DANCE THE ORANGE, DANCE THE SUN

TITLE: Dance the Orange, Dance the Sun

DATE: 2011-12

“A star can and will fade, and the world will keep turning. But the sun… nothing lives without the sun.” – Rodrigo, the retired bullfighter.

“But it’s also the sun’s job to keep shining, and at a safe level, so plants can grow and creatures can live and prosper.” – Laura Banzi, his wife.

*******

1.

Over her lover’s shoulder, cars and houses and the occasional stretch of green blur and blend like smears of paint, colored subdued by the tinted windows.

“Sweetheart?”

In response she lets her gaze slide from the window across the woman’s shoulder, and up, taking her time. The eyes that meet her are bright, brighter than they have been for a long time. Certainly days and weeks, if not… She doesn’t let her thoughts linger, and instead slips deep into shining pools. Maybe it is the trick of the rising morning sun, they look almost amber, a series of deep rich orange brown. Unexpectedly, she is reminded of the frog on her great grandmother’s violin bow, carved from the Baltic fossil, and the bits of life trapped inside. Blinking away the sudden thought, Alex smiles, “It feels strange, doesn’t it?”

A corner of her lips lifting, Olivia offers a shrug. Meanwhile, carefully, and she hopes, surreptitiously, her fingers inch across the leather seat.

“Stop it.”

Innocently, she stills her hand. “Hm?” Her mouth curls higher in response to her lover’s low laugh. “What?”

Alex merely shakes her head.

“You know there’s a divider, and the windows are tinted.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?” The former prosecutor distracts. “You know, tint law?”

“We’re in a vehicle with a Jersey plate; Jersey doesn’t have the same law,” Olivia replies reasonably, conversationally, while her fingers resume their previous course.

“Liv.”

“Hey, I was never on the traffic beat, thank god.”

“We’re on our way to Newark,” Alex provides, as if the words carry more meanings than they do. And they do, just not in ‘that’ way.

“I know. Eight hours, we’ll be on the plane.” Olivia gives her grin. “I can at least hold your hand?”

Oh, if only you knew what I’m thinking. Although most likely she does. Her lover seems to have an unfailing sixth sense about certain things. And that’s dangerous. “Did you like Duran Duran? When you were a teenager?”

“Who didn’t?” Olivia laughs, wondering which garden they are to visit. “They were so pretty, all of them. But I had the hugest crush on Simon.”

“You would.”

“He was blonde.”

“Sure.” Alex smiles, pretending to ignore the insinuation. Still she provides, “My favorite was Roger. He looked like the silent brooding type.”

“And he has brown hair and brown eyes.”

“Did you watch the videos?”

“Oh, yeah, I especially remember the one, it’s black and white, where the blonde goes and meets her lover in the limousine. She was… And what she was wearing… Oh, man.” She makes a sizzling sound, then smiles a slow smile as her eyes travels South to rest on the opening of her lover’s coat.

Why do I do this? Quickly, she tries to regroup. “Are you sure it was the blonde, and not the other? Or were they both brunettes? I can’t remember.”

“To be honest?” Olivia licks her lips. “All I really remember is ‘sing blue silver’, whatever that means, in the chorus, oh, and the blonde’s legs. The woman was hot. And her long, long, beautiful legs, and how they wrapped around her lover’s waist to pull her in, and…”

“Liv!” She yelps to interrupt, and then lowers her voice. “That wasn’t in the video.” It was a memory, one now fresh in her head. Damn you.

“It wasn’t? I could’ve sworn. My bad.” The brunette replies innocently. “You know he can’t hear us, unless we press this little button.”

Alex sighs. “So this doesn’t bother you? That we’re in a hired car, heading to Newark, and meeting up with my cousin?”

“I like Dani, and I’ve never flown on a private jet. It’ll be interesting.”

“Yeah, it’ll be that.” She sighs again, and focuses once more on the passing scenery, and tries not to shift in her seat or feel the tingle when the tip of her lover’s finger caresses her skin.

*******

2.

In silence, Olivia watches her fiancée, occasionally smiling into her sky blue eyes. It feels like heaven, she decides, knowing she is being corny and doesn’t care. They’re on their way to the airport, then an uninterrupted two weeks, with no real responsibilities. Sometimes, like now, she catches herself wondering what life would be like, if they sold everything they own, and just moved somewhere. Not that they would really do it; there would be too much guilt involved, and mostly not hers. Oddly, the realization doesn’t bother or even surprise her.

It does jar her enough to comment, “I think it’s cool that Dani’s invited us. And I’m glad we aren’t flying direct to Seville, but this is going to be fun.” With a playful Cheshire cat smile, she queries aloud, “You think the pilot will let me sit in his seat? I wanna take a picture to show Fin.”

“Is he teasing you?”

“Teasing?” Reacting with her gut, Olivia feigns ignorance; she doesn’t know why.

“He said something about my place, before. So I only can imagine…” Alex thinks better, and stops. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no, it’s my turn now, to tease him back,” she admits. “And you know John, he’ll get a kick out of it. Probably launch into some lecture about the make and model of the plane, and the best flight condition and whether the altitude would be too high to make pudding.”

Alex knows what her lover is trying to do; and she knows this is just another issue she has to work through or live with. Or maybe I’m making too big a deal about it. Probably. “All right. I just don’t want… It’s still so strange…”

“To not be a public servant? To actually take vacations?” Sincerely, Olivia offers her best grin. “I think I got spoiled taking time off, to visit you.” Not to mention working only normal shifts for the weeks she commuted between the city and Sparkill. Really, she prefers to forget that time altogether. “I don’t know how I did it before, working 24/7, 365 days.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“When was your last time off, and I meant voluntary.”

“Before Chicago? Voluntary?” Alex struggles briefly, and gives up. “I can’t remember.”

“I rest my case.”

“Wait, we visited Princeton. I had a sub.”

“And told the sub to call you if necessary.”

“How do you remember these things anyway? So random.”

“I just do?” I also took time to think, sitting in your office. Wonder if Ling told you? “Come on, no work talk. Not for two weeks. I want you to promise. We focus on us. Nothing else. Niente. Nada. Nothing.”

Nothing else but try and get back our rhythm. “Okay. Sorry.” Sorry for messing up our steps. She lets out a breath, and closes her eyes. Then another thought falls into her head. “How do you think they look now?”

“Who?”

“Simon and Roger and the rest.”

“Who cares?” Laughing, Olivia throws up her hand, the one not laced with her companions. “Old, I’m sure.”

“They aren’t that much older than us?”

“Maybe they are, maybe they aren’t. We’re getting older, too.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Well, I did just have a birthday. So in whole numbers, I’m a year older.”

“For a few months.” Alex laughs. “What’s with your fixation about being older anyway?”

“I dunno?” Olivia squeaks; self-consciously, she clears her throat, and any whininess. “I look older, you can’t deny that.” And she could’ve slapped herself for mentioning it. Quickly, she distracts, “Oh my god, remember their mullets? And eighties fashion in general? And I can’t believe it’s gonna come back, sooner or later, since fashion recycles every twenty years or so.”

“Good thing we’re too old for torn fishnets. And puffy hair.”

“Not me, I had Annie Lennox hair.”

“You did? Annie Lennox?”

The shock coloring clear blue eyes make her unreasonably smug. “Yep, before that I had hair down to my waist, all permed and frizzy. It was crap to take care.”

“I’ll bet.” Alex pulls at her own hair, getting long, too, and frizzy in any humidity. A hand stops hers, and replaces with loving strokes. The look in her lover’s eyes, the smile on her lips, they make her feel the distance, both metaphorical and real. Before regret floods her, Olivia pulls her back.

“Oh, and I wore skinny acid dyed jeans with holes and fishnet underneath. Or was that in the 90’s? Can’t remember now, not sure I want to really.” She makes a face. “Point is, sweetheart: What’s your point?”

“You know?” Alex pauses; long moments later, she concedes with a deep laugh. “I’m not sure anymore.”

“Good, ‘cause you know, there are better things besides bad fashion to think about.”

“Like?” Then she sees the shades of desire on her lover’s face, and scrambles for equilibrium. “Wait, stop, don’t you dare go there. We’re stuck in a car.”

*******

3.

Even without looking, Alex knows Olivia’s eyes are on her. They have been for the last five minutes at least, she can feel it on her skin as if it were a tangible touch. Valiantly, she fights the sensation, which is quickly transforming from a pleasant tickle to an itch, all over. There’s nothing wrong with living vicariously through one’s fiancée, right? With a prankish grin, she reaches around and scratches the back of Olivia’s neck, and asks, “What are you doing?”

“You’re mine. All mine.”

Alex laughs. “Yes, we’re on our way to Spain, no phone calls, no clients, no perps…”

“Shh… No work.”

“For two weeks,” she adds, wrinkling her nose.

“Didn’t your mom ever tell you, your pretty face might freeze?” Olivia snorts. “Watch that tongue, too, someone might try…”

“Yeah? What? What might someone try?”

“Oh, I can think of a million things...”

“Shut up.” Dramatically, Alex scoots along the leather seat, and braces against the door, ready to push the brunette back. “Stay where you are and keep your hands where I can see them. And, you’re not playing fair.”

“Eh, ‘fair’? What is it you like to say about fairness in love? And, you stole my lines, and no work-talk. Zip.”

“Whatever. Spain,” Alex says and folds her arms under her chest.

Do you even realize what you’re doing? Olivia smirks at offered view. She chuckles when her fiancée yanks closed her coat and lets her hands fall. The resulting mock pout warms her heart. “Don’t forget Milan,” she reminds, intentionally staying on her side of the car, against the other woman’s expectations. “I’m looking forward to seeing Daniela again.” Under better circumstances this time. “She promised a tour of her palazzo.”

“You realize that’s a converted apartment building these days, and we can’t get into every room.”

“But it’ll be an experience. And we should take a picture for Fin.” He has mostly stopped teasing her about marrying up, got old quickly when she quit reacting. Now it is payback time, and she’s going to enjoy every opportunity. She could just see his face when she emails a photograph of them in windbreaker weather with plenty of sunshine in front of the fountain at Castello Sforzesco, or in their skimpy evening gowns with a light overcoat before a performance at La Scala while New York City gets buried under the forecasted snow storm. Yeah. She ought to feel at least a little sheepish, but she doesn’t. Not at all. “Oh, but that’s not what I meant.”

“Okay…”

“The block. I’m your block. One and only.”

“Oh, my god.” Alex fights the urge to bang her head against the window. Not again? What’s next? When is this obsession going to stop? “Yes, my Blockhead.”

“Hey, that’s not nice.”

“Nice?” Talking about ‘nice’ always ends us up in the same place. Nuh uh. Nope. “I’m not falling for it.”

“Come on.”

“Come on, what, Liv? Let’s not make a big production out of this.”

“But it’s a big deal. A huge deal, you said so yourself. It’s a beautiful, wonderful gift, and humbling. And I almost wish we waited…”

Alex barks out a laugh. “I doubt I could hold out, even if you could.”

“I said ‘almost’,” Olivia assures with a chuckle of her own. Then her expression turns tender, and serious. “But I do wish I could give you the same.”

The sincerity stops the blonde; she reflects. A huge deal? I said that? When? Oh, right, the talk about the Emily’s. Why did I ever... She lets out a small sigh. “Our experiences make us who we are, Liv. And I imagine yours make our life less potentially awkward.” Then she remembers her lover’s initial fumbling and corrects, “Or at least more interesting.” Parts of her body flush at the thought of the things the woman knows and does. “A lot more interesting.” She bites her lip.

“You were never awkward.” Olivia leers, and smiles a smile crossed between knowing and hot seduction. She could feel the air shifting and her lover growing wetter in response. Involuntarily, she shivers, as her fingers rub together against the phantom warmth. “In fact…”

“Must we go there?”

