The Connoisseur

Chapter 28 - Little Deaths

It was late by the time Sophia and Alexander walked back to their own hotel.  They held hands and did not rush.  They passed from streetlight to moonlight, streetlight to moonlight.  Insects buzzed in gardens, and lonely car engines rumbled a few miles away.  At times, Alexander seemed about to speak, but then he would shake his head and exhale, as if words were beyond him.

Sophia felt his warm hand in hers.  The whole world was asleep.  Monaco existed just the two of them.

“Have you watched her grow old?” she said quietly.

“Hm?”

“Greta.  She said you met in 1935.  It’s been twenty-eight years since then for her.”

“And seven for me.”

“Isn’t that strange for you?”

Alexander’s pace slowed.  He cleared his throat.  “Well, I...I suppose it is.”

They walked on in silence.  Sophia held him more closely, and laid her head on his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around her back.

They arrived at the hotel.  The lobby was quiet.  The lift operator sent the two of them upward, and then they were alone again, close together in the confined wooden space.  Thoughts quietly bubbled through Sophia’s head.  She couldn’t concentrate on any of them.  She didn’t want to.  The only thing she could focus on was him; and she knew, from every press of his fingers against her shoulder and every short breath she could hear, that the only thing he could focus on was her.

Their suite was beautiful, restrained, and the bed was large.  The moment Alexander closed the door behind them, Sophia felt an urge to leap at him, but she held back. 

“Would you like a drink?” he said.

“Sure.”

He walked to the small bar and pulled out two glasses.  Sophia draped herself on a chair.  She saw him repeatedly flick his eyes towards her, taking her in inch by inch.  He spilled a little of his scotch as he poured.  The drink was so knowingly unneeded, but neither of them said anything.  It would have been funny to her, had not she been so short of breath, so nervous and so excited.

He poured her a measure of tequila at her request.  They touched glasses.

“Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

Staring into one another’s eyes, they each took a sip.  Neither said a word.  They just stared.  Sophia cocked her head, trying not to betray anything.  Her heart raced.  She knew she was blushing.  She knew he was holding himself back.

They carried on staring.

A hot rush came over her.  She put her glass down very deliberately.

“I think we’ve waited long enough, don’t you?” she said, rising from her chair, straight to his waiting lips.

They grasped at one another, limbs intertwining, searching for buttons and clasps.  His shirt was thrown to the floor.  He pulled her dress from her shoulders, breaking their kiss for the barest instant until they seized one another again, pressing their bodies together, his lean muscle against her curves.  His hands roved all over her, hers all over him.  A shiver of flame bolted through her.  He reached behind her back for her bra strap.

“Hang on,” he said.

“What?” she gasped.

He was panting, but a quizzical grin made it through to his face.  “Is that a 21st century bra?  This is the sixties.  Someone’s cheating.”