All serious thoughts of blood and death and sacrifices fled Ambrose’s mind. A bright, warm giddiness took over. He could have sworn that his skin and hair was sparkling.
For the first time, we are in a hotel together and we will share a room, share a bed together. No more fears. No uncertainties. Just love. Just light.
He led Barbara to the door to their room and slid the key card through the slot. The lock clicked. He pushed the door open.
Just us. Husband and wife. Ambrose and Barbara Smith.
He dragged his luggage inside and held the door open for her.
She pulled her luggage in. A very charming blush colored her face and he couldn’t resist.
Ambrose cupped her warmed face in between his hands. “Barbara. My Barbara.” He kissed her.
She gasped softly before returning his kiss.
He pressed his body against hers and kissed every bit of warmth on her face.
“Oh. Oh. A…Amb…Ambrose. Wait. Wait.”
“What?” he murmured in her ear.
He let out a surprised laugh and released her. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
She looked at him with her face still blush bright. “It’s okay. I’ll be right back. Um. Make yourself comfortable.”
He smiled lovingly at her. “I will.”
She retreated into the bathroom with her luggage firmly in tow.
Ambrose thought it peculiar that she’d take her whole suitcase in with her, but chose not to question it. He moved his own suitcase out of the way and headed over to the bed to remove his shoes.
Barbara set the black shirt box on the bathroom counter. Just the sight of that plain box made her feel as if she were made out of a bonfire. Muscles of flames. Bones of flames. Fingernails and hair follicles and nerve filaments —- all flames. Vivid, ecstatic flames.
She opened the box and removed the delicate lingerie — sheer red with black roses. At last. An excited grin spread across her face. His mind is going to explode.
And then some.
Ambrose moved his shoes out of the way. He didn’t want either himself or Barbara to trip over them. He unzipped his hoodie and removed it.
He was all set to remove his white tank top.
The bathroom door opened.
He glanced over and nearly fell off the bed.
Barbara stepped outside the bathroom, dressed in the red and black lingerie. The sheer red material revealed and flaunted her body. The black roses both concealed and drew attention to the areas it covered. The hem was several inches below her crotch. A simple red ruffle, as delicate as the rest, gave the whole piece an innocent flounce. Her arms were covered with the red material. Her legs were completely bare.
Her hair was twirled up into a simple bun and held together with red and black crystal chopsticks. There was still a blush all over her face, but no self-consciousness or embarrassment. There was pride and joy and love. And excitement. That excitement was impossible to miss.
Ambrose stumbled off the bed and stared at her with want and wonder.
She took an awkward step forward. But then she stopped. Maybe she realized that trompsing over to him was NOT the right way to present herself in lingerie. She giggled and proceeded to strut and dance her way over to him.
It was not a polished, well-choreographed production. It was an awkward, silly mishmash of random dance moves. The pro dancers at Guiseppe’s Sundown Ballroom would have been aghast at the lack of style. The supreme lack of elegance.
Ambrose had never loved anything more.