“I just can’t get over how experienced, how not awkward…”

“Inexperience is not synonymous with ignorance.”

“I’ll say!” Dark brows waggle, then they still and start to knit. “Hey, didn’t you say that to me before?”

“I… I don’t know. Might have?”

“Huh.” Olivia shakes her head, as if to dismiss the effort of searching her memory. Her Cheshire cat smile returns. “You definitely knew your way around…”

“Please, Liv,” Alex pauses, wondering what she could plea. Niente, nada, nothing, she decides with a groan. “You know where this leads us.”

“Yes. Think about the next however many hours and the privacy we’re not going to have. Tell me you really don’t want it.”

Oh, fuck it. She eyes the raised divider as she closes the distance. Taking in how in less than a heartbeat, her lover’s features soften from seductive triumph to tenderness, she grabs her face. Restraints unraveling, she lets go; clenching her fingers in dark fawn-colored hair, she pulls her forward. “Make it quick,” she gasps, before opening to velvety lips and tongue. Then the woman’s intimate touch, her responsive moan, they rock and burn through her.

*******

4.

It was almost noon when Daniela’s plane finally arrived from Maryland. Something had developed at the lab late last night and required her attention, her distant cousin on her father’s side had explained with profuse apologies. Alex didn’t really mind. She and Olivia had found a quiet corner at the airport, where they parked themselves each with a cup of espresso and some pastries, and just watched the various activities on the runway. The new schedule would get them into Milan around sunrise the following day, instead of midnight. It is better in a way - they can launch into their vacation, the sightseeing and whatever Dani has planned. Hopefully, by the time they leave for Seville, their bodies would already be adjusted to the time difference.

Now in the air, with various routines and pleasantries out of the way, Alex looks around the cabin. First thing she notices is the familiar layout, decorated except in neutral colors and utilitarian fixtures that are no doubt a part of fractional ownership. Still, the aircraft is similar to the one she travelled on, that Cabot Logistics International owned and probably still owns.

Sometimes she wonders what is going on with her grandfather’s company. Most of the time, she is happy she is not involved and nor is she expected to be. It seems her uncles and their children have for the most part written her off. She should feel bad, but she doesn’t. Presently, she wonders if her mom is still on the board of CLI, or if they have finally convinced her to sell Alexander’s share. She makes a mental note to ask.

Again she looks around, and tried to remember the first time she flew commercial. It seems so distant. It’s been years. Still, it almost feels like the memory belonged to someone else, or that she is simply replaying a movie she had seen.

Not for the first time, she wonders how her life would be if her father were still around. She knows what would be expected of her. The thought makes her close her eyes and hold her breath as she fights against the instinct to squeeze her lover’s hand. Instead, with casualness she doesn’t feel, she lets her body slide closer to the woman. The gentle kiss near her temple, and the arm wrapping tighter about her shoulder almost bring tears to her eyes. She cannot fathom how life would be without Olivia in it.

Still closer, she leans in, almost half lying on her lover at this point, and she extricates her hand, to pull the other arm about her torso. The brunette’s chuckle grips her heart.

“Comfy?”

Not trusting her voice, Alex nods.

“So I’m chair? With arms that hug?”

Remaining silent, she twists to press a kiss to her lover’s shoulder, and smiles when warm lips once more brush against her hair. Thank you.

As horrible as it may sound, she does not wish things to be different. To not have Olivia in her life, it would be unthinkable.

After another long moment, she shifts again, this time unbuckling her seatbelt to ease further down, so she can look up to amused brown eyes. Her own gaze turn light when the woman reaches down to readjust and re-hook the clasp.

“Wouldn’t want you falling off.”

In response, she touches her lover’s cheek. No words can adequately describe how she feels towards Olivia; she senses it is understood.

Finally, she speaks, “When my father was alive, this was how we travelled.”

“Private jet?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay?” Olivia replies weighing the opening lines and wondering where they lead. Unable to resist, she asks, “Do you miss your dad?”

“Sometimes.”

Through the cabin noise, she feels rather than hears the accompanying sigh, and she offers, “I didn’t tell you, but your mom and I talked, a lot, when you were in Sparkill.”

“You did?” Somehow that does not surprise the blonde.

“I know he would never approve of us, at least not initially.”

‘Initially?’ Alex scoffs without words. You were right the first time.

“I know, more like never,” Olivia amends. “Sometimes I wonder…” If it is something else that helps us understand each other, not having durable father figures in our lives. She thinks better against voicing those words and shrugs. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Why? What do you wonder?”

“Nothing, I know the answer.”

“Yeah?”

“We’d still meet and fall in love, regardless.”

Ah. “You think so?”

“Positive.” With a deeper smile, she reveals, “Lillian told me a story. You wanna hear?”

“Sure.”

“It’s about this boy running into an old man. The man pointed at a girl, and told the boy that’s who he’ll marry. The boy got upset and threw a rock at the girl.”

“Did he get arrested?”

Olivia laughs and taps her lover’s lips, then ignoring the question, she continues, “Years later, the boy grew up, moved away and met and married a woman. One day, he noticed a scar on his wife’s forehead and asked.”

“Let me guess, she was the girl.”

“Dammit, must you kill my story?”

“That was Lillian’s story, and I didn’t kill it,” Alex replies with a grin that matches her lover’s. “So who’s who?”

“Who’s who?”

“Are you the one who got nailed with a rock? Or am I?” Then, without warning, Olivia alters the texture of her smile. “What?” She asks, then immediately realizing her error. “Don’t you dare go there.”

“Where?” Olivia sniggers. “Where are we going without the rock?”

“Milan. That’s the only place we’re going.”

“You’re forgetting Seville,” she relents, but adds after a beat, “Te quiero.”

Alex twines their fingers together and releases a sigh. Much later, she tugs her lover’s head forward and she whispers, over the din of the engine into her ear. “You, too.”

Without missing a beat, Olivia replies, “I know.”

*******

5.

“You know there’s another room, Dani said so.”

Yes, Alex remembers her cousin mentioning it when the woman excused herself. “So?”

“We could…”

“I know you don’t mean that,” Alex challenges with a smirk. “Come on, we can’t even sit here without seatbelts, you had to dig them out from god knows where…”

“They were right here,” Olivia points to the space between the seat cushions, where the clasps were originally hidden. “I didn’t go digging.”

“Whatever. Let’s just go to sleep.”

“But I’m not sleepy.”

“We have,” Alex pauses to check her lover’s watch. “Five more hours at least. We should try and get used to the time difference.”

“But I’m not sleepy.”

“So you want to grab a room, and risk falling off during turbulence while I have my merry way with you?” She taps the brunette’s nose. “Didn’t think so.”

“I wish we could teleport ourselves there.”

“I know you don’t have a fear of flying. We flew during…” Stopping before Olivia could issue a reminder about her impromptu rule, she skips forward, “Then you were flying back and forth and then we went to Paris… So what’s up?”

“Just antsy.”

“Shpilkes.”

“Yeah.”

The affirmative answer surprises Alex. “You know the word?”

“Sure. Ants in your pants. My mom was forever telling me that. She picked it up from a neighbor we had, I think. She was from the ‘old country’, a holocaust survivor.”

“Ah, I thought maybe John…”

“He wouldn’t dare.”

“So what else?”

“What else what?”

“Tell me something else about your past?” Alex finds herself wanting to know. “You never talk about it?”

“You don’t talk about yours either.”

“There’s nothing to tell.” She reassures. “I studied, spent a year in boarding school, with Ling and Daniela, studied, went to Princeton, with Ling, studied, went to law school, studied some more, passed the bar, and voila, you know the rest.”

“I knew about all the studying,” Olivia reminds her fiancée with a laugh, “And the schools, too. And you went to law school with Ling, and clerked at Douglas’ father’s firm during your summers.”

“There you go.” Alex shrugs. “School and that which we’re not supposed to mention. I’ve had a boring life.”

Undeterred and remembering Martha’s comment about knowing everything about Randy before their engagement and her advice to ask, Olivia ventures, “Tell me about your trips to Milan?”

“Hey, you’re supposed to tell me something from your past. I asked first,” Alex protests. Then she meets her lover’s eyes. Something unexpected in the look makes her stop and contemplate. Finally, she makes up her mind and pulls her hand from the woman’s chiseled cheek and laces their fingers together.

Patiently, Olivia waits for her story.

*******

6.

Sometimes Alex wonders what all goes through her lover’s dark head. Lillian’s story, which she has heard before albeit with different emphasis, of the couple bound by destiny with a red string around their ankles, resurfaces to complicate her thoughts. The red thread reminds her of Ariadne, and she fancies the detective a labyrinth. Perhaps the thread that binds our lives is my guide. And like Ariadne she did fall into a deep sleep on an island – a metaphorical one at least.

Funny, you could be my Dionysus, waking and rescuing me from my dull existence.

Although the maenads shredded Orpheus, and that wouldn’t quite work?

Why am I so concerned with our roles?

`

“My last trip to Milan,” Alex begins slowly, conjuring the images. She could see the interior of the other plane, with a table laid out like a boardroom near where they are sitting. By the cockpit, where her cousin is sleeping, were leather chairs and tables much like their current set up. Her mind juxtaposes the two. “I was with my grandmother. My father’s mother,” she feels the need to clarify.

Unexpectedly, she could almost feel the woman’s presence, sitting across from them. Involuntarily, she takes a deeper breath.

Noticing the tension in her fiancée’s body, Olivia interrupts, “Sweetheart.”

“Mm?”

“You don’t have to do this.”

She wants to take up her lover’s offer, so kind and loving. It would be easy and simple. Somehow, she shakes her head. “You’ll have to forgive me if I ramble.”

Olivia laughs. “You don’t fault me for rambling. All’s fair.” She watches blonde head bob, and tries once more, “But seriously, you’re right about getting acclimated. We could sleep.”

“It’s okay, Liv.” She clears her throat, and then a small grin lifts her lips. “You know? I never realize this, but my grandmother was always drinking some tonic, something for her health she’d say. I think it was alcohol.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Olivia replies reflexively, immediately thinking about her own mother who was an alcoholic.

“It’s okay,” Alex says again, momentarily unwinding their hands to caress her lover’s face, both to soothe and as apology for the sudden storm clouds darkening brown eyes. Why do I keep doing this? She needs to stop bringing her lover pain. “It wasn’t… She sipped, and sometimes she’d just let it sit while she stared into space.”

“That sounds sad.”

“I think she was a sad woman.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sometimes she would stare at me. Or through me. I could never tell,” Alex continues with a small shrug. “I knew she loved me though.” Despite her comment about Alexander having a son. “She helped me buy my first car, against my mother’s wishes.”

“The Sunbird.”

“Yeah.” And she could see the pride in the woman’s brown eyes, pride and something else, when she drove the car for the first time, with her grandmother as passenger. That was the day she related stories from her past, of carefree summers in Tuscany. It was also the first time she saw her grandmother as someone other than Archibald Cabot’s wife. Unfortunately, it was also the last. “I don’t understand her, to this day.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t really know her well.” Alex assures.

“It didn’t bother you?”

“Not really?” The last minute addition of the question mark prevents an outright lie. “Well, if it did, I’ve since made peace with it, I think. Anyway, sometimes you remind me of her.”

“I do?”

“Just your coloring.” Alex smiles impishly. “Wonder what Freud would have to say about that though.”

Olivia laughs. “Nothing I hope.” She shakes her head as her lover does. Then she catches the sparkle lighting up blue eyes, and queries, “Yes?”

“She was a beautiful woman in her day,” Alex says, and lets the statement hang for a beat. Then, using broad shoulders as leverage, she reaches up and takes away whatever else the brunette might say with a kiss.

*******

7.

“So Milan, with grandma,” Olivia picks up the thread again, not wanting it to get lost for some unknown reason. “If you want,” still, she adds.

