Page 226 of New Storm Rising
“…and to claim some ownership documents.”
“You don’t say.”
“I do. Let’s go, shall we?”
I offered her my arm and, with a look that didn’t seem very affectionate for some reason, she accepted. Together, we strode towards the entrance. Roughly ten minutes later, I re-emerged with the ownership papers of theTresoro de Españaunder one arm, and my beautiful wife on the other. Contentedly, I nodded to myself. This was what true happiness should feel like. Helping my wife into the carriage that was waiting for us, I climbed in after her and took a seat beside her with a contented nod.
“Finally. Our task is achieved, Mrs Ambrose. I think this is my favourite part of the honeymo—”
Thanks to the instincts honed over many years of survival in the wilderness, I abruptly sensed a threat of death. Glancing over at my wife, I found a tigress next to me ready to devour her prey.
“Ehem. I think I should not finish that sentence. Silence is golden, after all.”
“Wise choice, Mr Ambrose. Wise choice.”
With a sweet smile on her face, she grabbed hold of my arm and snuggled into my side—and I found myself sliding an arm around her, feeling content. For some strange reason, I didn’t think it had anything to do with the ownership documents I had obtained.
Our last few days in New York City passed rather quickly and without any other expensive excursions. When the day of departure came, we packed our things and checked out of the hotel (not without paying the bill, unfortunately). At my wife’s request (read: insistence), we went on a last tour through the city. Then, at long last, we made our way to the harbour, boarded our ship and embarked on our journey home.
Finally, our troubles were over.
“Bleeeeawwwwk!”
Correction: all troubles were over, except one.
Slowly turning my head, I met the gaze of the camel that stood on the deck right next to me, trying to put every bit of authority I was capable of into my glare.
“Go. Away.”
In response, the camel completely ignored me.
Why did we bring that infernal beast along again?
“Now, now, Ambrose Senior. Is that any way to talk to Ambrose Junior?” came a familiar female voice from behind me.
Ah, right. She’s why.
Turning around, I speared Mrs Ambrose with my stare in the vain hope it would have more effect on her than on the camel. “You are going to change that name.”
In defiance, she lifted her chin. “Am not.”
“You are.”
“Am not.”
“You. Are.”
“Isn’t this amazing?” Abruptly, her expression changed from stubborn to exuberant and, with a wide smile, she pulled me into a hug. “We’ve only been married for a few weeks, and already we can argue like an old married couple. We’re really talented at this marriage stuff!”
That was certainly one way of looking at it. Although…
“If you think that this will manage to distract me from the subject at hand, you are very much mistaken. I willnotaccept some flea-infested member of the species Camelus being named after me! Is that understood?”
“You’re a bit grumpy today, aren’t you?” I felt her hand pat my shoulder. “Don’t worry. I know just the thing to cheer you up.”
Rarely had mere words instilled me with this much dread. My eyes narrowed infinitesimally. “What?”
With an innocent smile, she slung one arm around my shoulder and the other around the neck of the creature I refused to call “Ambrose Junior”.
