Authors: Jane Harvey-Berrick
His eyes softened. “Love you, too, Caro. Now get your ass in that shower, before I throw you in there.”
“Fine, fine,” I grumbled. “I
’m going.”
He waited until he was sure I really was moving.
“I’ll meet you in the restaurant, Caro.”
“You
’re not going to wait for me here?”
“Nope. I want to see you sweeping down that staircase, and have all the other bastards wanting you, but knowing I
’ll be the one taking you to bed later.” He saw the expression on my face. “Humor me: it’s a guy thing.”
I
shook my head. Honestly!
When I climbed out of the shower, the room was empty
, except for my beautiful dress, which Sebastian had laid across the bed. I didn’t want to think how he’d got to be so good at choosing women’s clothing.
I hunted through the drawers until I found a hair
dryer. Luckily I had some hairpins in my bag, and, after a couple of false starts, I managed to sweep my hair up into a reasonably smart chignon.
I
realized then that Sebastian had laid another set of bags on the bed. What the hell had he done now? Inside the first was the most exquisite set of silvery-gray silk bra and panties, all chic and obviously designer: they must have cost a fortune. I’d never owned anything so glamorous in my life. In the second bag was a pair of high-heeled satin pumps in the same midnight blue as the dress. In my size. Of course. I dreaded to think how big a hole this had put in Sebastian’s savings. Things were going to get a lot tighter when we were married.
Married
.
I hadn
’t had time to think about what that really meant. I’d been married for 11 years from the age of 19, and they had been difficult and unhappy years. I’d promised myself I’d never marry again; and I’d had absolutely no intention of getting involved with a man in the armed forces. Nope, never, no way. And yet here I was: promising myself to Sebastian forever. It helped that he wasn’t planning on staying in the Marines, because there was no way I’d want to live on a military base ever again, despite my fascination with reporting from, and writing about them.
There were so many things
Sebastian and I had to work out: we’d both been single for so long that blending our lives together wasn’t going to be easy.
I
’d promised Sebastian we’d find a way. He deserved to be loved for everything he was. And for whatever crazy reason he had, he loved me, too.
I shimmied into the tiny silver panties, enjoying the whispe
r of the sheer material over my damp skin. The bra hugged my breasts and felt incredibly sensual. It made me feel sexy – and Sebastian had chosen them. And I realized that’s how he saw me, as someone desirable, someone he desired. Well, tonight I was going to do my best to live up to that.
I applied some mascara, cursing when I managed to deposit a gluey
lump on my cheek. I had better luck with the lipstick: by some miracle, I’d managed to buy one that went on creamily and didn’t bleed. For the second night running, a stranger’s face stared back at me in the mirror.
But the dress… oh, the dress was somethi
ng else. It was a floor-length, flowing gown, cut low at the back, and plunging dangerously at the front, and with a thigh-high slit that only revealed itself when I walked. And yet it was so cleverly constructed, that I felt safe – well, I wasn’t afraid that anything would be revealed by mistake. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be safe from Sebastian later. Damn, I was looking forward to that. I hoped he didn’t tear anything when he took it off me, because that would be a crying shame.
Before I left the room, I put the packet of condoms on
the table next to my side of the bed: they’d need to be where we could find them in a hurry.
Now if I could just get down the main staircase without breaking my neck
in those perilously high heels…
I took a deep breath and left the safety of our room.
At the top of the stairs, I glanced down. My breath stuttered in my throat. I thought I’d slipped through a crack in time because in front of me, my fun-loving surfer boy, my rough, tough, sexy Marine, had transformed into a nineteenth century gentleman.
He was dressed in black:
the pants legs edged in a narrow, satin stripe; an elegant, fitted tuxedo-jacket rested on his broad shoulders, over a fine cotton piqué shirt. A black bowtie accentuated his beauty still further.
And the woman he was talking to
, looked like she was stripping him with her eyes, before dragging him to her room.
I eyed up the competition: she was perhaps two or three years younger than me,
expensively dressed in a vivid purple halter top about the size of a handkerchief, with long, sexy harem pants. There was no doubt she had the figure to carry off such an outrageous outfit, although if I was inclined to be critical, I’d say that her boobs had the volume, shape and rubbery bounce of beach balls; her teeth were whitened to a degree that could cause snow blindness; and she had fake talons that could remove an eyeball at a hundred paces. But only if I was being critical.
And what the fuck was she doing flirting with my fiancé?
I was starting to be seriously pissed off when she laid a predatory hand on his arm, in an apparently friendly gesture.