“It was just a quick stop, to visit Daniela’s family,” Alex relays lightly. “Rome was the ultimate destination.”

“Where your grandmother was from.”

“Have I told you? I can’t remember.”

“Maybe? Or Martha might have?” Olivia shrugs. “I can’t remember either. She did tell me she was related to your dad. She told me how, too, I think, but it was kinda confusing.”

“When was that?”

“My birthday party? Before you found us?”

“Are you asking me?”

The blonde’s gentle smile accompanying the teasing in turn grows Olivia’s grin. “No, I’m telling. Just hoping you won’t get mad.” That Martha shared with me things about you without your knowledge or permission, she adds silently. Actual words were unnecessary, she knows. Her lover’s expression confirms it; and she smiles back.

“What else did you talk about?”

“Besides your square-ish-ness?”

Wrinkling her nose, Alex argues, “I’m not squarish, and that’s not a word.”

“All right. It’s not a word. But it should be.”

“Keep going and you can ask Marty to tell you about my grandmother and Italy.”

The mock huff only makes Olivia squeeze her lover tighter. “Come on, you know you want to tell me yourself. To make sure you don’t sound squarish.”

“Shut up!”

“Okay, okay.” With her fingers, she zips her lips.

The waggling brows, whether or not intended, take away the severity of the moment. For that, Alex is grateful. “It really was a tour of Italy. Milan, Rome, Naples, Florence, Venice, and back to Rome. She told me I had to go back to Rome, with my true love.”

“And throw coins into the Trevi fountain?”

“She was oddly insistent about that,” Alex confirms with a nod. “Even made sure I know how to do it properly, like with my right hand and all that.”

“So we’ll be going to Rome?”

“You want to?”

“I’d love to.”

“Rome it is,” Alex confirms without missing a beat. She notices the same with her lover, too, and that makes her happy. There is still worrying about her physical safety, like with the seatbelts; but maybe it’s not from the coma, or from getting shot, but just a part of her natural protectiveness, magnified because of their relationship. Briefly, she leans up for another kiss. Then she continues, “Anyway, it was a good summer, all in all. I had a better time than expected and met relatives I didn’t know I have. Though now I wonder why me, and not someone else.”

“Why? What do you mean?”

“She could’ve taken one of my uncle’s children. Or my aunt if she wanted female company.” After a pause of deliberation, “Amazing how she convinced my mom. Although now that I think about it, maybe they got along more than they pretended?”

“Why would they do that?”

“Family politics?”

The nonchalant shrug, the seeming acceptance, they make Olivia’s heart ache and reminds her of her own little family of two. Maybe it was better, to not have relatives or at least not know them. She hates to imagine what type of ‘family politics’ her mother would have to deal with. More than she already had to. A soft hand on her cheek brings her back. She blinks away the dark edges and offers a smile, and let her fiancée reassure that all is well.

“Anyway, I guess it was good thing. I’m sure my mom would’ve felt guilty for the rest of her life if she hadn’t let me go,” Alex reflects.

“Why’d you say that?”

“I think my grandmother knew, or at least suspected, that it would be her last trip. She died before my next birthday.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Sweetheart.”

“When it’s your time, it’s your time, right?” Alex shrugs once more. “Can we continue some other time?” She yawns. “You know me and planes.”

“Sleepy?” Olivia asks, shifting to get comfortable for a long haul without waiting for confirmation. For the first time she checks her watch – still hours before Milan. Her fiancée was right – they should try to get their bodies used to the time change. Whether her mind would allow it is another matter. “Comfy?” She asks unnecessarily as fair lashes flutter close, and for a few minutes she watches the woman sleep. When her thoughts begin to turn inwards, she hears her lover’s voice.

“Sometimes she reminded me of summer, Mediterranean summer, with the warm sun and sweet scent of citrus grove.”

“Like she carried it around her?” The words fall from Olivia’s lips.

“Like it was suppressed.”

“But she lived it that summer with you?”

“Yeah.” Alex sighed with a smile. Then she opens her eyes, to meet her lover’s. “Let’s do that, go to all the same places, one day.”

“Yes, let’s,” Olivia readily agrees. After a moment of silent, she transfers a kiss with her fingers to her fiancée’s lips. “Sweet dreams.”

“You, too.”

Brown eyes smile, then they shutter after their mates.

*******

8.

Against the arm of the sofa, Olivia shifts, trying not to move too much, lest she wakes her fiancée, while she flexes her shoulders, to work out the kink before it sticks. After a few rotations, she gives up. This is stupid, she admits as her gaze lingers across her lover’s form. They could’ve been so much more comfortable, both of them, had she agreed to retire to the other bedroom.

What’s wrong with me?

Why can’t I let go?

With effort, she pulls her attention from the near angelic features, and shifts again to look around the cabin. Her focus lands on the slit of light coming from the flight attendant’s quarters. She wonders briefly what the woman was doing. Reading perhaps, or watching for the call button alerting her that her attention is required. Counting the hours and minutes until they land in Italy, where perhaps someone is anxiously awaiting her return?

Like I waited for…

No. What am I doing?

Reluctantly, she unwinds her fingers from the golden silk of her lover’s tresses, and runs her hand through her own hair, pushing the rambling thoughts, shuffling them around. The only thing missing is a window for her to stare out sightlessly; she would be back at her old routine.

Routine. That’s something they both have been desperately trying to get back into in the last couple of months, or at least the last few weeks. But what’s ‘routine’? Do they really have one? And from when? When they both worked together? And arguing almost daily about everything? When they both for the same side of justice? Are they really on different sides now? Olivia shakes her head. Justice was never a problem. At first when Alex was actually working for the defense, she thought she would care, turned out she didn’t. Not at all.

Wonder how Liz and Tom are doing? Somehow she missed the woman’s bubbly voice, even her well-meaning pushiness.

And Rebecca… Despite promises from both sides, they haven’t reconnected after their jobs stopped throwing them together. She never pauses to ask ‘why’.

‘Routine’ when she was flying back and forth two cities? Those months, even with all the open questions, were without a shadow of a doubt the best months of her lives. The weekend getaways in the last six months, and Hawaii, were the trips a way for both of them to hold on to those best moments?

Or were they means of escape? Are we doing that now? Running away?

What from?

Pushing at her hair again, and closing her eyes, she breathes her silent acknowledgment, We need to talk.

But talking isn’t what we do best is it? If it were, there wouldn’t have been a need for another ultimatum, one that would eventually suffuse her fiancée with guilt, of which Olivia considers herself fully culpable.

Maybe not just talking, but listening. At least for me. She sighs. Why can’t I just listen?

A tightening of the hand holding hers snaps her head, and she looks down, to find blue eyes gazing at hers, searching. “Hi,” she whispers. Then she repeats the word, louder, and with a smile.

Alex shifts, sitting up, so their heads are closer, so they don’t have to yell or try to read lips. She stays in her lover’s arms. “You okay?”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t look okay. You’ve been thinking.”

“Some,” Olivia has to admit.

“Care to share?”

She shrugs. “Later maybe. Let’s try and go back to sleep.”

“You’re just going to keep thinking, and it’ll be too noisy for me to sleep.”

The smirk pulling at full lips makes Olivia laugh. “Sorry if my thinking woke you up.”

“I’m serious. I can’t explain it, but it did.”

“I know.” She doesn’t, not really. But she’s not surprised by the revelation. “I’m sorry.”

“So…”

Talk, right? Something we need to learn to do? Sighing, Olivia admits, “Us. I was thinking about us.”

“Yeah?”

“I was thinking about the other night, too,” she explains without any hint of suggestion, or specifying the night in question. They both know. “And I’m sorry.”

“I should be…”

Quickly, Olivia shakes her head. “I didn’t listen, and I should have.”

“You worry, and I appreciate that.” Alex touches her lover’s cheek and slides her hand through the woman’s hair, stroking her bangs from her eyes. “And you made up for it. More than.”

“Was good?”

“You know it was.”

“You really like being mine, like that?”

“I am yours, like that. Like you’re mine, some other ways.” Alex smiles gently. “We crave different things.”

“And we like giving the things the other one craves.”

It was more a question, than a statement, Alex understands. “One of the many signs we’re meant for each other.”

“Really.” Olivia smiles, deciding to lighten the previous mood before it stifles the current one. Her brows wagging, she asks, “Wanna get a room?”

“Liv!”

“Not with Dani next door, I know.”

“But people might think…”

She doesn’t let Alex finish. “I just wanna hold you.” And prove that I can evolve. “And my back’s kinking up and killing me.” As soon as the words are out of her mouth, her fiancée scrambles away. Momentarily, she misses the warmth until the woman pulls her from her seat by her hand. Happily, she follows.

*******

9.

“Are you sure this is fine?” Alex asks as she watches her lover getting settled beside her in bed. “Not being strapped in?”

“We just have to sit up, if the turbulence gets that bad.” Olivia tugs at the belts originally hidden near the headboard. Then she makes sure their life jackets are in the drawers according to the sign on the vanity she saw when they walked in. “Hopefully it doesn’t. Are you fine with this?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, you’re concerned people might think we’re…”

“Let them.”

“Really?”

“Honestly, since when do I care about what people think?”

Never? Or at least not often. “But you seemed…” Olivia scratches her nose. “You were very convincing.”

“I don’t know why I do it.”

“It’s okay. I’m not criticizing.” She offers a smile. “But now that I know…” With purpose, she moves towards her lover, and laughs when her advances are blocked.

“Liv!”

“But you said…”

“And what about what you said?” Alex replies lightly, arranging their bodies and releasing a deep breath when her head finds its pillow and strong arms settle around her. “Thought you wanted to snuggle and sleep?”

“I do.” Olivia smiles, and presses a kiss to her fiancée’s head. “And I think we should get you a Kelly bag, if you have our kids.”

“Why?”

“You know that’s why they made it right? So Grace Kelly could hide her pregnancy? So people didn’t know she had sex?”

“Don’t be silly.” Alex hits her lover’s thigh. “Things you keep in your head.”

“Pot.”

She lifts up and presses a sound kiss to her pillow. “Sleep.”

With her nipple’s Pavlovian response? “Right.” She cranes her neck and checks to make sure the blonde doesn’t have other ideas. With a sigh, she lets her head fall. Moments later, she feels rather than hear the words.

“Stop thinking.”

“I’m not, I swear. Really trying not to, in fact,” she admits, and senses a low laugh. “What?”

“Nothing. You’re cute.”

“Cute?”

“Yes,” Alex confirms with a smile. “My kind of ‘cute’.”

That Olivia can live with. “Okay.”

*******

10.

“It’s okay, right?” Olivia begins. It is apparent based on Alex’s breathing that she isn’t sleeping. Neither of them is sleepy. When the blonde remains silent, she continues, “That I asked about your grandmother?”

“Yeah?” Alex blinks open her eyes and raises her head. With her lover’s insistence, she settles back down against her chest. What she saw though hadn’t caused alarm anyway. “You can ask anything you want.”

“You mean that?”

“Sure.”

“It goes both ways, Alex, you know?”

“All right.”

“And you can tell me anything. Absolutely anything,” she promises and brings her fiancée’s hand to her lips, and pledges with a kiss.

“Are you sure everything’s fine, Liv?”

“Yeah? You’re in my arms, we’re starting our European vacation, we’re together, you’re in my arms, did I mention?” She replies with a chuckle and adds another kiss. “Everything’s peachy.”

“And you’ll tell me if things aren’t?”

“Yeah.” After a beat, she shrugs. “You’ll know anyway, and you’ll pull it out of me. You always do.” A sigh. Then she comes to a decision, “Maybe we can try to skip that step and I can just tell you, before you have to ask.” She spares her lover the need to comment, and continues, “It’s just, sometimes I think, I mean, it’s okay to have that private space, right? That no one else gets in? That you keep for yourself?”

