"Has this ever happened before?" Frey asks, voice leaden with concern.
Dad shakes his head.
I take his hand, fearful that he'll flinch at its coldness. Instead, he takes my hand in both of his. "You're freezing." He begins kneading my hand, pulling me to lean my head against his chest.
Another flashback to another cold room-only this one was a morgue and I was seated by myself outside a set of swinging doors waiting for my parents to come back.
I close my eyes, trying to push the memory away, my body shaking with the effort the same way my father's shook a few minutes ago.
Dad's arms close around me. "Don't," he says softly. "Don't think the worst. Not yet."
I open my eyes to find Frey looking at me, his very posture humming with the need to do something and his face filled with frustration because he knows there's nothing to be done. Feeling powerless is not an emotion either of us can abide. I hold out a hand to him and he grabs it.
The door to Mom's room opens. Dad and I stand, step apart, focusing all our attention on the man approaching. I try to catch a glimpse into the room before the door snaps closed, but I see only the end of the bed and a nurse writing on a clipboard.
The doctor speaks to my father in French, adding to my exasperation. He's young, thin, sober-faced, head covered with the kind of skullcap doctors wear in surgery, body cloaked in white scrub pants and a spotless lab coat. But my father's face clears, his shoulders relax a little more with each word. Frey is at my side, has taken my hand again; he is interpreting Dad's reactions the same way. The news can't be all bad.
Finally, the doctor shakes my father's hand, nods to Frey and I, and strides down the hall.
I barely wait until he's out of sight before rounding on my father. "What did he say?"
Dad puts a hand on my shoulder, smiles. "We can bring her home today. She was dehydrated. Overtired. But they're giving her IV fluids. We can go in."
I'm the first through the door.
Mom is propped up, still in her own nightgown and robe, one IV tube pumping clear fluid into her arm. She smiles apologetically. "I'm so sorry."
But I've already caught her up in a hug that muffles her words against my shoulder. "Don't be silly. The doctor said you were dehydrated. That's what you get from drinking all that champagne. And overtired. I was worried that might happen."
She's shaking her head. "And I wouldn't change a thing. The wedding was so beautiful. And what's a French wedding without champagne?"
Dad waggles a finger at her. "Well, you gave us quite a scare. From now on, less excitement and more rest." He turns to me. "Why don't you two go back and let the others know what's happened. They must be beside themselves with worry. Especially Trish. Tell them we'll be home for dinner."
I look at Mom. "You sure you don't want me to stay, too?"
Mom pulls me forward for a kiss. "No. You and Daniel should be with the children. Assure them I'm fine. Tell Catherine to prepare a nice dinner for us. We'll eat outside-all of us-the family."
I hesitate, looking hard at her. Her voice is strong, her eyes clear, her skin radiant. "Okay. We'll go. I'll bring Trish back, though, if she insists on coming."
Mom shakes her head again. "No. I don't want her to see me like this. Just assure her I'll be home soon."
She's adamant. Dad interjects, "Really, Anna. There's no need for Trish to come. Maybe she and John-John can go riding this afternoon. Tell her by the time they get back, Mom will be home."
I hold up my hands in surrender. "Okay. Okay." I lean over and give Mom another quick hug. "I don't remember you ever being so stubborn."
"Who do you think you got it from?" Dad asks with a chuckle.
Frey has leaned over to peck my mom's cheek, too. "I'm not going to question it ever again."
I feign shock. "You think I'm stubborn?"
"Obstinate. Inflexible. Willful-"
That last gets Frey a sock on the arm. I'm not feigning this time. "Willful? You make me sound like a brat."
Dad and Frey both shoot me looks that in spite of it all, make me smile. "Well. Nice to know what my new husband and father really think of me. We'd better get out of here before this conversation about my character degenerates any further."
Mom is laughing and Dad smilingly waves us out the door. When I glance back, he's perched on the side of the bed, Mom's right hand clasped firmly in both of his own.
CHAPTER 33
RELIEF THAT MOM WILL BE HOME SOON IS MINGLED with the knowledge that the next time something like this happens, she might not recover. That eventually, she won't recover.