I saw Sebastian turn slightly
, so she was forced to drop her hand. I felt like cheering: he wasn’t interested in the orange-skinned slut.
Then he glanced up at the stairs and his eyes widened as he saw me, before his face broke out in a huge grin.
The Orangeade woman turned to see what he was staring at, and if looks could kill, I’d have shriveled on the spot. But I didn’t shrivel: I gave her a small, oh-so-magnanimous smile, before I carefully made my way down the stairs.
Sebastian strode across to meet me and took my hand, lifting it to his lips.
“You look beautiful, Caro.”
“Thank you, kind
sir.”
He held out his arm. “May I escort you in to dinner, ma
’am?”
“Why, yes you may.”
The orange woman looked like she was choking on a dead skunk.
Yeah you, lady!
Sebastian glowed with happiness, although the glint in his eyes was still wicked. I’m sure, that evening, that I reflected his joy, felt it wash over me; I basked in it and bathed in it. At that moment, at that time, there was nowhere in the world I’d rather have been.
The dining room was exquisite, a small piece of perfection, with the Mediterranean at its feet.
The chairs were swathed in linen that matched the tablecloths, and the starched napkins had been folded into shapes like a bishop’s miter.
Sebastian led me to a table in a small alcove, where the arched windows looked down onto the
sunset over the sea. A waiter rushed forward to pull out my chair, but Sebastian waved him away, carefully seating me himself, before brushing his lips over my bare shoulder in a soft, lingering kiss.
“I can
’t wait to get you out of that dress,” he whispered in my ear, as he ran a long, cool finger from my earlobe down to the base of my neck.
Then he
sat across the table from me and smiled smugly.
“Every man in this room wants you, Caro. I
’m so fucking proud, I can’t stop smiling.”
“Hmm, well I think you may be a little biased; I thought I was
going to need a crowbar to pry that woman off you. Is it just me, or had she overdone the fake tan, because I haven’t seen that shade of orange outside of a drag review.”
He raised his eyebrows. “My girl
’s got grit: I like it.”
“
I felt like swinging her around by her hair extensions: maybe some of your Marine training is rubbing off on me.”
“That comes
after the main course,” he said, confidently.
“Thank you for today, Sebastian,” I said, serious for once. “It
’s been… perfect. Thank you.”
He
smiled at me across the table.
“It
’s been a long time coming, Caro, but it was worth the wait.”
I could see in his eyes that he meant what he said.
“Where did you get this beautiful ring?” I murmured, admiring the way it glinted on my finger. “Because I didn’t see any shops in Salerno that…”
“I
didn’t get it in Salerno,” he said, interrupting me.
M
y mouth popped open in surprise. “Then where?”
“Geneva,” he said, grinning at me, completely unabashed. “
You know I was supposed to be at that fucking dull hostile environment briefing – which they’d given me as part of my ‘rehabilitation’ after Paris…” he raised an eyebrow, “but after I’d seen you… I couldn’t face going back. I was just wandering around trying to get my head together, and I saw it in a jeweler’s shop.”
I was dumbfounded.
“But… you still hated me then!”
He shook his head
vehemently. “I never hated you, Caro, although I tried; I really fucking tried. But I just couldn’t do it.”
He sighed and rubbed his hands over his hair.
“That ring has been burning a hole in my pocket ever since. I was just waiting for the right time to give it to you.”
I blinked back tears: tonight was not a night for crying, although I was certain that would happen in the
lonely days to come.
“You
’ve always been so sure,” I whispered, “I don’t understand why.”
“I told you, Caro,” he said, softly. “It
’s only ever been you.”
I stretched out my hand, admiring the ring as it
sparkled under the light of the chandelier. “Thank you for giving it to me.”
He caught my fingers and kissed the ring. “Thank you for wearing it.”
The wine waiter arrived with a bottle of expensive-looking Prosecco and opened it with an understated flourish.
Sebastian held his glass and watched the bubbles effervesce.
Then he looked up, staring into my eyes.
“Thank God for you, Caro,” he said, his voice low and aching with sincerity.
“And you, Sebastian, semper fidelis.”
As the hours passed, the tension that had been so briefly and beautifully absent from our relationship began to creep back. Once again our summer was slipping away
, and we could count it in minutes and seconds.
To
morrow, the dream would be over – but, for now, tonight was still ours. I had to remember that.
We dined on antipasti di frutti di mare, a primo of ravioli with pumpkin and almonds with sage; and as secondo, a melt-in-your-mouth ragú di pecora
,
as the sun set, sinking into the sea beneath us. It was a perfect and poignant end to a magical few days.