“Yeah?”

“We all need it, right?”

“I suppose?” Once more, Alex tries to pull away, so she can read the olive features. Again, Olivia stops her. When the woman starts stroking through her hair, she has no choice but to relax and melts into her body. Sighing, she closes her eyes.

“But what if I don’t want it?”

“Hm?”

“That private space. What if I don’t want to keep anything from you? Or you, me?” Olivia proceeds in a rush, not wanting to lose the moment. “I know we’re supposed to keep something for ourselves, so we don’t become codependent and all that, but I don’t want the space. I want us together. I like it when we’re connected, when I can feel our connection. Can you?”

“Sure. I think so.” Alex smiles and squeezes her lover tighter. “I felt you, and heard your voice, when I was in my head.”

“Every time?” I visited? All the things I said to you? Somehow she felt embarrassed about all the rambling. Didn’t she say all of those things precisely because she wanted the woman to know, lest it was her last chance to say them? She remains silent, taking a calming breath.

“I’d like to think so? I can’t be hundred percent sure, you know?”

“Oh, why not?” Olivia replies with a smile. “You’re okay with this… connection, that we have? It’s not too weird?”

“I don’t think we need to be in therapy, if that’s what you’re asking,” Alex confirms. “I feel connected to you, and I respond to you, more than I have anyone else. That’s how I knew, you’re who I want.”

Olivia smiles. “Soulmates.”

“We are.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Loving me, generally.”

“Me, too.”

I’ll love you with my last breath. “With pleasure,” Olivia replies, and places another kiss in her fiancée’s palm. “Suppose we really try to get some sleep, huh? I don’t wanna be all jetlagged and grumpy when we get to Italy.”

The admission draws a laugh from Alex. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“I know.” I know…

*******

11.

“I love that you’re mine.”

Despite facing away, Alex can see dark eyes gleaming, with love and sensuality. The softness of the woman’s voice, it matches the lightness of her touches, sending shivers down her spine. She whispers, unchecked want spiking the single syllable, “Liv…”

“I love how you feel, love waking up with you in my arms,” encouraged, Olivia continues, while nosing her fiancée’s hair. Sweet scent fills her nostrils and reminds her of strawberry fields, or lily of the valley. Maybe both. So damn lucky. A smile curves her lips. “And I love touching you, kissing you. I love how your breath catches when I first touch you, it’s like you’re waiting…”

“Yes. Please.”

“You remember what we did, the other night?” When you wanted me to fuck you. “To make you mine?”

Alex nods. Reflexively, she arches back, hard, while almost gingerly she touches the rings circling her lover’s finger, the vena amoris that connects her heart. Everything's still fresh, on her mind and on her person. On her person. When will she stop thinking like a criminal lawyer? She lowers her eyes without wincing and instead focuses on Olivia's hand, her left hand, her long fingers spanning across her breasts, keeping their peaks captive. While her other hand, tucked under her body and snaked around her waist, is slowly stroking circle around her middle, edging closer and closer to her sex.

“You really liked that?”

“Yes,” she hisses. And she craves this, this unapologetic need of her lover's to possess, to claim. To demand by right. She wants this, partly so equity would allow her own fair share. So she can take without guilt; but it is so much more. “I love being yours.”

“Tell me,” Olivia says as she did that other night. In her mind’s eye, she sees her fiancée in their bathroom, unwinding after work. The diffused incandescent lights reflecting off the shiny surfaces of Italian mosaic glass tiles, in a multitude of pinks, iridescent, pearlescent and hauntingly opaque. She sees herself embracing the blonde from behind, like she does now. “So glad to have you back.”

“I’m glad you’re home, too,” Alex had replied, intentionally unlayering the words. She spun around in Olivia’s arms and kissed her with a sudden fire, a need.

“Tell me,” the brunette urges, needing herself now, to hear the words.

“In every way.”

The hoarse sentiment, it suddenly isn’t enough. “But tell me, Sweetheart…” Just as unexpectedly, she loses her voice.

“Mmm?”

“Were you serious?” Olivia no longer thinks so, but still had to ask. “If I had held back, again, like I’d been doing, would you really… would you leave…” She closes her eyes and swallows.

“Of course not.” Alex tries to turn, to touch and reassure her lover. The woman holds her fast. “I was upset.” And being rash, and impulsive. Short fuse.

“Upset? You were?” I didn’t know.

“The day… I had an upsetting day, and I just wanted to forget.”

“What happened?”

“You’ll get upset.”

Olivia squeezes her lover tighter against herself. “Everything. I want to know everything. Don’t want anything between us. Nothing, no secrets.”

“It’s not important. Honest.”

“Something upset you, Alex, it’s important.”

“I can’t talk about it, not right now.” She doesn't want to think about the guy, not now, not anytime any day really. It’s enough that she’ll have to explain to the Destin Board why she cannot handle the partner at Todd St. George, that Ling will have to continue with her previous role working with the investment advisors. “Or I can talk about it, and we’ll have to stop. Can’t both.” Already she is feeling unsettled, aggravated almost. Something happened while she was in her head. Ever since, everything she feels seems manifested, to the point she can no longer control or contain them, at least not without effort, unlike before. And that is, disconcerting.

“Okay. Do you want the same thing?” Take you and make you scream my name? She remembers her lover’s voice wanting, deep with need.

Alex shakes her head.

Didn’t think so. Still, Olivia thought she should check. “What would you like then?”

“Your pleasure.” Someone else’s pleasure. Since when did she start caring? Only since forever? Like she does care about what others think - especially if the others were her mother or godmother or other parental and familial figures in her life?

"Love you," Olivia whispers. Even those little words, the warm puffs of breath against her ear, they feel huge, and heavy. The sentiments make her want to cry, in relief, in gratitude. In pain, albeit a good delicious, intense, full of love sort of pain. Like the other night. Would it make sense to Olivia, even if it doesn't herself? "So much," the brunette adds as she continues her circling strokes, slowly building and pulling her lover back from wherever her thoughts had taken her. "Beautiful."

It is always beautiful, their lovemaking. A wonderful and fabulous something that always makes her feel cherished and loved. But what she wanted wasn't that. Not just that. She wanted to be underneath the water overwhelmed. Punished? She freezes. No, not that. Couldn't possibly be that, could it? She turns around, insisting, opening her eyes and staring into her lover's, to see herself. What she finds makes her gasp, “Love you, too. So much.”

“Always,” Olivia answers, mirroring the desperation.

It is enough though, enough to keep blue eyes wide shut. To complete, to be completed, in this close space. There is no room for the likes of Robbie Todd, III. not in any fashion, in this place.

*******

12.

Gently, Olivia pressed her fiancée against the wall and placed a string of kisses down the center of her body and over her blush-pink blouse, untucking it from her skirt in the process. She leaned against the winter grey wool fabric, feeling its softness along her cheek as she unhooked flesh-colored stockings from garters, gently sliding them down the silken legs, first the left, then the right. Alex’s grip tightened against her shoulders, urging her on.

“Beautiful,” she hushed instead, placing soft kisses all over, momentarily marveling at the three inches of exposed skin between the hem of her lover’s skirt and her knees. “And sexy.” Carefully, taking her time, she finished removing the woman’s stockings and helped her out of her shoes. Slowly, almost reverently, she retraced her path, brushing her face and lips up the smooth, lush fabric, starch crisp shirting and warm, velvety skin. A tense moment later, Chantilly lace fluttered silently to the floor.

Alex wound her fingers in Olivia’s hair and pulled her forward, firm and tight against herself, her kisses fiery and urgent. A small moan escaped when her lover’s tongue met hers in her mouth, exploring softly, gently, controlled.

With a choked sigh, she broke off their connection. “Please, Liv, love me.”

“I do love you, Baby, very much,” Olivia replied and lowered the zipper of her hooded sweatshirt. Always watchful, she saw tension crossing her lover’s shoulders and wondered briefly if she should offer a massage. Thinking better, without another word, she took Alex’s hand and led the way to their bed. With an indulgent smile, she let herself be pushed and fall backward onto the mattress. The smile remained when the blonde undid her pants and pulled them off with her underwear in one swift motion. It continued as she watched her lover hike up her own skirt, and remained compliant when shapely legs straddle her thigh.

A tempest was brewing in Alex’s person, one she was fighting to contain and unleash at the same time. With quickly slipping control, she ground against her lover’s hard flesh. If she must ride out her own passion, so be it. Before her movements gained momentum, however, large hands slowed her by her hips. “Liv,” she breathed and sucked in a deep breath when Olivia leaned up and captured her mouth.

It was a gentle kiss, Olivia made sure, tasting the softness of her fiancée’s full lips, stroking lightly against her tongue, then holding back to explore the moist warmth of her mouth. When Alex pulled away, her smile snapped back into place. “Let me make love to you.”

Tender, vanilla bunny worship love, in other words. Not that there was anything wrong with that, normally. “I need more, Liv. Please? That’s all we did since… It’s been weeks, months. I promise, I won’t break.” She tried to control her frustration. “Please?” She begged.

“Alex.”

“Fuck me?” A whispered request, followed by a needful whimper; it wasn’t sheer manipulation, she should feel shame. At this point, however, she didn’t care.

In response, Olivia caressed her fiancée, cupping and kneading her breasts over the shirt, resuming her unhurried pace. “It’ll be good, Sweetheart, I promise.”

Alex tore the hands away from her body. “Let’s just forget it,” she suggested calmly. Hurt in turn clouded the brunette’s features, as expected. “Don’t look at me like that, Olivia. I’ve tried to be patient. I understand and appreciate your concern, but this is way overboard.”

“I just want to show you how much I love you, how much you mean to me.”

She didn’t know what was worse, the open-handed shrug, or the hushed entreaty. “Then why are you not listening to me?” She waited a beat for the answer she knew wouldn’t come, and fired, “You’re the one who showed me ownership sex. Made my body love it, crave it.” With a swallowed huff, she leapt off the bed, and fought against the urge to pace. That was Olivia’s habit, not hers. Instead, she mirrored the shrug with contempt. “Have you forgotten how? Or have you changed your mind?”

In response, Olivia scooted up against the headboard and looked back, her expression slightly aghast.

“I can show you if you’ve forgotten. I know you won’t break and I know how your body loves it.” At last the woman tried to respond, but Alex wasn’t through. “And if you’ve changed your mind about fucking owning me, tell me now, before we make fools of ourselves in front of everyone.”

At that, something in Olivia snapped. She propelled herself forward; she remembered her feet hitting the cold hard floor. Her next recollection was of them both on the bed, her lover’s skirt bunched up and thighs pushed apart. Then she was jamming her fingers in, pulling out completely, and repeating the desperate, furious motion, hyper aware of reckless nails scraping her shirt, of long legs wrapped around her hugging her tight.

“Liv,” Alex sighed. “Oh, God, Liv…”

“Finally”, she heard the word as if the blond had screamed it, like she was roaring out her pleasure. As she let go, things began slotting into place, while the woman’s hips flew up to meet each deep and deeper stroke.

*******

13.

Olivia paused, with her fingers still inside. “You wanna be owned? Wanna be fucked? Fine.” She growled and grabbed a handful of blonde hair, and pulled back resolutely, exposing her lover’s throat. “You are mine,” she declared and sucked hard on the fair skin, nipping, biting, intending on marking. Thrusting. Harder when she felt Alex pull her in closer. “Mine!” She pushed in deeper, her teeth grazing her lover’s collar bone.

“Yes! God, yes,” Alex responded to the vitality, the power, the want, the need.

“Mine!”

“Yes, Liv, yes!” She rejoined each deep stroke.