That eventually, every human I know and love will be taken from me.
Mom, Dad, Trish, John-John.
Frey.
I close my eyes, flashing back to the wedding. Am I fooling myself with Frey? How many times will I repeat the ritual, marry someone I love with a promise of forever? Someone mortal, someone doomed.
Frey is quiet on the ride back. He has taken one of my hands and rested it, covered by his own, on his knee as he drives. The contact is comforting and familiar. I told David yesterday life is too short and love too important to squander. I bring Frey's hands to my lips. I'm going to appreciate every moment we have.
Frey squeezes my hand. I smile, constantly amazed how my heart can soar one minute, and be plunged into despair the next. This is the saddest and happiest time of my entire life.
Trish rushes out to meet us when we pull up. I put my arms around her shoulders and tell her what happened to Mom, why, and that she will be back with us by dinnertime.
"I should be at the hospital."
"Mom knew you'd say that. But really, there's nothing you could do there. That's why I'm back. She kicked me out, too."
Trish's watery smile is coupled with a sigh. "She can be so stubborn."
"Oh no." I stop her with a hug then gently propel her toward the door. "We're not having this conversation again. Let's go get some breakfast. I'm starved."
She looks confused and Frey says, "Don't ask."
Just then, John-John, David and Tracey are at the door, and we hustle ourselves inside.
* * *
CATHERINE IS DELIGHTED AT THE NEWS THAT MOM IS recovering well and promises to prepare a special dinner for us. We tell John-John and Trish that it was Mom's suggestion that they spend the afternoon riding and after a little persuasion, they leave for the neighbors. David and Tracey insist on staying another night, as anxious as any of us to see for themselves that Mom is okay. They take the MG and Catherine's grocery list to the village to shop.
Then it's just Frey and me.
We're sitting side by side at the dining room table, coffee mugs drained, some of the morning's tension finally dissipating.
I stretch my arms overhead and sigh. "What a way to start our first day as a married couple."
Frey stands up, holds out a hand. "Well, this is still the first day."
I put my hand in his and he pulls me up. "And we did get interrupted. Mom is going to be all right. We have the house to ourselves. Now remind me, what is it we were doing this morning?"
Frey pulls me close with a hand at the small of my back. "This refresh your memory?"
The feel of him hard against me sends a rush of heat to my skin.
It does.
* * *
"DO YOU THINK IN TWENTY YEARS WE'LL STILL BE spending afternoons like this?"
I'm lying on my stomach, stretched out beside Frey. We're both naked, both spent after an afternoon of energetic and imaginative sex. I didn't know there were so many ways to give and receive pleasure.
And I've been around.
Frey makes a grumbling sound that is half purr, half growl. "I hope so. Or I'll have to trade you in for a younger model."
"Is that so?" I prop myself up on my elbows. "Let's see. In twenty years I'll still be thirty, and in twenty years you'll be-"
"Okay." Frey covers my lips with a finger. "I get it. I guess I'll just have to keep coming up with ways to keep you interested."
"Well." I draw the word out, my turn to purr. I lift myself so that I am now lying on top of him, stomach to stomach, hip to hip, my legs resting between his. I grind against him, feel a familiar stirring. "You're off to a great start."
He pulls my head down for a kiss, tongue teasing, advancing, retreating, until I grip it gently with my teeth and draw it in. He puts his arms around me and I know he intends to roll me over. I don't let him. Instead I sit up, straddle him, take him fully and deeply inside. His breath catches and his head falls back. He lets me take the lead, lets me draw pleasure from him as I lift and lower, thighs clenched tight, muscles contracting around and against him. His breath comes faster, his body tenses. I'm not there yet, but it doesn't matter. I watch him, watch his face, watch as the muscles in his abdomen grow taut, watch as his back arches. His hands grasp my hips. He's so close. A tiny movement, a tightening, and a moan escapes his lips as he empties himself into me.
A moan escapes my lips, too. Intense pleasure as satisfying as any orgasm. Frey's face, shining, open, so bright with love it's like looking into the sun.
This is what love is.
I collapse against him. We hold each other. He strokes my hair, and I feel hot tears burn the back of my eyes.