“Not always, not when you’re interacting with Caylen, you’re not so…” She looks up as if trying to find a word that wouldn’t offend me, and it’s adorable.
“Uptight,” she giggles, and I can’t help but smile.
“See, when you smile… it’s like magic.” I can’t say I’m not taken aback, and she looks down shyly.
“Or in your words, it’s enthralling,” she mimics my voice. “See, I know big words too,” she winks.
I can’t help but laugh again. She blushes, and I can tell the wine has started to swim through her blood stream, but she’s also pacing herself.
“When did you read Harry Potter?” she asks after our appetizer is brought out. My eyes look at hers, and they’re a little squinted but they smile at me. Her chin is rested in her palm and a lazy smile is on her lips. I have never seen her look so easy going with me.
“Reading was my way to escape.”
“What were you escaping from?”
I lean back in my seat and look at her, knowing that she’s never wanted pretty lies or half-truths, and I’ve never been one to give those, but it would be a lie to say I don’t miss the easy smile that was just on her face. I understand why Chris would tell a half-truth to keep the smile there, because the expression she holds now is one with a somber sincerity.
“There were days, when Cal felt at his darkest and Chris was hidden mainly when Gwen was sick. I read over 300 books that year, all different genres from fiction to biographies, even a few of Gwen’s old romance novels. There were no books that helped me escape more than the magical world of Hogwarts.” I give her one of the smiles she called magic, but the one she gives me is what casts the spell, one that I thought I was immune to.
“Okay, I have a very serious question for you,” Her voice has only a hint of a slur, her expression is serious, but there is a playful glint in her eye.
“Where would the sorting hat put you?” She maintains her serious façade, and I can feel the smile stretch on my face. I take a moment to pretend to ponder even though I already have an immediate answer.
“Ravenclaw,” I tell her, and she bursts out laughing. She looks as if she’s going to ask another question but decides against it, but I already know what she’s thinking.
“Christopher would be a Hufflepuff and Cal a Gryffindor.”
Her eyes widen in surprise.
“I thought you’d have said Cal would be in Slytherin.”
I shake my head and chuckle. “That would be if you were talking to Chris.”
The rest of the dinner goes even better than I imagined. She shows a side of herself that she hasn’t shown me yet. She’s playful and funny and reminds me how intelligent she is, keeping up with me in any subject I bring up. We keep things light, and she doesn’t ask me questions that I assumed she would have about my sessions with Helen, or the work I’ve been doing with the Crestfield Corporation. I think she’s grown accustomed to not getting answers to the questions she really wants and has trained herself to not ask. Or maybe it’s that she’s enjoying the night so much that she doesn’t know if I’ll give her answers she wants to hear. When we’re back in the car she sings along to the music inviting me to join in, and when I decline, she swats me playfully.
“Since it’s so late, do you still want your surprise tonight, or would you rather wait until tomorrow?” I ask.
“Tonight,” she smiles brightly. “But only if it’s a good one.”
I try to contain my smile, but I’ve been failing miserably at that tonight. We pull in the back of a building. We’re only a few blocks from home. I get out of the car and open the door for her. She looks at me curiously.
“It’s this way,” I tell her. She takes my hand and steps out of the car. I try to hide my surprise when she doesn’t let it go, but I know that she’s a little tipsy and her feet must hurt from the shoes she’s wearing, so I don’t read too much into it. When I walk to the back entrance of the building and put in the security code, she looks at me more perplexed. I open the door and hit the lights, revealing a large, empty space.
She looks at me a little confused. Her eyes then land on the package in the middle of the floor. “What is this place?” Her eyes take in the vaulted ceilings and hardwood floors. It’s about 2600 square feet in total, 1600 on the first floor and the remainder on the second. There are large windows that look out on to the street.
“Whatever you want it to be,” I tell her, and she stops mid-step and turns to look at me her eyes wide with emotion.
“What?” she asks.
“I thought it could be an excellent space for an art gallery,” I say with a slight shrug. I hear her breath catch, and her mouth falls open.
“You bought me a gallery?” Her voice is shaky, and I start to wonder if she’s upset.
“Well, it’s not a gallery yet… I saw the potential of it. It’s in the center of the art district, but it could be whatever you want it to be or if you don’t want it, we could sell it for a steal. I just thought of you when I saw it.” I start feeling almost apprehensive now.
“You bought me a gallery?” This time she’s smiling, but there’s joy oozing from her tone even though her eyes are teary.
“It’s not a big deal. It's something you should have had already.” I mean every word of it. She had dreams when she came into our life, dreams that the weight of our problems suffocated, and it’s a crime that someone as smart and ambitious as she was became so stifled by us.
“I don’t know what to say.” She clutches her chest as if her heart would fall out if she didn’t.
“It’s something that Calvin always planned on doing for you but other things took his attention. Christopher would have done it if he had the means, and it only makes sense that I do what they would carry out if circumstances hadn’t intervened.”
She looks down at the floor her expression fighting between pained and ecstatic. A moment later she marches toward me and grabs my hand. She looks up at me as if seeing me for the first time, her eyes pierce through mine before she stands on her toes and presses her lips gently against mine.
I freeze. I didn’t expect this reaction. She pulls back looking me in the eyes before leaning in again and this time when her lips touch mine, I pull her closer. She tastes like mint with a mix of the wine she had earlier. Her hand travels up my chest and to my hair as her fingers comb through it. It’s happening so fast, and I can feel the blood rushing through my body, but I pull away.
“I don’t want you to feel obligated to do this,” I tell her and she looks at me almost offended but then a slow smile spreads across her face. She slowly takes a few steps away from me and pulls the dress over her head. She’s standing in front of me and my chest feels like a train is trying to escape it. My composure isn’t anywhere near as strong as I thought it would be.
“I want my husband to make love to me.” Her lips are slightly parted, her eyes hooded, her expression so seductive, but her tone is the most innocent thing I’ve ever heard. She’s like the white rabbit—unknowingly leading me down the hole—but it's she that doesn't know how deep the hole goes or how hard the fall is going to be. I tell myself it’s the wine, but I can’t help myself from walking toward her. I should feel guilty but when I kiss her neck, the moan she gives me in response keeps me going, and I’ve never craved someone as much as I’ve craved her.