All the while, steadily, shirt got unbuttoned, bra unclasped, skirt undone and pulled off. Alex was vaguely aware of her nakedness, as fleece and denim chafed her skin, tuned only to her lover nibbling and sucking down her body, how her fingers never stopped. Not even when her lips, her mouth joined her hand. Taking her in with her tongue, wrapped tightly, possessively around her, stroking, devouring, consuming.

“Liv, god, Liv, yes, Liv…” She chanted in short staccato to the rhythm of her heartbeat, which skipped when Olivia paused. “Liv!”

Ignoring the loud protest, slowly, Olivia she regrouped her fingers, pushing in steadily, filling and hugging her firmly. Once. Twice. And again she stopped. This time, she rose onto her elbow.

This time, Alex half screamed, half sobbed her despair, “Liv!” The syllable died when fabric rasped against her skin again. She opened her eyes, which slammed closed when the brunette, hovering over her breasts, licked her lips.

In the next beat, Olivia resumed her thrusting. “Mine!”

She could feel more than hear her lover’s growl. “Yes!” She shouted, hips flying up to meet each harsh thrust. God, she wanted it. She wanted to pull Olivia inside her, like she was pulling her nipple into her mouth, sucking and rasping with her teeth. She wanted so much, so deep, she needed the rawness in her body to match the one in her heart. “Yes, Liv, Liv,..” she breathed. Then a hard flick of the tongue, and then everything stopped. She was near tears when she asked, “Liv?”

“Open your eyes.” When Alex didn’t respond, Olivia tried again, “Open your eyes, Sweetheart.”

“Liv?” She answered with an equally small voice, and sucked in a shallow breath before obeying her lover’s request. What she saw made her take another breath, and fight to keep her eyes open.

Gently, Olivia touched the kiss reddened point with her finger; then she pressed down so her fiancée’s breast filled her hand. It felt like she was holding her heart. Without apology, she watched as a thousand emotions cross the fair features. “Tell me, Alex, tell me what you want,” she asked softly.

“Love me?” Alex replied in a hoarse whisper, still feeling the sting in her eyes.

“I do, very much.” Olivia promised, leaning down to taste her lover’s tears. “More than anything.” More than life itself.

“Fuck me?”

“Like this?” She expanded her fingers, and then flicked her wrists to embrace and hold. “Or this?”

“Don’t care…” Alex replied truthfully. Suddenly, she really didn’t care anymore. Nothing else mattered. “Your pleasure?”

“What do you want?”

“To…” She reached up, and ran her fingers through her lover’s dark bangs, to tuck them behind her ear. “Just be yours.”

“Good answer.” Lifting a corner of her lips, Olivia smiled.

Alex did as well as she clasped the strong body close, as spasms of pleasure arc through her. “God, Liv, yes, Liv, Liv…”

*******

14.

“Ok. Please stop.”

“Are you sure?” Alex smiles, and flick out her tongue. “You’re still reacting,” she observes, before taking Olivia into her mouth again, licking the length of her sex before lapping and sucking her lover’s hard clit. Contented low noises flow from her throat while her hands massage the brunette’s womanly hips. It doesn’t take long for her lover to tense in climax, and then she is rewarded with another wave of sweetness.

“Please,” Olivia breathes, unable to stop her body from arching towards her fiancée’s touch.

“More?” The blonde grins. She knows she is taking advantage, but no one can fault her for copying a page from her lover’s book. “Okay!” She yelps cheerfully and resumes the licking and probing. Soon, she feels flutters swelling into ripples against her tongue, and she digs in, riding the new torrent.

“Stop, Baby,” Olivia pleads, after her last orgasm, which she is certain was heard all the way down in the galley of the jet. It felt good though. Damn. So good. She feels a lingering tingle in her loins, one that is almost pulsing to her lover’s nearness. “No more.”

“Let me think about it.” Alex smirks, sliding her tongue over her lips lightly, tasting. “You know you mouth says one thing, but your body, it’s telling me something else, something entirely different actually. Am I right, or am I right?”

Olivia has no answer but the flaming of her cheeks.

“How many times do you think you can do this?”

At the pause, the brunette raises her head and look down. Apparently, Alex is waiting for an answer. “I don’t…” She falls back into the pillow. “I don’t know.”

“I’d like to find out. Don’t you?”

“God.” Olivia groans. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Nonsense. You’re strong. You run, what? Two miles a day in the morning with me, and then another five miles at the gym? Not to mention chasing all the creeps we’re not supposed to talk about?” As if to prove her point, she strokes the span of her detective’s thighs. “You’re so strong, and I feel so safe with you, even 51 thousand feet in the air. My hero.”

“Oh, god, just…” Lay it on, won’t you? Olivia knows she is being manipulated, like one of those pipe cleaner toys they curl around a pencil for Oliver, wrapped neatly around her lover’s pinky. She groans, feeling jazzed up and limp at the same time, “Just do it.” No sooner than the words leave her mouth, her sex is once more surrounded, this time inside and out. Minutes or seconds later, she is trembling, tumbling into another ecstasy. This time, from the hitched moan that filled her womb, she knows her fiancée came with her. The knowledge sends her soaring yet higher…

*******

15.

It feels like she has been gone forever, dozing, hearing the roaring of the plane, waking. There is nothing, no thoughts in her head, except for her fiancée’s weight pressed against her, her slim body gathered in her arms. It’s heaven. Olivia sighs her relief and contentment.

“How’s bunny?”

The question doesn’t surprise her; she knows her lover has been awake mostly, listening to her heartbeat as she sleeps. Olivia smiles and replies with another sigh. “Stewed.”

“I’ll say.” Alex giggles. “Juicy.”

“Hush.” The brunette nudges her lover’s ribs; the light prod then turns into a caress. “How’s the sexy beast.”

“Better, tamer.”

“And my girl?”

“Good. Very, very good,” Alex adds, loving the endearment and being Olivia’s girl. It’s been a while since she had called her that, it seems. “Didn’t leave you wanting?”

“God, no.”

“You sure?”

“You?” Olivia swallows the smart aleck comment and asks instead. Then she remembers their earlier talk, one that led them to this point in time and space. Do we really need to continue? Seems moot now… “Doubting?” Still, she asks, but leaving the question intentionally open.

In response, Alex offers a warm and genuine smile and shakes her head.

“Tell me again.”

She taps her lover’s breast bone. “You’re mine.”

Olivia laughs and captures her fiancée’s hand, linking their fingers together. “That, I am.”

“And I’m yours,” Alex says, letting out a rush of air. Then her voice drops to a purr, “Always.” She snuggles closer, happily surrounded by their afterglow.

“Me, too.”

The two simple words trigger a déjà vu. Or perhaps it was Olivia’s question, or their earlier conversation. Suddenly, she is returned to that night, or maybe she never really left. “See? Told you.”

“What?”

“I won’t break. Didn’t.”

Better not. I’d die. “Sorry for not listening, I really am,” Olivia repeats her contrition. Then she remembers the ‘souvenirs’, and looks down at the purpling blotches marring her fiancée’s fair skin. “And I’m sorry, for the hickeys…”

“Hush,” Alex scolds. “Told you already not to apologize. I wanted them.”

“Still.”

“’Still’ nothing.” She rubs her nose against the soft mound of her lover’s breast, and sighs. “Suppose we should get dressed and see what’s going on outside?”

*******

16.

Hopefully, Dani’s still sleeping, that she’d slept through everything, and nothing’s going on outside. It’d be typical if we got caught by your family that’d I’d be the one… Olivia rolls her mental eyes. But suppose we should, she starts to reply, but something stops her. Quickly, she searches her memory. “Hey, weren’t you gonna tell me why you got upset?”

Caught off guard, Alex freezes. “Upset?”

“You said something had upset you, that day,” Olivia traces her memory and follows the words carefully, “And made you want ownership sex…?” At the end, she finishes the statement with a question mark. “Why? What happened?” That would upset me? She tries not to tense.

“Let’s get dressed,” the blonde says and begins to roll off the bed. She doesn’t get far before strong arms pull her back. Still, she grabs for their shirts. “Here,” she tosses her lover hers, and tugs her own over her head. “Come on.”

“You’re gonna have to take it off again for your bra.”

“No I won’t, I’ll go braless.”

“That’s fine for you, but I’ll need mine.”

“Okay, fine,” reluctantly, Alex agrees, and scoots forward in bed, sitting crossed-legged. She ignores her lover’s arched brow, but lets the woman take her hand. For a while, the monotonous hum of the engine fills the space; then becomes too much to endure. Finally, she lets out a small breath and inhales deeply, filling and puffing out her chest.

“The law is like chess, first, you learn the rules, and once you know them, it's about maneuvering and outsmarting the other side. And winning,” she proceeds by explaining, not knowing where else to begin. “But the rules now, they're different. Winning isn't just about beating down the other side but leaving the table with everyone believing they've won...” She stops, her shoulders sagging a little. “I'm sorry, you don't want to talk about work." "It's okay. Really. Please, Sweetheart, talk to me." The gentle strength in her lover’s hand reassures and urges Alex on. "Jack Francis, he's a trader." "Yeah?" That’s not news.

"When he decided to be in finance, Uncle Jack called Randy; and Randy sat him down and explained everything about the profession, all the rules, the legal ones and the moral ones that he should abide by. He knows there are things he shouldn't do, like betting on the demise of a company, no matter how lucrative it might be." "You mean hedge funds." "Yeah." Alex rubs her forehead with her free hand. "I don't know where I'm going with this." Olivia decides to take a guess; hopefully, she knows her fiancée well enough. "So the rules are different now, and you wish someone would explain them to you?"

It is true, and Alex does not deny. “We live in New York City, walking distance to the subway, and I have two cars. Granted, the firm owns one of them, but I’m half of the firm.”

And your super charged V8 toy cost more than your previous salary. Ah. “Are you feeling guilty about your privileges?”

“Maybe?”

The tucked chin and lowered lashes, however, speak volumes. “Your cousins, Jack’s children, they all have nice cars, and nice houses, I don’t think they feel guilty for what they have.”

“They work hard for what they have.”

“And you will, too. Did, already.”

“But my mom…”

God, no more ‘St. Celine’ talk. That’s one thing she learned spending time with the woman – Alex’s mom doesn’t walk around with a halo around her head, nor does she pretend to have one. “Your mom set you up, she set Ling up. She lives in a sixteen room house with a chauffeured SUV and a housekeeper, and every time I see her, she’s wearing a different pair of Manolo’s.”

“Céline’s. Things she wears daily, except her intimates.” Alex explains with a deep shrug, “She likes to think of it as her brand.”

“And they’re…?”

“More expensive than Manolo, the shoes.” They both know that, she is certain; so she adds, “And she special orders most things from Paris.”

“There you go.” Olivia gestures in triumph. “There’s nothing wrong with being a little spoiled. If I were rich, you’d be dripping in diamonds. Heck, we’d both be.”

“You are, you know, not bad off.”

“Yes, well, I’m sorry, but I kinda think of most that as your dad’s money? I mean…”

“I know,” it is Alex’s turn to squeeze her lover’s hand and reassures. “I know what you mean. So you’re okay with a little indulgence, once in a while, with money we make ourselves?”

“Sure. We’re doing that right now, aren’t we? Two weeks in Spain?”

“Yeah, true. Okay.”

Suddenly, there is a sparkle in bright blue eyes; Olivia wonders what she has missed. A surprise for her birthday, maybe? But she has already had a party, and that was more than she had ever done or received, or even wanted. “Okay?”

“Yeah, okay, I concede,” Alex replies with a ready smile. “You’re right, I’m being too uptight, and I’ve done enough and will do enough. And you, too, doing what you do, out there, everyday. And we don’t even have someone come in once a week to clean our house. I have nothing to feel guilty about.”

All right, that’s way too easy. Olivia wonders. Or is it? Maybe you’ve had time to think? Maybe in Sparkill even? Her smile comes unbidden, knocking out all thoughts as her lover bends forward and ducks her head. She responds with the requested kiss. “Love you,” she follows up as they part, and Alex settles back with a happy sigh.

