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He cocked his head, eyes flickering. “You have a jealous husband. Get over it.”
“You like calling yourself that,” I observed.
His hand slid over my ass, slipping under my skirt. His two fingers slid between my thighs and pushed up into me.
“I like saying it because it’s true,” he murmured against my neck. “I’m your husband and proud of it.”
I wanted to have a snappy comeback, but it was so hard to even think with his fingers fucking up into my pussy. Working hard, the wet sound of them filling the room. Instead, I bit my lip to hold back the moan in my throat. He laughed and pulled them free, putting them to my lips.
“Lick them clean,” he ordered.
Eyes locked, I opened my mouth. He pushed his wet fingers past my lips and my arousal spread over my tongue. Sweet and tasting of him from where he’d fucked me earlier.
“I’m rock hard, but we need to go have dinner,” he groaned.
“You can wait,” I said heartlessly.
Downstairs, he’d requested we have a dinner that looked out over the beach. The sun was set and glowing lights hung in lines over the patio. There was a bottle of champagne on ice by the table when we sat down. Duran ordered something in French to the waiter, who knew us by now and spoke both French and Italian. I made a mental note to ask about Italian classes when we got back to the city.
When we were settled and our food was on its way, I took a package from my purse and laid it on the table. Duran glanced down, brow crooking.
“What’s this?”
I swallowed, suddenly shy. “It’s something I had made for you.”
He picked it up, frowning slightly as he pulled aside the tissue paper. Inside was a flat display box with a glass lid. He stared at it for a long moment.
“It’s an empty box. Uh, thank you, princess,” he said.
I smiled. “I was thinking…I noticed you don’t wear your mother’s medal anymore.”
He shook his head, eyes clouding.
“I was thinking you might want a nice place to display it and keep it safe,” I said, biting my lip. “You could put it in your office, on the shelf over your desk.”
His throat bobbed and there was a long silence. I sat perfectly still, hoping I’d done the right thing.
“That’s very sweet, Iris,” he said with difficulty.
“I also really don’t mind if you want to wear it,” I said.
He shook his head, lifting the lid. Running his fingertips over the soft velvet. “I think I’m moving on. She wouldn’t have wanted me to wear my grief around my neck.”
He was opening up, letting me in. I held my breath, grateful for this fragile gift.
“It’s okay too if you don’t want to use the box,” I said. “Or if you want to put it away. I don’t want you to have to look at something that makes you sad.”
He stared down at the box for a long time. Then he shut it and laid it aside.
“I don’t feel sad, princess,” he said. “I feel free.”
If our food hadn’t arrived right then, I probably would have cried my mascara down my cheeks. But determined not to ruin our meal, I pushed my feelings down and we ate and talked about happier things. It was our honeymoon after all.
I didn’t tell him that I’d gone to the graveyard on one of those days when Duran was at the office with Lucien. I stopped at the florist and bought a dozen roses and drove to her grave by St. Mark’s Chapel. Feeling a little foolish, I’d cleaned the grass and dust from her headstone and laid the flowers on the base in a vase.
I’d probably never tell Duran that I’d thanked her for giving me everything.
Or that I was sorry she wasn’t here to see how happy he was.
