Chapter Three: Second Honeymoon III
Wednesday, March 18, 1987
"Good morning, Angela," several women in the water aerobics class called out from the pool.
"Am I late?" she asked the instructor.
"Right on time," Ariel replied.
"Nice to see you," Angela told Helga, as she found a spot far enough away from other guests. It struck her as quite funny that the German woman's swimsuit was so modest, with a jewel neck and ruffled skirt. Later that afternoon, she was sure Helga and Klaus would be letting all their parts flop around in the clothing optional section of the resort.
The class started with a gentle warmup, as usual. Angela appreciated the breeze that fanned over the water and past her flushed cheeks and chest. She hoped she was just feeling the effects of exercise and not suffering a sunburn.
A few minutes before the class was scheduled to end, Tony passed by on the path above the pool. He was glistening with sweat in just his running shorts and sneakers, a shirt trailing from his grasp. He stopped and tucked it into his waistband before reaching overhead and stretching side to side. The ladies silently migrated to the edge of the pool and steadied themselves. Murmurs of appreciation rose from most, aside from the one woman whose mouth hung agape.
Helga and Angela kept following the instructor until she, too gave up and began to watch Tony bent over touching his toes. "Isn't that your husband?" Helga asked Angela after a quick glance.
"Yeah, that's him," she replied.
"Sweet flour tastes bitter to the satisfied mouse," Helga noted with a shrug.
"Huh?" Angela asked.
"Oh, it is a German expression to say I've already seen enough," she said.
Angela held her finger up to shush her acquaintance, hoping it was a universal gesture. The last thing she wanted was a bunch of bored tourists to show up at the nude beach hoping to see what they'd missed.
Tony turned around and looked down, completely missing the six women who'd been drooling over his backside. "Hi honey!" he called with an excited wave and a big smile before jogging back to their room.
"You know what I wish I could do?" Angela complained on the way to the beach. "Lie on my stomach."
"I think we can make that happen," Tony said, rubbing his chin.
"Did you really not notice all those women staring at you?" she asked.
"I'm used to it. Doesn't bother me, but the only woman I want leering at me is you," he said with a nudge to her shoulder.
"I should have brought my shovel," she said, rolling her eyes.
"It's OK, I can use my hands," he said in a cheery voice. When they got to the beach, he asked where she wanted to sunbathe.
"Here in the shade," she said bashfully. "What? You don't know what it's like to turn red and peel!" she whined. It really wasn't fair that he could withstand so much sun and only look better for it.
He spread out a beach towel. "Lie down on your side," he requested.
"That's all I can do," she reminded him. Once she was stretched out, he began excavating the soft sand next to her belly. Then he dug another trench in line with her bosom. He tilted his head and dug more sand from the first pit, then dragged a scoop out further down, near her knees.
"Try it," he said, pressing another beach towel into the valleys of his creation. Angela rolled forward and shimmied her curves into the crevices.
"This is actually comfortable," she said in awe. "I haven't been able to do this in two months!"
"Now take off your top," he teased.
"Sure," she said, surprising him. She held the spandex in one hand for a few minutes, then fell asleep and released her grip. He dropped his shorts and stretched out next to her, just listening to the soft crash of the waves and the chirping of the birds. It wasn't long before he, too, dozed off.
Angela's voice crept into his consciousness. "I'm going for a swim, Tony," she told him. He shook off sleep and watched her walk into the tide, still topless. "Are you coming?" she called to him, only wet up to her ankles. He sprang up and ran past her, diving into the surf. They were still all alone. Not even Helga and Klaus had shown up during their nap.
"Isn't this great?" Tony asked when he had lured Angela out past standing depth.
"It's pretty exhilarating," she agreed, pushing a lock of wet hair off her forehead. "I'm glad you know how to swim."
"What kind of grown man can't swim?" he scoffed.
Thursday, March 19, 1987
"Care to dance?" Tony asked, extending his hand in an invitation.
"With you? I'd love to," Angela responded. Wordlessly, they swayed and spun to the standards playing over the restaurant's speakers.
He smiled dreamily and shook his head. "You're amazing, Ange. Do you know that?"
"Me? No, I'm not," she protested. "You're much better, Tony. I've never danced with anyone as confident as you."
"You make me feel confident," he said, stroking his thumb back and forth on her bare lower back, "and I didn't mean your dancing."
"Oh, so I'm not a good dancer?" she teased.
"You're better off your feet," he shot back.
"Perfect, you can give me a foot massage later."
They fell back into silence for a while, and then he chuckled to himself. "I can't believe you stood there and had a whole discussion about Dutch realism with Klaus while your boobs were out."
"His were, too!" she countered. "Besides, you and Helga were discussing sausage while yours was out."
"She didn't look down once," he said, sounding confused.
"Yeah, she told me when we were in the pool yesterday morning that she'd seen enough of you. I guess there are women who are immune to your charms," she said dryly.
"As long as you never stop lusting after me," he said.
"Are you kidding? The way you work out, I bet you'll have those chiseled abs when you're seventy."
"I see how it is. All you care about is my muscles," he whispered into her ear, holding her hand against his chest while he made his pecs jump.
"That's not true!" she said with mock indignance. "I also appreciate your other equipment," she breathed against his neck.
He felt blood rush from his brain as she planted a series of kisses on his jawline. "Are you ready for that foot rub now, Mrs. Micelli?"
When she pulled back, her eyes were dark with desire, her lips parted and tongue peeking into view. She nodded slowly, looking like she might burst into flames if she got any more worked up.
Friday, March 20, 1987
"How was the spa, babe?" Tony asked, standing from his bistro table to greet Angela.
"Wonderful," she said, kissing him on the lips. "Absolute bliss."
"I don't think I've ever seen you this relaxed before," he observed.
"I don't think I've ever been this relaxed," she said in astonishment. "I haven't worried about the kids at all. Can you believe that?"
"You don't miss them?" he questioned.
"I miss them, but I'm not worried in the slightest. It's not like leaving them with Mother."
"Mona loves Jonathan and Samantha. She wouldn't let anything bad happen to them."
"Oh, but Michael loves them, too. And more importantly, he's scared of us," she sneered. "That's how Frankie tells it, anyway."
"You really like her?" Tony asked curiously.
"She's pretty much perfect. Michael actually respects her mind, and they have a healthy relationship. It's a good example for Jonathan."
"Score one for Mrs. Rossini," Tony mused.
"I think I want Wendy to invite Frankie to the baby shower," Angela said. "Is that weird?"
"No, I'm proud of you. It wasn't that long ago that you were calling Heather a 'twenty-four-year-old nymphette who's named after a shrub.'"
"That was different. Frankie's thirty-four."
"And she's not trying to take our son away," Tony said. "I mean your son."
"No, you were right the first time."
A/N: Bookmark or change your filters for the next installment. It'll be an extra-spicy M-rated chapter.