Everything’s gonna work itself out, she wants to say. She is certain of that fact. Just as she has grown certain that regardless of the circumstances, their jobs, whatever, they are meant to be; it would just be a matter of ‘how’. It always goes back to that, doesn’t it?

*******

17.

“Okay, so that was it?” Olivia prompts after a stretch of comfortable silence, during which they both put on their clothes. “The rules got you upset?” They wouldn’t have upset me though.

“God, you’re like a dog with a bone,” Alex teasingly complains.

“Woof.”

Either the false bark or the toothy smile, or more likely: they both put Alex more at ease. For that she is grateful. She tries to be completely honest, despite her uncharacteristic lack of eloquence. “It's just, things been so different since I came back, to the City I mean. And I kept telling myself I just needed to adjust. And then after the,” she stops herself, knowing Olivia is still uncomfortable with the word ‘coma’; and in all honesty, she is as well. “And then now, things are even more different, and not just about work." "How so?"

"I just feel... Different?” More out of control? Less objective? “Little things set me off where they normally wouldn't?" She tries to find words, but the right ones have been elusive. "I almost walked out of a meeting with Destin's financial advisor, because he hedges, not with our assets, but he manages a fund, and because he couldn't stop thinking with his little head." For a second, Olivia wonders how she should react. Calm and civilized, or acting all jealous and possessive? What would her lover expect, or want? In the end, she decides to be truthful, and asks with composure, "He was hitting on you?" "Flirting," Alex down plays and returns the squeeze of her lover’s hand. "Harmlessly, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“It was, harmless.” She nods. “But at that time, I felt soiled, and that's stupid and an exaggeration. Men have leered. If, for every wolf whistle and crude comment, I get a dollar, Destin wouldn't need Todd St. George, LLC – that’s his firm. Okay, I’m exaggerating.” And being totally ridiculous, I see it now. "But you’re right,” Olivia agrees. Which part? Alex wonders aloud, "You're not upset? With him and his little head?”

Olivia lets out a laugh and shakes her head. “Is this a trick? It’s gotta be a trick.”

“What?”

“I act all crazy jealous and you bite my head off. I don’t, and you’re not happy. I can’t win, can I?”

“I’m sorry.” Alex flicks her bangs out of her eyes and sighs. “I don’t know what I want,” she admits, and looks to her lover for understanding and answer.

"You're not interested, are you?" The brunette grins at the briefly knitted brows. "Well, then. Besides, he’s a guy." “What do you mean? I could be attracted to a guy. I dated guys." "But you prefer women, or at least me.” Olivia smiles, once more congratulating herself. “Anyway, I only meant that he was just acting like all guys do around a hot chick.”

“I’m not a ‘chick’,” Alex protests, her eyes twinkling in mischief. “You think I’m hot.”

Olivia laughs. “I’m so not gonna dignify that.”

“So you’re not upset?”

“Upset that you were upset? Sure. Are my panties in a wad that Mr. Hedge Fund was flirting? Not really. As long as it’s harmless, it’s okay,” she offers and shrugs. “I don't get upset when we go to the pet store." "Pet store? Why? What's there to...” Alex is genuinely confused. “There's only Pat, who's, well, Pat." "Pat who has a giant crush on you."

"He doesn't.” The blonde chuckles. This conversation is becoming ridiculous. Although the lightness, even if originally unintended, she can appreciate. “It’s preposterous. The man's gay." "You can’t tell by the way he watches you,” Olivia observes with a grin of her own. “And he's always extra solicitous when you're around. Anyway, it's kinda funny and Oliver gets free treats..." "You're using me for laughs and free treats, I feel so dirty and cheap," Alex huffs, and tries to cross her arms, but her lover refuses to let go. So she mock glowers. "And from now on, you're shopping for Oliver."

*******

18.

"Oliver's your cat." The brunette tsks. Then the playfulness in her expression grows. "So who's the guy? You want me to talk to him? Stake my claim, mark my territory or tell him you’re not interested in being his trophy?"

Yeah, Alex could just see herself as someone’s trophy, living in a penthouse on 5th, getting up every morning and starting the day with a cup of latte and a croissant brought to her by a maid, then dressing in a different but essentially the same outfit everyday, straightening her hair and putting on her make up in such a way that appeared natural. Then she would be at the salon from ten to noon to get all her efforts undone by someone named Philippe or Phaedra only to emerge, somehow more suitable for meetings at charitable foundations, or gallery or studio visits that last all afternoon.

She would make it home by six, to get dressed so she could accompany her spouse to business dinners or galas at one of the Mets, or the MOMA, or an opening at Gagosian. All evening, her eyes would shine with dullness, her smile be frozen, and eternal boredom would hang from her shoulders like her strapless gown. On the limo ride home, she would ply her spouse with liquor and hope that he would be too distracted to want sex or too drunk to get it up because who knows where else and from whom he has been getting it and what diseases one might catch. But that will happen only after having the requisite children, hopefully one of each - his heir and his little girl. They will be raised by nannies, educated by tutors and shipped off to boarding school when they are old enough, if nothing else because the Jones's do.

Yeah, no thanks. She dismisses, but tells her lover what went on in her mind, to explain her silence, albeit not in so many words. "I don't want a repeat of my mom's life." "I'm sorry, for both of you," Olivia offers, genuinely feeling bad. She wants to pull her fiancée into her arms and just hold her, and take away all her conflicts and make everything all right again. Which is impossible, she realizes. Perhaps she could help at least by offering what she knows? Should I get involved? Celine didn’t say to keep anything secret this time. But… She sighs, and hangs on to the woman’s hand. Somehow her own helplessness with the situation makes her crave the connection; and hand-holding feels completely lacking. She needs something fiercer. Is that it? Were you trying to lose yourself in us? "She made her choices." "Sweetheart, I know your mom feels a lot of guilt, for not being there when you were growing up, and when you got shot." My loyalty lies here, she resolves and reveals, "She didn't go to salons or have afternoon tea with Gagosian when you were at Sparkill. She visited you every day. Celine puts up a good show, keeping a stiff upper lip, but it’s just that, a show. She’s not one of those uncaring, manipulative women on tv." "I know, I know that. And I'm... I know she has obligations and all that, I'm just saying I don't want to be her. I can't." "And you don't have to be. For one, we don't have the same kind of marriage, and we don’t have the same social expectations." "That's two." "You know what I mean." "I know.” Alex sighs, resisting her lover’s cheeky smile. It’s not easy, but she will try, just as she will figure a way to handle things. She can’t escape into her head forever, after all. "No, I’ll tell Ling I don't want to work with him. He was hers anyway," she decides. Ling will probably make some snide remarks, but it’ll be fine. "I've got to say, I don't know how she does it. We were raised with the same values. Hell, we have the same values. She just, she makes a much better society wife than I do, she and my mom. All the wheeling and dealing and pretending and pampering."

Dark brows rise with the pitch of Olivia’s laugh. “You like getting pampered.”

“By you. I don’t know that I like other people all over my personal space.”

"And you're sick of pretending," she says, instantly sober again. Still, she keeps an encouraging smile, and bends forward, taking her fiancée’s other hand. The return grip both attenuating and blighting, she finds. "Not just that. I'm not sure I can, long term, effectively. It's like starting out with the DA's office, you're zealously prosecuting every case, then you get tired, then you start losing, and you get discouraged and tired." "But that wasn't you." "No it wasn't, I was more interested in wheeling and dealing and getting ahead." She laughs at the irony while letting out a big puff of air. "Why are we talking about this? We're on vacation. We shouldn't be talking about work, especially when all the talking isn't going to get us anywhere."

"Maybe you should talk to your mom, find out how she does it. Or Martha. She's, no offense, less intimidating I have to admit."

“Martha will just call him an arriviste and pooh-pooh the whole thing. And that would be best case scenario.”

Huh. Olivia is surprised. Why are we back to Mr. Hedge Fund? Or is he part of the new rules, people you’d rather not associate with, but you have to, because they have something you want? “What’s worst case?”

“She’ll think I’m incompetent, unprofessional, self-absorbed…”

“Bah! You’re being silly.” She tickles her lover’s pout with her lips. “She’ll be nice and understanding, like she was when she talked to me...” “She likes you. You're special.” “You're her goddaughter, doesn't get more special than that. Just talk to her, she might surprise you.”

“We’ll see,” Alex says, determined to set it aside for later. And maybe later, she’ll feel different, less discouraged. Hah. She conjures another smile, a genuine one. “We’re okay, right?”

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t we be?”

“I don’t know. We’re starting off our vacation kind of angsty.”

“You kidding? Compared to what we’re capable of? This is almost happy-happy. It won’t take much for us to get back the joy-joy.”

“Har har. Anyway, I’m sorry, about the way I pushed you.” She should stop doing that, issuing empty threats. And find some other way to resolve things. Learn. We’re new at this, aren’t we? Both of us? Sometimes she has to remind herself, that they haven’t been officially a couple for that long, not even a year since they’ve been engaged, and most of that was spent long distance. And before, there was no commitment before, and neither of them has been in serious relationships for any significant lengths of time. Well, at least one of us hasn’t. Let’s not go there either.

Then there’s being only children, self-centered center of people’s universes, flawed universes they might have been. Yeah, learn. And start by being honest, and clearing the air, Alex decides, and rests her chin on her lover’s shoulder. The immediate kiss she receives makes it harder but easier at the same time. “It really didn’t, I didn’t mean… not what I said.”

“You didn’t mean to give me an ultimatum?”

There was smile in her lover’s voice, banter that says ‘all’s forgiven’. Still, visibly, Alex winces. “I’m sorry. I guess I could’ve waited. Sooner or later, we’ll get back to ‘us’, right? And I’m sorry about the other ultimatum, you know, that brought you to Chicago. I’m not sure I ever apologized for it.”

“Hey, hey.” Why dredge that up? Olivia quickly demurs, “I know you didn’t mean it. Not then. Not ever. I know you would’ve taken me back, no matter how much time I needed to take to come to my senses.” And sometimes some things just need to be broken, before being made whole again… She blinks, surprised by the thought; and she lets go of her fiancée’s hands, only to pull the woman into her embrace.

Gratefully, Alex slumps in her lover’s strong arms, tucking her head under her chin and leaning in. To be stroked and cherished with tenderness and understanding and indulgence, it is so nice. “Really?” She argues out of defiance, “I thought I was pretty sure…” It is a lie, not so deep down she knows, they both do. She sucks on her lip, and admits, “Yeah. I would have.” You’re not someone I can get over.

“Thank you.” Olivia presses another kiss to her fiancée’s head, and pulls her tighter against herself, showing her that she, too, never intends to let go. “And for giving me the push.”

“Still. It probably shouldn’t have been… we should learn to talk to each other.”

“Yeah, and I know I need to listen, and not try to decide what’s best for you.”

“I like it when you’re protective.”

“But not always.” With a sheepish smile, Olivia admits, “And I’ve been treating you like a porcelain doll and I'm sorry. I just... You know, I get protective - over protective. But that's kinda who I am.” “It is who you are,” Alex agrees. “And it's one of the qualities that made me fall in love with you - how protective you are of the victims.” “But you're not a victim...” “No. I make my own choices, made them.” “Okay. I get it,” Olivia assures. She doesn’t know how she didn’t before, or maybe she was just in denial. Or maybe it’s like solving cases - one step, one idea at a time. Which is fine and dandy with work, but… Wish I could accelerate the process… What does it take for me to change? “But I haven't been treating you like a victim, have I?” “You haven't, but you were over protective still. Which is okay for the most part, but not when it comes to us.” Alex looks up, her voice deep with conviction, “I don’t need to be protected from you, or us."

