I see him glance towards the roaring fire, to the warm throws and pillows that could easily make a cosy nest, and I know exactly where his mind is going. It would be the perfect spot to end a wedding day like this.
If I wasn’t me and he wasn’t him, of course.
I back towards the hallway, where I presume the stairs to the bedroom and the bathroom must be. ‘I’ll just …’
But Gil is already on his way back to the kitchen, a man on a mission.
I exhale, turn and run up the stairs two at a time, then tie my hair back out of the way and take the longest shower in the history of womankind, scalding my skin with the warm water, scrubbing every millimetre of myself at least three times over.
I’d imagined fluffy white robes in my wedding-night fantasy and the en suite doesn’t disappoint, so I pull one on over my still-damp skin, free my hair from its messy bun, and then crawl under the duvet of the vast four-poster bed that takes up most of the bedroom. The mattress is possibly the softest thing I’ve ever laid down on and it’s only seconds before my eyelids drift closed. I’m just so tired … Maybe this is the answer, I wonder, as my thoughts start to jumble and fade. Maybe if I can fall asleep in this dream, I’ll wake up for real.
‘Erin?’
I say nothing. I don’t move. I’m not sure who I’m trying to kid I’m asleep, him or me. When I don’t hear anything more, I crank an eyelid half open.
Crap. How did he move so silently? Gil is standing by the side of the bed looking at me, aware I’m squinting back at him and most definitely not asleep. ‘I kinda crashed,’ I mumble, hiding my reddened face in the soft white pillow.
I feel his weight dip the mattress and a second later his hand brushes my knee, which is sticking out from the duvet, and then under under the hem of my robe, travelling up my thigh.
I don’t even think about it. I reach out and smash my hand down on top of his, stopping it in its tracks.
The mattress dips again as he shifts. I don’t know how, but I can tell he’s looking at me. ‘Erin?’
I lie still for a moment, my breath warm around my face, and then I flip the hair away from one eye and twist my head to look at him.
There’s a look of genuine concern on his face, as if what I’m feeling right this second really matters to him. I don’t know what to say. For a few seconds, fragments of sentences whirl around my head. I even try to spit one or two of them out, but they emerge hopelessly jumbled.
I get so frustrated at myself, and then at this whole stupid marathon of a day – how it’s just been one disaster after another – that the emotions all catch up with me at once and I start to cry.
Fabulous.
He says nothing as I bury my head back in the pillow, too ashamed to look at him. Instead, he turns off the overhead light in favour of a small reading lamp on his side of the bed –he takes the left, because I’m sprawled out all over the right – and then, for a few moments, I hear movement but I’m not sure what sort. I make myself very still, vaguely aware both that I’m trying to help him forget I’m here and also how ridiculous that is.
And then the duvet flips back, and he slides underneath and scoots right up next to me. I hold my breath. Without trying to remove my robe, he pulls me closer, spooning into me firmly but also gently. I’m surprised to find we’re a perfect fit, whereas Simon always finds a way to dig an elbow into my back, no matter which way he lies.
Warm skin presses against the backs of my calves and heats the towelling robe at my back. An arm rests heavily on my waist. His hand doesn’t move, doesn’t peel back the edge of my robe and explore, but it might be about to. I don’t know whether to scream or laugh hysterically.
‘Gil … I’m …’ My throat seems to be filled with gravel. I swallow and try again. ‘I’m not … I mean, I don’t think I can …’
‘Shh.’ His hand moves, but only to curl tighter around my waist, and his mouth is near to my ear, his breath tickling the sensitive hairs below and behind it. ‘Are you okay?’
I hiccup. Just once. I’m unsure if it’s an attempt to stop myself from sobbing or if I’m trying not to laugh. But he’s being so … so unlike the Gil I know, sonice, that I know I have to answer him somehow. I shake my head, fluffing up my hair up on the pillowcase.
He pulls me closer. ‘You’ve been in a weird mood all day. I thought it was just nerves, but it’s not, is it? If it were, you’d be feeling relaxed and happy now.’
This time I nod. I can’t lie. Not when he can practically feel my heart beating through my back.
He presses a tender kiss on the back of my head and smoothes my hair down. I close my eyes and a single tear leaks from below my eyelid.
‘I don’t know what’s going on with you tonight, but I know it must be something big.’
I squeeze my face up to quell the sudden rush of tears.
‘I can wait,’ he says, and I detect absolutely no trace of resentment in his tone, which is a surprise, knowing how selfish this man can be. ‘Wecan wait. We’ve got the rest of our lives.’
He stretches away momentarily, and the little reading light goes off, leaving me staring into the dark, and then he curls himself back around me.
Now,I think.Sleep, come and claim me. Take me back to my real life, to the real world, where everything makes sense and none of my emotions are topsy-turvy.But sleep weaves an elusive dance over the next few hours. I wait, but she doesn’t come.
