Page 28 of The Manor of Dreams

Vivian beamed, and only when she looked away from Richard did she notice that his mother’s face had gone ashen, and his family members suddenly went unusually quiet. Vivian watched uneasily as Richard and his mother stared at each other. When the song changed, Vivian took the cue to slip away, toward the music and the food, toward her daughters.

It was only later that Richard’s mother found her again. “Champagne for the lovely bride?” she asked.

Vivian gratefully accepted.

“What a lucky man Richard is,” his mother said, looking out over the reception. Her dark, graying hair was swept up in a severe twist.

“I’m the lucky one, I’m sure,” Vivian said. “He makes me happier than anything.”

“Does he?” His mother turned back toward her. “You know, when Richard said he was marrying a Chinese woman, I wasn’t sure. But your English is excellent.”

Vivian chafed but kept a smile on her face. “Thank you. My father was an English teacher. He’s over there with the blue tie.”

“Isn’t that lovely.” Her pale eyes bored into Vivian’s. Green, with no flecks of golden brown and devoid of all warmth. Wrinkles webbed around her taut lips. She was beautiful once, Vivian could tell. Unsure where to look, she focused on the pearl necklace that framed her mother-in-law’s collarbone. “I wish my son had informed me. Then I wouldn’t seem like such a careless mother-in-law.”

Vivian sensed a bit of hostility, as if she were being put to some kind of test. “You’re not—you’ve been very kind to me.”

Richard’s mother ignored this. “This house you’re renovating,” she said. “It was the house I grew up in. Richard never forgave me for selling it.”

Why did you?Vivian wanted to ask. But she held her tongue.

“But he’s headstrong. What he wants, he makes for himself. Precocious, too. The world has always been good to him. I tried to tell him, but I don’t think he understands.”

Night was settling and the overhead lights twinkled to life. A hot breeze brushed the back of Vivian’s neck. “Tell him—?”

“Just old history,” his mother said airily. “Perhaps he has more luck and fortitude than the rest of us.” She placed her cool fingers on Vivian’s arm. “Take care of my son. I know you will.” She gave a thin smile before walking back into the crowd.

After the music had died down and the champagne had run dry, after toasts were made, and Richard took Vivian’s hand and they ran down to the red Polara that waited for them in the driveway, they checked into a Malibu hotel that overlooked the coast. Richard swept her up from the car and carried her into the suite. They tipped into bed, laughing and giddy. Richard kissed her, and Vivian savored it, tasting the sour whiskey on his tongue. He pulled her to him and fumbled for the zipper on her dress. She laughed as she guided his hands away from the expensive fabric. Delicately, she unclasped the dress’s closures and stepped out of it, feeling the cooling night air on her shoulders, on her breasts, on her hips that still bore the stretch marks of childbirth. She undid her hair, and it crested around her shoulders in long, dark waves. He looked at her with eyes wide and lips parted for a moment, before he hungrily pulled her to him again.

Vivian fumbled with the buttons on his shirt and tugged it off, feeling the heat of his skin against her hands, the bulge of him straining against her. His fingers trailed down her stomach toward the heat between her legs, slowly, carefully, and she arched toward that desire, crying out when he finally touched her.

“I want to adore you like this,” he said, his voice raw. “Forever.”

He pressed a kiss above her left breast, his tongue tracing lower,circling her nipple. She gasped, her head humming with nothing but need, her body on fire. She laced her fingers through his hair, pulling him to her and crushing her lips against his, reaching for his hardness to pleasure him the way she knew how.

With a teasing, wicked smile, he gently pushed her back down onto the bed. He put his mouth to her inner thigh, and then his tongue found the center of that heat, so lightly at first, and then with more pressure. Vivian threw her head back and gave herself over to him fully.

This was everything she needed, she thought, as she trembled beneath him, dazed by his power over her, the intensity of his focus on her. Their life stretched out before them that night, their dreams, their house, their new family. What was his would be hers now, forever.

Vivian watched her husband stalk across the empty foyer. “Fuck this,” he hissed. “The pipes burst.”

“Again?” Vivian turned away from admiring the new bay windows. “I thought we just put them in.”

“They were caked with rust,” Richard said. “And they burst overnight.”

“But they’re new.”

“Supposed to be. There’s no way. New pipes don’t do that.” He ran his hands through his hair and lowered his voice. “Maybe we got scammed. I’m going to fire that contractor, I swear to God.”

Vivian reached for him. Their hands were still tanned from their honeymoon. What a Western concept; a honeymoon, as if one couldn’t be sated by that lavish wedding alone. There was a sun-drenched week in Paris and Provence. She came away draped in billowing floral dresses from charming boutiques, carrying wines and perfumes with names she couldn’t pronounce. She savored their sweet, honeyed aftertaste on her husband’s lips at night. Herhusband.Her husband, who was building a house for their family. Though Vivian saw now that his jaw had tightened. His loose, collared shirt was opened at the throat and his sleeves were pushed up. His hair had become unruly in the humidity. She loved this new ruggedness. A dim desire rose inside her. “Be patient, qin ài de.”

“We were supposed to move in by November. Now it’s looking like next year.” He was pacing now.

“We have all the time in the world,” she said soothingly.

He looked at her. The sunlight touched his eyelashes into tips of gold. His eyes softened behind his glasses. “You’re right.” He kissed her gently.

The first time Vivian set eyes on the skeleton of the sprawling house with its filthy walls and uneven patches of grass, panic hit her like cold water. But with her husband’s fervent vision, the house came to life. Old pillars were struck down and replaced with new white sandstone ones with bracketed cornices. The original concave mansard roof was maintained, with crested dormers. Paired windows were installed, with window crowns of leaves and flowers, an old French style, and ornamented keystones. The vines were cleared away. The original stone terrace was cleaned. The old, cracked fountain behind the house, which seemed to be mired in a mass of weeds that were cut away, was replaced with a new one carved out of limestone, with ridged bowls that seemed to ripple, petal-like. The tall, uneven grass was sheared and watered to become a sprawling lawn. With every decision, he asked her if she liked what he’d envisioned and what he was choosing;yes, yes, she’d responded at each turn.

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