“So we’ll run head first into walls together?”

“Yep, holding hands.” And never letting go, she thinks, and after a moment, decides she needs to hear it confirmed. So she says the words.

“No. Never.”

*******

19.

The heat of her fiancée’s gaze makes Olivia smile. She basks in it, reveling in the intimacy of the instant. At the same time, she can feel the woman’s growing impatience. For a few moments longer, she indulges herself in the sensation, their connection. Finally, she turns her head. Her smile widens. “Yes?”

“Whatcha thinking?”

She is sure her widening smile only makes her look ‘goofy’, in the blonde’s words. It doesn’t matter. “I’m thinking I’m so lucky.”

“Yeah?”

“We’re not stuck in a snowstorm like our friends back home.” Olivia turns onto her side, and starts to rise, to rest her cheek on her hand. Her fiancée has another idea, however, and she laughs falling onto her back. After Alex settles in, she presses a kiss to the blonde head pillowed on her shoulder. “It’s nice and sunny here, and relatively warm.” She pulls the body closer to her own. A smile of deep contentment graces her lips as her lover squeezes out the remaining airspace between them and hugs her tight.

“True.” A small chuckle accompanies the word.

“And for the next ten days or so, I’m just a civilian, vacationing with my lovely fiancée,” Olivia pauses, to lift a slender hand to her lips. Turning it palm up, she tickles with the tip of her tongue. Before she could close the small circle, Alex pulls her hands away. The playful smack on her thigh makes her laugh. “As I was saying, I’m lucky to be on vacation, and I don’t have a care in the world. Well, except to make sure my lovely fiancée has a good time, too.”

“You are lucky, especially the lovely fiancée part.”

She recaptures the blonde’s hand stroking her middle, and laces their fingers together. “I’ve been thinking…”

“Is it dangerous?”

“Not sure. Depends.”

“On what?”

“Your definition? One’s man’s danger is another man’s safety?” Brown eyes squint in mischief.

“Sure. Whatever.” Alex pushes a kiss at her lover’s collar bone, and fakes a yawn. “Good night.”

“It’s…” Olivia picks up her watch from the nightstand. “Seven thirty-seven in the morning. Anyway, I think I had an epiphany. You know we talked about how the guys and I, probably even the Capt, we were territorial about you because you were the first one who was truly ours? That you weren’t on loan, and we didn’t have to give you back at the end of a trial, didn’t have to share your schedule with another unit. You were ours. Just ours. And we were so lucky to have you, even if you were sent to fix us, to set an example for the rest of department.”

“You didn’t really need fixing, the Morris Commission…”

“Thank you. We were lucky, just the same.”

“Okay.” Talking about ownership and firsts, however, makes Alex want to raise her guard. “You’re not going ‘there’ again…”

“Hear me out, okay? I think I’ve got it – why I was obsessed with it before – just, hear me out,” Olivia insists, leaning up, to catch her lover’s eyes, to convey her sincerity. There is still humor to her expression, she is making sure, though gone is any hint of the earlier flippancy. “And I promise, I’m not bragging, or making a ‘production’ or anything. Hopefully, it all makes sense? Gimme a chance to explain, okay?”

“All right.”

“Yesterday, I saw Da Vinci’s Last Supper, with my very own eyes.” Not to mention the private tour through the Dominican convent apart from the tourists who were herded like sheep. Talk about privilege. To be perfectly honest, she finds charm in these little conveniences. “I’ll get to see a performance at the Teatro alla Scala tonight. La Scala, one of the most famous opera houses in the world.”

“Not an opera, unfortunately.”

“Still there’ll be operatic singing, at the La Scala, which is the more important point,” Olivia maintains, and continues with undisguised excitement, “Via Montenapoleone after lunch, so hopefully we can find our dresses for our night out. And who knows where we’re going to lunch?” She is sure either Alex or her cousin already has something special planned.

“I don’t know, we’ll probably just stay in the area.” Alex shrugs. “There’s a bunch of restaurants and cafés.”

Olivia grins. She is not falling for the feigned nonchalance. I see that twinkle; try all you like but you can’t hide it. “Something Italian, authentic? ‘Cause we didn’t come here to eat sushi, right.”

That makes Alex laugh. Busted, she knows. “No, I guess not,” she concedes. “Maybe we’ll have time to stop by the Duomo.”

“Great.”

‘Great’? We can see it from our window, literally just on the other side of the square... “But Daniela has to go pick up her dress, too.”

“Okay! Great! Fabulous!”

“Fabulous?”

“You getting it yet?”

“Get what? I’m afraid you lost me.”

The expression on her fiancée’s face only makes Olivia’s heart lighter. “Have I told you how cute you look when you’re confused? Your brows make the cutest little lines.”

Somehow the observation makes the blonde self-conscious. She deflects the attention, “You’re changing the subject.”

“Okay, so in a few days, I’m going to the Sierra Nevada, and see all sorts of amazing wonderful faunas, with you. Right?” She grins brightly at Alex’s nod. “Although I might need you to explain to me why we’re going to a snowcapped mountain at some point. Anyway, I’ve never done any of those things that I just mentioned. Not sure I would’ve, if we weren’t together…”

“You would, if you wanted to.”

“I’m not sure I would’ve?” Olivia glances around the pale green and dark eggshell interior of their room, with its art nouveau furnishings. The decorative ornaments are so different from the heavy wood and brocades at Mondestin, she cannot help but compare. Then she sees the ornate spires of the Gothic cathedral looming over the large windows across their bed and her smile widens. “But that’s totally beside the point.”

“So what’s the point?”

“I love these new experiences with you. Love that you’re sharing them with me, that you’re the first one to share them with me. And while I’m not comparing myself to an art masterpiece or a majestic mountain…” Oh, heck. “Or even the fractionally owned jet that brought us here.”

Please, don’t… Alex refrains from shaking her head. Still, she closes her eyes; and when she opens them again, she is on her elbows, hovering over Olivia and smiling. “They’re just things, not you.”

“And other people go to those places, do those things, if they want.”

“Anyone can.”

“Exactly.” Olivia beams, reaching up to tuck a piece of blonde hair behind the pale shell of her fiancée ‘s ear, and falling upwards into her sky blue eyes. Suddenly, she feels breathless; words tumble forward in a rush, “So I have this wonderful gift that I didn’t know I wanted, just like I didn’t know I wanted to see Da Vinci, or Spain, but now that I know I have it… I don’t know. It just… It makes me feel things, things I can’t describe.

“Being with you, Sweetheart, I feel, so many things, wonderful things, and not just because I’m your first, or that you chose me, but that we’re together, that we choose each other. And we have all these wonderful, beautiful experiences that we have, only by us being together,” she sucks in a deep breath.

“Am I making sense? I know it’s a little circular, in a way. But you understand, don’t you?” Olivia insists, holding the woman loosely despite wanting to hug her close, to watch her face.

Alex grins; she drops a kiss on the tip of her lover’s nose. “My, you are lucky.”

“And all these feelings, feelings that I have that I can’t explain…”

“Because they’re so amazing, and so many other adjectives, they’re indescribable?” Beyond syllables, like her feeling right now, with her lover’s heart wildly beating against hers. She moves to trap it in her hand. Together their breaths hitch.

“You know?”

She sees the deep need in Olivia’s brown eyes, and assures, “Absolutely.” Bending forward, their lips nearly touching, she asks, “Let me show you.”

“Yes .”

*******

20.

“I’m sorry about the scaffolding.”

“It’s not like you can help it,” Olivia replies, glancing around. But for the pews, the cathedral looks like a giant cave, even more so than St. Patrick’s at home, and equally filled with tourists.

“It’s been up for years, well, three, really, and for who knows how much longer.”

“It did take centuries to build, didn’t it?” Olivia replies good-naturedly. “I’m sure it takes a while to repair. It’s a huge building,” she adds conversationally, while wondering if they have missed the statue of Bartholomew, the patron saint of tanners according to the guidebook on Milan. It is supposed to be gruesome - the apostle was allegedly flayed and he is depicted as wearing his own skin. The detective wants to snap a photograph for her colleagues. Gallows humor that only cops get, she imagines. Before she could ask, a soft voice interrupts again.

“It’s not a very attractive sight, and you get to wake up to it.”

“Really, Daniela - Dani, it’s okay,” she assures their host, who has so far gone above and beyond social niceties. Perhaps the woman feels guilty about spending half of their short visit working. Plus, there seems to be some underlying tension between the distant cousins, and Olivia finds herself the unexpected buffer between the two. “We can barely see it from across the piazza, the scaffolding, and, well, it’s really not a big deal.”

“We can go up to the roof if you like, by stairs or elevator,” Daniela offers. “The view is quite nice and you could see quite far, even the Alps on a clear day, probably you could today. Would you like to do that?”

Olivia looks to her fiancée who provides a shrug and a smile. “Have you been up there?” She asks the blonde.

“Sure. That was years ago though.”

“You know, we really don’t have to do the tourist thing for my benefit.”

“We don’t mind going up, do we, Lexi? It’ll be like old times, except without the apples.”

The shades of horror and embarrassment searing the pale face surprised Olivia. She asks, “Apples?”

“It’s nothing, Liv. Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh, come on. It’s something, something big. Tell me.” When Alex crosses her arms and averts her gaze in response, she turns to the other woman. “Dani, tell me.”

The red head glances at her cousin and laughs. “Remember, Olivia, we were young, very young - really very young. And we didn’t know any better…”

“Daniela.”

Olivia catches the death glare and grins. She could tell at least at some point those two were close. Maybe the distance is just a part of being grown with adult responsibilities. Yeah, like getting shot and going away, or being your cousin’s attending while she was in a… coma. Or maybe they just need to talk, and clear the air... or something. “Come on, Sweetheart.”

“Lexi and I had a little competition, inspired by Newton .”

“Newton?”

“Gravity, okay?” Alex replies in a huff. “We scooped out the insides of our apples, and scraped ice from the refrigerator and packed it inside the shell, and we snuck them out of the house in our coat pockets…”

“You didn’t.”

“One time Lexi cheated and took a mutant apple…”

“I didn’t cheat. We didn’t have rules about the size of the apples.” Alex works at suppressing her smile. “Besides, you still won.”

“That’s because I’m the master ice-packer.”

Throwing her companions each a look of utter incredulity, Olivia laughs. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this.”

“Yeah, you better not repeat it.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna tell Elliot about your juvenile delinquency.” She nudges her fiancée with her elbow and leans in to false whisper, “It’ll be our dirty little secret.”

“Shut up.”

“So, Olivia, would you like to go up to the roof?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely. We’ll have to,” the brunette eagerly concludes. “Did you ever accidentally hit anyone?”

“Our Lexi almost nailed the bishop once. Although I’m not sure that was an accident?”

“He was wearing a red zucchetto, he wasn’t a bishop.”

“A what?”

“A beanie - a red beanie; he made himself a target,” Alex asserts haughtily and grabs her lover’s arm. “Come on, enough yammering. If you want to go up, let’s get in line.”

*******

21.

Olivia couldn’t remember a time she didn’t pay attention to her wardrobe. She didn’t want to become a model just to get out of her mother’s house; she genuinely likes fashion. She loves keeping track of the colors and styles of the season, and appreciates the buttery softness of a fine Italian leather jacket, just as she does perfect drape of a biased cut silk charmeuse gown. Clothes makes a person and says a lot about the wearer, Serena would tell her daughter when the brunette would run around wearing ripped jeans and grungy tee shirts just to be disagreeable. Prof. Benson never walked out of her home without wearing a suit; if she had her way, her daughter would loathe casual clothing like she did.

Mom would approve of this place, she finds herself thinking as she looks around the boutique. It carries a few choice items from every designer around the world, and whatever else the customer might fancy from one of the Milanese houses, their concierge shopping service is more than happy to entertain her special request.

