Chapter 19: Nine O'Clock

The night before the gala, Erik cooked.

He made a pot of risotto, and I ate two bowls.

I did not stop to ask my stomach for permission.

"Cracker count?" he said, scraping the pan.

"Eleven bites past the cracker."

"That's a record."

"You keep a record?"

"Of everything you eat," he said. "I'm not proud of it."

I laughed, and then I looked at the clock over his shoulder.

It was eight forty.

My laugh went out of me.

He saw it.

He turned off the burner and dried his hands and crossed the kitchen.

"It's twenty minutes," he said. "We've done this before."

"Nine o'clock."

"Nine o'clock, and it passes, and I'm still here."

"Stay with me for it."

"I'm not going anywhere."

He took my hand and walked me to the bedroom.

He turned on the lamp so the room wasn't dark.

I sat on the edge of the bed and he knelt in front of me and took off my shoes.

His thumbs pressed into the arches of my feet, and I made a noise I hadn't expected to make.

"Good?"

"Don't stop."

"I won't."

He worked his way up my calves, then my knees, and with every inch he watched my face.

I pulled my sweater over my head and dropped it on the floor.

He looked at me in the lamplight.

"You're beautiful," he said. "You know that, don't you?"

"Tell me anyway."

"You're beautiful."

I took the hem of his shirt and pulled him up by it.

He came with a grin and kissed me until I fell back onto the pillows.

His mouth went down my throat and over my collarbone.

He took my breast in his mouth through my bra, and I arched off the bed.

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