"…Yes." He sighed, "I'm so sorry, Syrena."
"No. It is alright, Philip. I can wait for you." She bowed her head against his. "After all. What is a mermaid for if not to save drowning men?"
Philip chuckled, "I'm sure your Sisters might disagree with that assertion."
"I do not think they would be fond of anything I have done today."
They laughed together and Philip pressed a kiss to the lips of his bride.
"Well then, my husband," Syrena smiled, "what would you like to do tonight? Would you just like to go to bed?"
Philip glanced back at the bed, "Maybe not entirely."
"Oh?"
"Well," he reddened slightly, "I was enjoying what we were doing the other night. Perhaps… perhaps we could take things from there?"
Syrena grinned, "I would be honoured."
Afterwards, when the pleasure they had generated from their still clothed selves had settled, they cuddled beneath the blanket together. Kisses were stolen and freely given between giggles and sighs.
"One toe at a time," Philip whispered.
Syrena nodded, "One toe at a time."
Someday Philip Swift would make love to his wife, but he needed a little more time.
And that was entirely okay.
A/N: So, yeah, let's talk about this chapter for a little bit. I felt it was very unlikely that someone as religious as Philip would be able to flick that switch and dive into his sexuality so fast. If you spend most of your life being told sex is wrong out of marriage, soon that becomes just sex is wrong. Then with Philip being rushed so quickly into marriage, he really doesn't have that adjustment period to get used to the idea of sexuality.
Essentially the difference between his feelings the night of the thunderstorm and the night of his wedding only has about a 48-hour turnaround, not a lot of time to spend getting used to the idea that sex is okay.
I've been intentionally laying pieces of foreshadowing showing that Philip isn't ready for this. Hopefully if you go back and reread the last few chapters, you can see that build up. Frankly, Philip doesn't actually want full on sex right now, and I felt that it would be interesting to show the combatting forces in his mind of religion forbidding sex, societal expectations saying he would absolutely want to have it on his wedding night, and Philip's own personal feelings on the subject.
I also felt it was important to portray a male sided version of the stereotypical wedding night scene where the virginal bride doesn't want to have sex yet and her groom so gallantly says they will wait until she's ready. Men are typically not portrayed with those feelings of just not wanting sex, and I felt it would be a very touching scene if Philip sought validation for these feelings from both his wife and his uncle and he was told he was no less of a man for not wanting it.
That said, don't worry, this storyline won't take too long. Syrena is going to get herself some from her husband before we even get to the execution. Ultimately, yes, Philip needs time but not a whole lot of it.