Our bathroom is huge. We have two rain shower heads and bench seating as well as a deep soaking tub which is more like a bathing pool. Three or four people could fit in it and our shower takes up half of the room. It is indulgent and decadent and wickedly fun.
We often have sex in our shower but recently with my school schedule and shows and him being busy on call at the hospital our bodies really need a bed because we are too tired to have sex standing up.
“I’m dancing Hermia for the next four days,” I say with a big bright smile.
“You are?” This immediately perks him up. He looks so proud and adoringly at me. He picks me up and I wrap my legs around his naked body. He then kisses me with so much passion we barely get out of the shower before we fall into bed to make love, almost all night long.
“I need to sleep,” I say, “Or I'll be a mess for the show tomorrow,” I whisper against his chest which is damp from the exertion he'd used to make me come three times.
We are not careful with one another. He lets himself rip every single time and because I am wearing an IUD, I don't ever really think about pregnancy. We have one beautiful daughter and I am not sure we will have any more.
I nearly pass out from sheer exhaustion. I love the sex-drunkfeeling of my whole body being floppy and warm and completely spent and wrung out. Beckett has a way of taking every single part of me and making it feel like he's imprinted on my soul. The more time I spend with him the more time I want with him.
At the show the next day Beckett is there in the audience with the most obscenely large bouquet of flowers I'd ever seen. It shines underneath the lights and is enormous enough for me to see from backstage. Seeing him with a beautiful smile on his face holding those flowers is beyond thrilling. In the audience sit Mia, Griffin, Caden, and Marcel, as well as John, my friend from the catering company, and his husband. Beckett had promised he would bring everyone, and boy did he deliver. The next night he'd bring London while Mia watched Rayne. He would have brought the baby but she is only 6 months old. That is love. Beckett may not be able to say it with his words yet but he definitely shows it with his actions. To think that six months of our marriage is already over.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Beckett
I stand with Griffin, Mia, and the rest of the audience in ovation when Scarlett takes her bow. It isn't just because I am a husband electrified with pride; I genuinely believe that Scarlett danced the role infinitely better than the lead dancer. I’d seen the show enough times to know the truth without bias. I wasn't the only one who said it. I heard rumblings around the audience at intermission saying how much more graceful and controlled she was as a dancer. There was also no mistaking my wife was the most beautiful woman in the cast. Scarlett has no idea how absolutely magnificent she is. Another thing to love about my humble and talented wife.
“Goddamn it, Beckett,” Griffin gripes. “Maybe I should be more of an insufferable bastard. Maybe then I can score a wife as magnificent as yours.”
“You’ve got the insufferable part down to a tee.” I clap him on his back and bask in my wife’s victory.
“Well, before she was your wife, she was my friend,” Mia says. “Scarlett is mine so all y'all need to back off. She was mine first and will be mine after you—” She stops speaking because I grab her arm.
“Don’t say anything, dear little sister of mine, to disparage my union with my wife. Okay? There is no after…”
“Really?” She looks at me suspiciously.
I've been giving this a lot of thought. I don't want to divorce Scarlett after the five years are over. Being Scarlett's husband and Rayne’s father has been hands down the most miraculous thing I'd ever done. I'd nearly cured fucking cancer but something as domestic and purely magical as being a husband and father has made my life worth every breath.
I am not sure if Scarlett will be in agreement with me. She's been so busy with dance, her school work, and our baby but she is still soattentive and responsive to me. I have to believe she is feeling what I am. She told me on several occasions that she loves me and I believe when she says those words they are genuine. But does she love me enough? Does she love me to the point that she wouldn't want to seek somebody else? Perhaps somebody younger who has her beautiful empathy and outlook on life? I am still a cantankerous bastard more interested in logic and science and good scotch than I am in my fellow man and his plight in the world.
We balance one another, we are the antithesis of each other and yet we are also the perfect compliment to one another. As I stand there clapping for the woman who has mesmerized an entire theater full of patrons, I feel like the situation is rather pressing. We should have a real wedding and a honeymoon to celebrate all that we'd been through.
As the notoriety for Omexadol becomes nearly legendary, Carl has gone silent and almost disappeared. He showed up at one CSS event. It was a concert benefiting one of the hospitals I worked for. It was highly suspect to have him finally show up there. I fully expected him to be at the ballet at some point, but he stayed away. I hadn't received any more threatening texts and though I don't believe the interest in me has faded, something definitely has changed. The radical governmental group is still doing its best to vie for prominence in the political arena, but there is more scrutiny and eyes on them. Perhaps they are doing nefarious things in other sectors trying to get a stronghold in the general public where they do not belong. Regardless, I welcome the lack of threats and keep my bodyguards on the payroll. Even though Scarlett doesn’t like being trailed, she never complains because she understands.
Seeing Scarlett emerge from the dressing room is sort of like meeting her for the first time all over again. Granted, she isn't wearing a mask but from this distance and the amount of stage makeup she has on she looks very artificial. Still as arresting and spectacular as the first moment I saw those long lean powerful legs, Scarlett carries herself with such grace and elegance that I am admiring her as if she didn’t already belong to me. She holds her chin high, her smile is bright andglorious with her perfectly straight teeth complimenting the raven hair she’d fitted into a tight neat bun.
Though I’d seen my wife in her dance attire before, she always surprises me with her extraordinary elegance and grace. At home, she wears comfortable clothing and often opts not to wear a bra since her tits are so perky and small. At home she is mine. In the world as a dancer, she belongs to everyone and there is a tick of jealousy in my heart because I don't really want to share her. My jealousy aside, I want to make sure she understands how much I appreciate her talent and the discipline it takes to be such a fantastic inspiration for everyone.
“You were magnificent,” I say, kissing her lips and handing her the flowers, reaching her before anyone else does. “I didn’t think I could ever be more impressed with you, Mrs. Myers, but you’ve proved me wrong.” She gives me a warm and loving smile as she touches my face.
I always have a little bit of stubble and it pricks her soft fingers but I don't care. I want her fingers to tingle with the spikes of my stubble because more than anything at that moment I really need to mark my wife. People are clamoring for her, wanting to offer their praise and adulation, most exuberant of them being my little sister Mia.
“Thank you, Beckett.” Her words are seductive and soft.
“Oh my God, Scar. That was brilliant, you’re brilliant. I love you. Have I told you, I love you?” She really knows how to gush.
Only with Mia does Scarlett ever break that elegant facade. The two of them seem to share a universe of their very own.
“I did it,” she says softly and Mia hugs her hard enough to break my poor wife.
Griffin, Caden, and Marcel then flood my wife with compliments and praise. Her friend John and his husband Raul are equally as enthusiastic and admiring of my wife, and that also makes me crazy.
“Scarlett, girl,” John starts, “you are a fucking goddess. Damn girl, those legs.” He touches my wife; his husband and I both lunge forward. Scarlett merely giggles sweetly.
