She was standing on the dancer’s stage, looking at me. Despite the distance between us, she was really looking at me. One of her hands was holding a microphone, the other was palm out and toward me, beseeching.
Then I heard her say, “But the thing is, Nico. . . I need you.”
It didn’t really matter what she said next, what she asked. I would have said yes to anything. I would have given her anything. Not to get too Italian and melodramatic about it, but if she’d asked me to cut out my heart I would have. But she wouldn’t want that.
I trust her. I know she wants my heart in one piece and she always has.
I am of the opinion that women don’t really understand men. Most men, real men would do anything for the woman they love. When a man loves a woman enough to marry her, he loves her to the point of obsession. It’s the devotion of a male for his mate.
He watches her sleep. He smells her clothes searching for her scent. He craves her admiration like a drug. He lives for her smile, for her laugh, and especially for her touch.
Being needed—by his woman—is ecstasy for a man.
Which leads me to the third time Elizabeth surprised me. It happened just recently and made me think that maybe I have many more of these moments in my future. Maybe I’m one of those blessed bastards whose life will be a series of perfect moments.
We’re at a really good point in our relationship and still live in the Windy City. I’d moved the show once we were married and most of the cast moved with me. Over the summers I was filming movies and Elizabeth would come along. She never had any trouble finding a visiting clinician program.
Publicity died down fairly soon after the wedding. The asshole photographers basically disappeared or, when they did pop up, kept their distance.
I guess people are less interesting once they get married.
Regardless, the citizens of Chicago never seemed to make a big deal about us. I was hardly ever approached. And, when I was, it was usually by a tourist.
On this particular day we were in the park, specifically the concrete benches next to Crown Fountain; although, most of the locals just call it The Faces. I was sitting and she was lying on her side, her head was in my lap, watching people as they watched the interactive artwork.
My hand wound around her long braid and I moved my thumb over the silk of her hair. I loved it when she wore her hair like this. Call me sick and twisted, but I loved tugging on her braid or ponytail to get her attention. Maybe it was a holdover from when we were kids, but I didn’t think so because—in retaliation, but only rarely—she’d grab a handful of my hair and pull a lot harder than necessary.
This always made me want to rip her clothes off.
Elizabeth seemed to expect and accept that teasing was going to be a constant in our relationship. Getting a rise out of her wasn’t as easy as it used to be, with her love came patience. But I didn’t mind, because truly flustering her was a lot easier now that I was allowed to touch her whenever I wanted.
And I wanted. I wanted a lot.
Elizabeth shifted on my lap. “I spoke to Angelica this morning.”
“Really? Is something wrong? I just talked to her two days ago.”
“No, she’s great. She’s doing really great. We talked about her friends. The homeschool group your mom has her in seems to really be working out well and she’s started ballet class.”
I nodded though I felt uneasy about the dance classes. “I knew about the homeschool group; I didn’t know that mom had decided on the ballet.”
“It’s a small class and I talked to the teacher about arranging a special cleaning of the studio. I think it’ll be really good for her.”
“You talked to the teacher?”
She shrugged, her eyes focused on something in the distance. “Yes. I thought we could drive down there next weekend and visit.”
“Definitely. I want to meet the teacher, make sure she understands the situation.”
“Nico, the exercise will be good for improving her lung function.”
I grunted my response.
“See that lady over there?” Elizabeth, perhaps trying to change the subject, indicated with her chin toward a woman about thirty or so feet from where we were.
I glanced at a woman, maybe in her mid-fifties, hard to tell. “Yeah.”
“Every time one of the faces smiles she also smiles.”
I returned my attention to Elizabeth. “How long have you been watching her?”
“About five minutes. Wait—just watch—she’s about to do it.” I didn’t watch the woman. Instead, I watched Elizabeth, full of expectation. I knew the moment the other woman smiled because Elizabeth’s grin was immense.
“See? Did you see that?” She sighed, looked happy. “She has a great smile.”