I take him in. He's large and powerful and with him inside of me, I finally feel complete. It sounds like a joke, perhaps something unreal, but it's like we were meant to be this way.
Something separated us and we are finally back together.
Our bodies move as one. It becomes a dance.
The movements are slow at first but quickly gain momentum. I grab on to his back and his shoulders and wrap my legs tightly around him.
He continues to thrust into me deeper and deeper each time, spreading me wider and wider. And then when I can't hold on any longer, I grab on to the sheets and let a wave of pleasure rush through me.
It begins in my core and spreads through my fingers and toes, all the way to the ends and I feel my body pulsating and he moves faster and faster until he moans my name and collapses on top of me.
We lie here in bliss for a long time that night. At first, we just revel in the silence, and then we talk and we can't get enough of each other. We laugh.
He opens a bottle of wine and we tell one another stories about our childhood and our past lives. About three glasses in, I find myself wondering how I managed to live so long without him in my life.
When I wake up the following morning, I realize that I had forgotten about Allison altogether. I glance at my phone and see a lot of text messages and missed calls asking where I am. Still dressed in nothing but a sheet, I sit up in bed, face the huge bay window looking out onto the ocean, and call her.
"Hey, I'm so sorry," I say, and she launches into an attack.
"What are you doing? Where were you last night? You promised that you would call. I almost went to the police station."
"No, I'm fine. We just had a date."
"Yeah. I figured that much. Either that or he murdered you and chopped you up and buried you in his backyard.”
“He wouldn’t need to do that,” I joke. “He could’ve just tossed me out in the ocean.”
I want to laugh, but this is a serious matter. The thing is that I should have called. I should have told her. She has every right to be worried. "So how was it?" Allison asks after a long pause.
"It was good. We had fun. I'm still here."
"You are?" she asks, and immediately turns on FaceTime.
I want to press the big red button to ignore her, but I'm on call and I can't very well do that.
As soon as we connect, she shakes her head. While she is recently showered and has her hair styled and her makeup applied, I am wrecked.
I look at my reflection in the little corner. Messy hair resembling something of a bird's nest, last night's caked on makeup, and pasty skin and puffy eyes.
"Well, you look like you had a good time," she says, bringing the phone closer to her face. "And had clearly a lot to drink."
I laugh, only slightly embarrassed.
My eyes are bloodshot, and I feel a little woozy and unstable on my feet. “Hey, some people would say this is how you know you had a good time.”
“Will you at least be able to meet me for lunch in town?" she asks. "In like two hours?"
"Yeah, of course. I'll be there," I promise.
"Okay. It's the French crepe café right on Main Street."
"I'll look it up. Don't worry," I promise.
When Dante steps out of the shower, fresh and clean, he has his towel draped around his waist. When he flexes, I can see every outline of every muscle.
"Wow," I say. "It's like you're photoshopped."
He laughs, taking me into his arms. “So, last night was fun."
I nod, holding the sheet tightly against my breasts, even though he has seen every part of me multiple times last night. But still, somehow in the light of day, I feel shy.
"You want to go for a swim?” he asks.
"But you just took a shower."
"Eh. So what?"
After I change into my bathing suit, Dante grabs my hand and leads me down the stairs and toward the private walkway leading straight to the beach.
I remember how nervous I was coming up here yesterday and everything that has happened since still feels incredibly surreal.
The waves are bigger today. Capped with white, they dance in the sunlight. The sky is bright blue without a cloud in sight. It beams down and the rays are hot and a little too demanding.
Dante brings two towels and lays them down so close to the water that our feet are barely in it. A wave comes in and what comes in touches my towel.
"No, no, no, it's going to get wet this way," I say, picking mine up and walking it a good distance back. "I'll just sit on the sand. It feels good anyway."
The sand is lumpy, making up little ridges and peaks and valleys. The grains are relatively big, holding on to a great deal of heat. I scoop up a bunch in my hand and watch them fall through my fingers over and over again. It's almost as if I want to capture this moment on this beach with Dante so that I can remember it forever.
"Come on.” He grabs my hand and pulls me up to my feet. I try to resist, but after a few steps I'm in the water.
It feels cold on my feet, immediately cooling me off. I wade in further and further. When I get further into the water, Dante grabs my hand and pulls me closer.
He kisses me and then kisses me again and again. When he pulls away, he splashes me a little bit.
"Oh, no, I don't want to get my hair wet!” I yell.
"Really?" he asks, and then grabs my hand and pulls me under.
When I come up for air, I laugh, and I can't stop laughing, and I dunk him under in retribution. He's the one that has recently taken a shower anyway.
We continue to laugh, kiss, and swim like we have no worries in the world, and for a brief moment there, we don’t.
After swimming for a while, I remember that I have to get back to Allison. We hold hands walking back to the house, separating only so that he can rinse off at the outside shower by the pool. I opt for something more civilized since I need shampoo and conditioner.
Walking past the kitchen, I hear someone talking.
16
Jacqueline
I stand right behind the doorway, trying to figure out what to do. Their voices are muffled. All I hear is the sound of unpacking of groceries.
It's probably the help, I say to myself. Not wanting to sneak past them and have them notice me, I clear my throat and walk straight in.
"Oh, hey," I say, suddenly taken aback by the fact that the two people in front of me are not the housekeepers, but rather the owners.
The woman is wearing a flowing white summer dress with her hair pulled up to the top of her head, propped up by a pair of sunglasses.
The man next to her, the one with the expensive haircut and a nice tan, like someone who plays a lot of tennis in his free time, is dressed in a buttoned-down shirt and coral shorts popular with the Connecticut crowd.
I pull my towel close around me and step in my flip-flops in the puddle that I'm creating on the floor.
"I'm really sorry to intrude. I was just swimming with Dante."
"Yes, of course," the woman says.
When the light from the back hits her profile as she turns, I see that she's pregnant, recognizing her immediately.
"You must be Marguerite," I say, extending my hand.