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“What?” he asked, curious.
“I love this thing, this cheese after a meal. So French.”
He cut her a wedge of aged brie and placed it on her tiny cheese plate. “When we were growing up, my mother always insisted. She said it was good for digestion.” He bit into a piece himself and added, “There is ice cream, if you would like something sweet.”
She patted her tummy. “I couldn’t fit it in sideways.”
He gave her a stern look. “You are not still with this diet of yours, are you? These calories you incessantly count?”
She hadn’t even noticed she had forgotten to click on her app at the start of lunch. She shook her head vigorously. “No. Just full, is all.”
He nodded in satisfaction, allowing his eyes to slowly roam down her body. “Bien. You do not scribble with crayons on a perfect painting….”
She longed to ask him what he meant by that, but since he had mumbled it to himself, she was afraid to intrude upon his thoughts. Instead, she followed him into his pristine living room, and sat down on the couch next to him. With the remote, he turned on some music. Without his having to say anything more, she let her head fall onto his shoulder.
With his arm around her, she closed her eyes.
She didn’t exactly doze off; it was more like zoning out. Lulled into a sense of prefect peace by the warmth and strength of his body, a pleasingly full tummy, the rhythm of the music flowing from the hidden speakers, and the gentle snoring of the dogs heaped at their feet. But when she opened her eyes she looked up to see him staring intently down at her, as if the answers to whatever questions he had would be written on her face.
She straightened, still languorous, knowing that the time had come to make a decision. She sensed that there was a lot hanging in the balance, depending on what she did next. And she did the only thing that felt right. She leaned forward and kissed him.
Shekissed him! She had been the one to make that first move! She marveled at her own courage. Even in marriage, she’d consistently been the passive one, waiting for the man to make that first move. But today, she had no time for that. No patience. She curled her arms around his neck and kissed him harder.
With a deep-throated growl, Corbin grasped her by the hips and lifted her easily onto his lap. There was no mistaking his intention. As his hands explored her body, she knew that the window for backing out of this was rapidly closing. And to her shock, she discovered she didn’t want to.
She whispered his name against his lips and screwed her eyes tightly shut. Giving up and giving in.
And then a jangling noise sliced through their private silence, making both their bodies go rigid. Her confused brain told her it was a phone, but she was so drunk with Corbin’s touch that she couldn’t even tell whose phone it was.
He lifted her off his lap and gently set her upon her feet, standing beside her and looking around the room. “Yours,” he deduced at last, and reached for it on the coffee table where it lay, handing it over without looking at it.
She stared blearily at the contact and then clicked it open. “Hey, Zanifa. How you guys doing? Did you get there all right?” She listened intently, and then felt the blood drain out of her face.
Her eyes rounded and shifted towards Corbin’s. She felt disoriented, dizzy, as if a knife was twisting in her gut. Though she was on her feet, she began to doubt that they would be able to hold her.
He hurried to her side and slid an arm around her, supporting her body which had suddenly become deadweight, mouthing the words, What’s wrong?
She didn’t bother to cover the mouthpiece or to hit Mute. Voice shaking, she said unnecessarily, “It’s Zanifa….”
“Yes?”
“Rhys is missing.”
