The Way We Feel

Chapter 3

       

In those moments before consciousness infiltrated my mind, I felt the contentment of my new reality. Everything about me—my body, my heart, my soul—all of it knew that where I was, who I was with, who I'd become, was all good. Better than good.

Even in sleep, I was so happy, I could barely stand it.

It made me open my eyes. Sunlight streamed into the room. Sunlight and a whisper of cool, sea air. I breathed in deep, burrowed a little further into the warmth of the covers, and turned from staring at the white wall to my left to the source of the light.

The view still took my breath away—the wide open window overlooking the blue expanse of the Amalfi coast, buttery golden sunlight warming the room, and my heart. But there was a pang of sadness today, too. A pang that reminded me that it was a view I wouldn't have much longer.

I was naked beneath the sheets, and for a moment, I felt stranded, the chill in the air already nipping at my cheeks, the crackling fire we'd had blazing last night in the fireplace beside our bed, long dead. I didn't want to get up into the cold. So for a moment, I was happy to be stranded, warm under the covers, as memories from last night came back to me—the sensations still with me even after hours of sleep. My body was limber with them, and I stretched my legs, savoring the ripple of pleasurable vibrations through them, then recalling the reason for their quaking last night... I clenched my thighs together.

Harry's face—his mouth—between my legs, his eyes looking up at me...

God, it was so good. It was always so good. In the two weeks we'd spent on our honeymoon, we'd made love countless times. So, how was it possible that I still wanted more? That I never felt sated?

I dug the heels of my hands into my eyes, smiling despite myself, shaking my head a bit as I let my hands fall to the blankets again.

It was magical. Every moment with him. Even more magical because of our travels these last couple of weeks—our first as husband and wife.

Not many people came to Italy in late January/early February, but that was all the more reason for us to come. When we'd planned the wedding and honeymoon, we were very aware of Harry's work schedule—of mine as well. I'd been able to finish out the fall semester of teaching, and Harry was able to get far enough away from promo and touring to have a solid month beforehand for the holidays and to help me with last minute planning.

It had taken us a year and a half to plan everything in total. But with the success of Harry's sophomore solo album, and the insane success of his world tour, it was hard to complain. I'd joined him on the road when I could, seeing parts of the world I'd only imagined visiting in my wildest dreams, even if it had only been for a day or two. Still, we'd spent a lot of time apart, too.

But we'd prepared for that. I'd known what to expect, and I knew that I'd more than likely end up planning the bulk of the wedding without him around for much input. But I also knew that it would be worth it—that by the time our wedding day came, none of the time spent apart would matter.

I was right.

The honeymoon had been a bit trickier. I wanted to be absolutely sure that wherever we chose was somewhere he wouldn't be spotted constantly. Somewhere he could truly relax. Somewhere he'd like to spend a good bit of time, too.

"You've always wanted to go to Italy," Harry had said over the phone one night about six months ago. "Let's go there."

It was one of the places he'd visited on his tour that I hadn't been able to see.

"During winter?" I'd asked, doubtful.

"Why not? We can bundle up." I'd heard movement on the other end of the line, and imagined him moving things around in his hotel room. "Besides, further south, it won't be that cold."