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Her hips move in a slow rhythm as I trail mud up her creamy flesh, our lips consuming each other’s. We’re soaked to the bone by the time I come inside of her. She slips to her side, and I hold her so we’re spooning, my arms around her as the rain softly taps our bodies. I kiss her shoulders, and her wet blonde strands are strewn along my face.
We actually drift to sleep for a moment but I pull myself out if it, wanting to get out of here.
I roll around on my back and look at her. There’s nothing prettier than the sight of Isadora sleeping peacefully, and now I’m torn because I don’t want to disturb her.
I look up at the sky. The stars are out now, those clouds that broke that delicious rain upon us have moved on. I bet tomorrow will be nice, maybe a little sweltering after the hard rain has left everything in a bit of condensation. As I think about wine, I start obsessing over the vineyards. I obsess over how everything helps it grow—every bit of weather, no matter how bad, temperamental or calm— it all comes together and helps things grow. I think the same about relationships. There has to be a mix.
I look at Isadora as she starts to wake up. She opens her eyes and looks up at the sky.
“Which do you prefer?” she asks me. “Day or night?”
“Oh…” I have to think about this. “I like my mornings,” I decide. “Everything feels like a new beginning, you know? I like to get up and look out the window and just, I don’t know, breathe the new days in—as cheesy as that sounds.
“That’s not cheesy,” she says. I appreciate her saying that, but I feel like it is. She shuts her eyes again.
“I bet Nathan likes night,” she says. “Marius came into town tonight, and I insisted he greet him along with his motorcade. He needs to be around a man that doesn’t make him crazy for a minute.” She laughs.
I look at her perfect little feet and for some reason,
“What about you?” I ask, not wanting to think about anything but Isadora.
“Me?”
“Yes, which do you prefer? Day or night?”
She must think about this.
“Well, it’s definitely not the afternoon…” she trails off, considering her answer. I see the bottle of French wine someone had placed by the bench and partake in a sip. It’s sweet and light, nothing too overbearing. An excellent surprise for a delightful garden romp…which is exactly what the plan must have been. I like it. “In the afternoon, you know how certain things sneak up on you? Like I don’t know, sad thoughts. You know how you said mornings are like a new beginning? That’s true, and at night is when you can relax and, well, do other things if you feel so inclined. I like the mystery of night. I like fireflies. I like the things you can see in the dark.”
“Oh, Isadora, that was great,” I appraise, taking another sip of wine. “I like you. And you clearly like night.”
Nathan is like night, I realize. Nathan is mysterious. Nathan is not the worst thing that’s ever happened in my life, and we both have exceptionally good taste in wives, so I can find myself growing accustomed to him.
She touches the side of my face like she always does, with those gentle slim fingers of hers, and I shut my eyes. It’s no longer raining, but the fresh scent clings to the air, offering a sweet hug around us.
“Do you think if we’re quiet enough, we can hear things growing from the ground after the rain?” Isadora says, narrowing her eyes but letting a wide grin spread across her face. She laughs. I love how she can be so falsely serious and break up any anxieties I might have.
“You can probably hear insects crawling,” I say.
I don’t know if this scares her or what, but she stands up and walks back to the bench. I watch her as she puts her dress back on, but it’s wrinkled and has a mud stain.
“Oh, your dress,” I say.
“It’s fine. It’s honestly nice to get messy,” she smiles. “I really like what we did.” She’s struggling with the zipper so I go over to help her. I zip it up, careful of her hair, holding it up so it falls graciously around her face. I zip it all the way up, and there’s something disappointing about putting clothes on her instead of taking them off—no matter how pretty she looks.
She turns around after I let of her hair go and it falls down over her breasts, and she laughs.
“What?” I ask. “Do I have something on my face?” I wipe at whatever might be there off.
“Yes,” she says. “Your hand.”
