I sighed. “There go that word again.”
“I mean it.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do.”
I brushed my lips over hers, barely touching. “Well, I was gon’ continue our date night, but you can tell me to take you home, if it's too much.”
Her lashes lowered. I waited. The room brightened a little as the lights went up. People started moving toward the bar, toward the stage, toward Rielle. Everything was busy around us, but Theory still sat there, caught between wanting time to process and wanting time with me.
Finally, she whispered, “Not yet.”
Relief flooded through me so hard I had to close my eyes for a second. I was a little surprised and a lot grateful. My wife was giving me another little yes, and I knew by now not to take those for granted.
I kissed her knuckles. “Okay.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“You not gon’ say something smart?”
I grabbed my chest. “I’m capable of restraint.”
She looked at me like that was the worst lie ever told. I laughed as I stood up, adjusting my jacket before my hard ass dick embarrassed both of us. Then I held my hand out.
“Come on, pretty girl.”
“My makeup okay?”
I studied her face. She was all glossy lips, slightly red cheeks, bright eyes. My baby was so damn beautiful my chest hurt.
“No.”
Her face fell. “What?”
“You look like you just got seduced in public,” I teased.
Her mouth fell. I grinned.
“Targen! I cannot stand you.”
“You can. Come on.”
She took my hand and stood, leaning into my side like she belonged there, because she did. I kept my arm around her waist, thinking about the eventual drive home.
“What you up there plotting?” she asked.
“Getting you out of that dress and on my dick,” I answered truthfully.
She kissed her teeth. “Yo’ little poem wasn't that good,” she chided.
Then, her laughter surrounded me. And that? That was enough.
(Saturday,June 21)
The ballroom was so beautiful it almost seemed otherworldly. Of course, Sergei and Joia Sidorov couldn’t just throw a little reception and call it a day. These people had to host some glittering, over-the-top, old money-new money-international criminal-money type of event. It looked like it belonged in a movie where everybody was rich and glamorous and dangerous. Crystal chandeliers poured light over everything, making the room look dipped in gold. Soft ivory and champagne fabric draped from the impossibly high ceilings, and flowers—Lord, the flowers—were everywhere. There were lush centerpieces in creamy whites and pale blush, huge bouquets of roses, orchids, and peonies. This ballroom smelled likeflowers, expensive perfumes, and money. Real money. Not the “we doing okay” kind of money my family had. Nah, this was “we might own part of a government somewhere” money. But somehow, despite all the opulence and extravagance, the room felt welcoming. It definitely reflected my beautiful in-laws.
