Page 217 of New Storm Rising
I would have to look it up in a dictionary.
By the conclusion of our trip, we ended up cuddled together in the little rowing boat, gazing at the deep blue ocean glittering in the last rays of the sinking sun.
“So…” her soft voice reached my ears as she snuggled up against me. “What now?”
I cocked my head. “Is it not obvious, Mrs Ambrose?”
She blinked in confusion. “Obvious?”
“Did you really think we were going out here just to enjoy the sea air?” Raising my hand, I pointed over my shoulder, knowing what I was pointing at.
She craned her neck to see what I meant, and immediately spotted it. It didn’t surprise me. Even in the gloom, giant metal statues holding up torches weren’t exactly easy to miss.
Beside me, I heard her breath catch, and, almost imperceptibly, I nodded in satisfaction. As expected, it had been the right decision to bring her here. Of course, it wasn’t about the statue, impressive structure though it might be. It was about what it represented. The one thing that my lady wife appreciated above all else. The one thing that, right now, she doubted she could still have.
Out of the corner of my eye, I observed her, and found her staring up intently at the giant statue.
“You know…” She cocked her head. “I just realised, this place prides itself on being a democracy, and the most famous monument in the entire country wears a massive, spiky crown? Is it just me, or does that make no sense whatsoever?”
I might have had an opinion on the matter if I had bothered to even look at the statue or its crown. Right then and there, however, I was far too busy gazing at my wife.
“It was built by humans, Mrs Ambrose. Who says it has to make sense?”
One corner of her mouth quirked up. “Maybe they just thought a crown would be fitting for the most beautiful lady in the country.”
“Indeed?” Instinctively, my grip on her tightened, and I leaned closer towards her, not taking my eyes off her for a second. “Well, if that is what they thought, they chose wrong.”
Ever so slightly, I felt her shiver in my arms—and not because of the cool sea breeze.
We gazed into each other’s eyes, the air practically sizzling between us. Slowly, I leaned closer. Sliding my hand into her hair, I gently led her closer to my lips, until—
Crunch!
—the boat hit the island’s shore.
May all islands be cursed to the deepest depths of hell.
Judging by the twinkle in my wife’s eyes, she had read my thoughts and was enjoying that fact immensely. One of my little fingers twitched. Rising to my feet, I stepped ashore and held out my hand to her.
“Shall we?”
Even in the faint light of the evening, I could see her brilliant smile. That smile already hinted at her mood. But what really told me how happy she was to be here with me came a moment later, when Lillian Linton, proud and independent feminist, accepted my outstretched hand and allowed me to help her ashore. Together, we headed towards the towering and far-too-expensive statue. Though, to the Americans’ credit, they did not pay for the thing themselves, but somehow managed to get it as a gift from the French.
I was torn from my perfectly reasonable contemplation when the slender hand clasped in mine suddenly disappeared. Stopping in my tracks, I glanced around and saw my lady wife had halted abruptly. Turning fully towards her, I threw her a questioning look.
“Mrs Ambrose?”
She stared straight into my eyes. “Why?”
I cocked my head. “What do you mean?”
“Why here?” Her eyes narrowed. I did not comment on the deplorable waste of facial musculature. “Why did you bring me here, of all places?”
“Why, for our sightseeing tour, of course.”
“Not buying it.”
And here I thought I was good at selling things.
