Page 63 of Ripple Effect
When Libby comes down about fifteen minutes later, our subs are laid out on our wedding china, flutes of champagne poured, and the lights dimmed. Yet, it’s me who’s struck dumb when I see my wife in a black, deep V-neck, all-lace nightie that barely covers the parts of her I want to devour more than the meal I ordered. Her hair is mostly dry and twisted up, exposing her creamy shoulders. “God, you’re beautiful,” I rasp.
Libby blushes. “I know we said no gifts, but I couldn’t resist.”
“Turn around.” The command is guttural, but my lovely wife complies. The back of that scrap of temptation drops down to the base of her spine. And the straps are so insubstantial that one good tug and the entire thing will be a pool at her feet.
I can’t wait to test it later, but right now, I have to make certain Libby’s taken care of.
“First I have to feed you. Then, well, I wouldn’t expect to be wearing that for too long.”
“You don’t like it?” Libby’s feigned innocence is in direct contrast to the fire flicking in her eyes as they roam my face, my chest, and below. She knows what she’s doing to me, the minx.
Slipping an arm around her, I tug her against me so she can feel exactly the reaction she caused. “You know damn good and well I love it. I just think it might be time for you to make up for all that sass you’ve been throwing at me,” I drawl, trying to get the upper hand.
I utterly fail as Libby’s face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Really?”
I groan as I press my head into the side of her neck before letting myself taste her. It’s a shock that even as my lips make contact, she stiffens in my arms.
“Cal? What’s all this?”
Ah, she threw me so off balance, I forgot about my surprise. Loosening my arms, but not entirely letting her go, I pull her in front of me. Lowering my head, I whisper, “Happy anniversary, honey. I know we said no gifts, but I couldn’t let today pass without showing you how much I love you.” Feeling her body start to shake in my arms, I tighten my arms. “Always, Libby. Always.”
“You got me sunflowers,” she says wonderingly. At my nod, she asks, “How?”
“I’ll never tell.”
“You always manage to make me feel more special than I deserve.” Her voice is filled with joy. “You’re the most honest, caring, handsome man in the world. There are so many days I just count my blessings for you.”
The shaft of rightful guilt I feel doesn’t belong here. Not today. “I’m the one who’s lucky, Libs. Every second I know you love me, it’s a gift I never imagined I’d ever have.”
Turning back to face me, my wife blows me away when she says, “The feelings I have for you don’t have a name yet; they’re that enormous.”
And that’s how I ended up making my bride of two years wait even longer for her dinner as I pulled her down to the area rug beneath our dining room table and made sweet love to her with only the bouquet of sunflowers as witnesses.
41
Present Day
Elizabeth
“So, the sex hadn’t changed in your marriage?” Dr. Powell asks.
I shake my head. “I still couldn’t say Cal’s name without the shivers.” A brief smile flits at my lips. “Kind of the way it is now.”
“Taking us out of the timeline for a few minutes, do you realize how extraordinary it is with everything you’ve been through you both have managed to hold on?”
“My heart isn’t complete without his beating close by,” I sigh.
“There are some who might say you’re weak for that.”
“Admitting my heart hurts without his has nothing to do with my being a strong, capable woman. It has to do with the fact that there’s a cadence to the way a heart is supposed to beat, and mine’s wrong without Cal’s.” My eyes close for a moment in anguish while I admit a truth. “Underwater, you don’t hear your heartbeat in your chest. You hear it inside your head. It pounds in between your ears so hard and strong. If the beat’s off, it’s just a constant reminder that everything is wrong. Just wrong. Wrong.” Opening my eyes, Dr. Powell’s compassion is almost my undoing.
“We’re all individuals for a reason. Each of us is unique. What works for my life and my marriage won’t work for you or for the person who greeted me when I came into the building. What works is as individualistic as wild and terrifying as the love we’re supposed to have, the families we raise, and the lives we lead. Why should I be considered weak because I fought through hell for my version of that?”
“You shouldn’t,” Dr. Powell assures me. “Do you think your marriage would be as strong now if you hadn’t lived through what you did?”
“It would be different. But as to whether or not it would be stronger, I can’t answer that. There would have been trials by life in some form or fashion. Of that, I’m certain.”
“What makes you say that?”