Mom would approve of you, of us, I’m pretty sure. For some reason, despite the reality of her mother being dead, and regardless of what she tells herself, it matters what her mother would have thought of her relationship with Alex. It had hurt, the way Serena Benson gone off on the prospective relationship, and how Olivia would never ever fit into the Cabots’ world, like she had known it first hand. As if!

And I can fit into this world just fine, she decides, as she watches her fiancée move through the display of cocktail dresses with furrowing brows, most likely annoyed by the hovering sales associate. With a winning smile and in perfect Italian, Olivia tells her own shadow to please start a fitting room for her with the dresses she had already chosen. Then she picks out another dress and approaches the blonde.

“What do you think of this?” She holds out the floor length garment.

“For me?” Alex touches the nude satin halter as if expecting it to bite. “It’s...”

“Gorgeous,” Olivia completes the sentence and hands it over to the other woman, and asks for an adjoining fitting room for her fiancée. The request causes an elegant brow to arch and the young associate to scurry off.

“Thank you, I think,” Alex says and smiles her little smile.

Her smile that feels like a thousand little smiles, and for a second, Olivia looses her equilibrium. Then she beams. “My pleasure.”

“That gown… you really liked it?”

“I think it’s elegant.”

“I thought you like me in red?”

“I think you’ll look great in that gown,” Olivia replies, and she takes the black wool cocktail dress Alex was touching earlier, putting it up against the blonde. “This is gorgeous, too.”

“I was looking at it for you,” Alex objects, running her finger along the leather detailing. Then she meets her lover’s eyes, and reads the expression in her gaze. “Okay,” she agrees to the tacit offer, and smiles another thousand smiles.

Happily, Olivia begins the tasks of assembling a selection for her fiancée. Between her efficiency and her propriety stance, she manages to keep the sales help away; and she can feel tension eases off the blonde. “So Lexi…” She starts, intending to inject levity. The wilting glare from her fiancée makes her laugh. “Take it you’re not a fan of the nick?”

“It was fine when I was ten.”

“Dani and Lexi, ice-apple throwing twin horrors of Milan .” The brunette smirks. “I think it’s cute.”

“Do I really strike you as ‘cute’?”

“Sometimes. But not right now though. Right now you’re elegant, and beautiful, and glamorous,” she expounds, holding up a cocktail dress the color of midnight against her lover. She blinks. “And, I’m suddenly out of adjectives…” she says, eliciting a deep appreciative chuckle. “And you’re so much more.”

“Not cute.”

“No, Sweetheart, not at all.” Adorable maybe, the way the blonde looks right now, color high on her cheeks. Of course she keeps that observation to herself.

“We’re being silly.”

“We’re on vacation.”

“Is that your answer for everything?”

Behind the playful demeanor and laughter, Olivia senses vulnerability. “Lemme check… yep, it is,” she replies and places against herself an evening gown the shade of light mocha. “So how do I look?”

Alex grins. “Cute.”

“Come on! Imagine a spray tan,” she says, pulling back her shoulders and canting her hips, and watches the light blue of her fiancée’s eyes swirl into black. With a knowing grin, she folds the dress over her arm.

“I still think you should grab that other one,” Alex suggests after clearing her throat.

That red thing? Olivia makes a face. “Right. I’ll look like a high class tart.”

“My tart?”

She laughs, to cover her breathlessness. “I don’t think Dani would appreciate me sitting in her box wearing that. Anyway, we ready for the fun part?”

“Fun?”

“Try the stuff on, ogle each other, and figure out which we want to get for the opera, and which for our reception?” The expression on her companion’s face makes her ask, “You know? Our commitment party?” At the last moment, she throws in a lope-sided smile, hoping it will add confidence.

“Oh, I know. I’ve just been thinking,” Alex offers, trying to mask her own hesitance by bouncing on the balls of her feet. Just once, she wills, and no arm-crossing. “Actually, watching you and thinking.”

“Yeah?”

“We’re here, in Milan.”

“Right?”

“A fashion capital. And well, I’ve always thought Italian designers are better at dressing women.” She lets her gaze slide smoothly down her lover’s frame before meeting again her darkening eyes. “Real women.” When Olivia remains silent, she hurries, “Please hear me out.” Judging by the cock of the woman’s head, it probably wasn’t the right tactic. Oh, hell - screw games, she plows ahead, “We got lucky, sort of, we were excused from at least three Christmas events,” because I was recovering. “But next year…”

“We’ll be expected to attend,” Olivia finishes her fiancée’s sentence with a deep breath.

“And who knows what other plans my mom will have for us. I am supposed to start easing into that work.”

The schmoozing and fundraising galas and all that, Olivia understands. “You think I need a better wardrobe.”

“Not ‘better’, just… an extra section?”

She catches a hint of a suppressed wince, and she knows the blonde is trying hard not to be defensive, or argumentative or even manipulative, and they both know how easily she would fall for the latter. Focusing on that, she offers a gracious smile, “Take it rent-a-gown’s out?”

“I suppose we could, if that’s what you really want.”

This is the Cinderella stories all little girls love and dream of for themselves, right? Meeting Prince, in this case, Princess Charming, and gets swept off her feet? Didn’t I want that, too, growing up? Did I just stop? When? Without pulling away, and instead, she engages Alex’s gaze by reaching out and taking her hand. “Can I think about it?”

“Sure, of course.”

The woman’s relief is palpable, and Olivia silently berates herself. Still, she adds, “There might be a line I wanna draw somewhere… I’m not sure.”

“It’s okay, Liv, I understand, perfectly.” I’m just happy you didn’t say ‘no’, Alex relays with her eyes.

Or worse... Olivia returns her smile. Yeah, I know.

*******

22.

Between the Duomo and the fashion district and now the Teatro alla Scala, the day had been a series of short strolls around the city center. Perhaps it was the limited frames of reference, Olivia kept thinking back to their trip to Paris. And wishing they could go back. One day…

One fine day… She follows the Puccini aria opening the recital, sung by a soprano of Korean ancestry. Things definitely have changed. She still remembers attending her first Madama Butterfly at the Met, with Catherine Malfitano singing the title role. She was with her mother then. Now, in the semi-lit theatre, the gilded decorations and red velvet transport her both to a different world, and back in time.

In fact, so far back in time that Olivia can imagine nobles and well-to-do merchants, bedecked in their Baroque finery, sitting in their little boxes that had to be unlocked with a key. Their stools arranged to afford the best view, as they looked through their opera glasses to see what their rivals were wearing, and who they were with. And be seen.

Like those rows of people sitting with their chairs facing the streets at that café in Paris… The thought makes her hold on tighter to her fiancée’s hand. Why? She can’t be certain.

The touch of her fiancée’s hand, however, serves only as a tenuous reminder of the present for Olivia. She could easily see the two of them sitting in the same theatre, perhaps as different people, in an earlier époque. She would like to think they had.

Olezzo di verbena, she catches another phrase. Orange blossoms, Pinkerton’s nickname for his little wife somehow reminds the brunette of Alex’s grandmother - the Signora… the citrus grove. The Mediterranean sun.

She pauses, not knowing where to go with her thoughts. Her mind resumes following the music. The ovation. Then hushed quietness that lasts mere seconds settles heavily as different soloists take the stage.

Looking down at the program, she sees the title for the next aria, something obscure by Rossini. Briefly, she wonders if the opera was chosen simply because ‘La Scala’ is a part of the name. It is nice. Typical Italian, typical bel canto, whatever that means. Sometimes Olivia wishes she knows less about opera. Why? She can’t say.

Bellini, Puccini again, and again Puccini, Olivia memorizes. She ought to be enjoying the performance. She was looking forward to the experience, especially after reading so much about it, both in the past, and before the trip. Even the Museo Teatrale alla Scala with its attached library sounded interesting at one point. Now all she can think about is that scala is the name for some part of the inner ear, and that it also means ‘stairs’.

Hope my thinking isn’t too distracting for you. She smirks, remembering Alex’s allegation on the plane. She could check, it would only take a quick glance, but she keeps her gaze ahead. Her mind resumes its meandering.

‘Stairs’ takes Olivia back to Palazzo Ansaldi, with the grand exterior staircase leading up from the ground floor to the piano nobile, the level Daniela occupies, and where they are staying. Those external stairs now reminds her of the Cabot estate in Hyde Park. It makes sense, all of a sudden, although she isn’t entirely sure what ‘it’ is.

Aside from their rooms, which must have been considered inconsequential at some point, given their altered, more contemporary decors, the rest of the piano nobile retained its Renaissance splendor, with high, floor-to-ceiling windows, and pink and mint green frescos of idyllic scenes of cherubs and lovers. Kinda like paintings at the Frick. And the humungous chandeliers… They must take a staff hours to polish. Like the ones now hanging several boxes above theirs.

Like the one nonna had in her house, just bigger. Way bigger. Olivia blinks. Involuntarily, she recalls the afternoons spent watching and trying to help her grandmother with the cleaning. It was a project that went on from one afternoon to another, that lasted for days – at least so it seemed. She never realizes until now, it was a symbol of something more than just status, something she can’t put a finger on. Yet it makes her wonder how Alex would feel having one in their house. A little one, maybe just inside the foyer?

On the topic of symbols and status of one’s abode, Daniela explained over breakfast that if she had her way, her apartments would be redone in Manhattan simplicity, clean linear lines without swirls of sculpted stucco and decorative grills to trap dust. All in leather which is durable and easy to clean - not fragile and high maintenance like Fortuny silk. “The superintendents of fine arts and monuments would never in a million years approve,” she sighed. “And in Milan, Italy for that matter, there’s a superintendent, governing every little thing.

“Just like everyone has a title,” the redhead had relayed with a laugh.

At the time, Olivia was bemused by the comment. After spending another eight hours with the woman, she still isn’t sure if she captured the essence of her mirth. She did, however, learn that their host is the ‘black sheep’ not because she is doing anything scandalous by normal people standards. But because she is not living the privileged life expected of an Ansaldi. That she actually takes a salary for her work and accepts fees for her lectures. She even rents out the grand ballroom for private events so the Palazzo Ansaldi pays for its own upkeep. Worst of all, her husband is a Spaniard, who, despite being a count, is a runway model whose face graced many L’Uomo Vogue covers, which Daniela proudly displays in frames…

Olivia moves her head, and catches herself before completing the shake. Intermission soon, she decides. Then Rossini again, Donizetti and finally Verdi. At least something darker, with more substance.

Then as abrupt as her aborted gesture, she comes to the realization that she fits into Alexandra Cabot's world only because it is skewed. Skewed in a way that is just and right, but nevertheless skewed. But also in such a way that I do fit. Squarely.

O, Principessa… The tenor pours out his heart. Guardi le stele…

‘Watching the stars...’ All around her, if she squints, the groups of lights could be stars. Reflections off the shards of crystals, they definitely could be blinking heavenly bodies. There must be other kinds of stars in the audience, too. Stars outside the opera house, on the streets, the edges of Milan… Everywhere. Too many stars.

Carefully, she looks besides her, to find light eyes looking back. And she sees.

When intermission comes, Olivia is suddenly hungry. Famished, really, despite the panino she shared with Alex less than an hour ago. She accepts without protest the flute of prosecco from her fiancée’s hand, and spends the rest of the interval feeding from bottomless bowls of nuts.

*******

23.

“Il dolce suono…” The sweet sound… The soprano in her white gown begins Lucia’s mad scene. In her mind, Olivia could see the woman holding a knife, with blood staining the front of her bridal dress, as a different Lucia did at the Lyric Opera of Chicago.

Chicago… It feels sometimes like a lifetime ago. Perhaps in some ways it was.

“Il dolce suono mi colpi di sua voce!” The sweet sound…. hits me… his voice…” She mulls the translation over, slowly, not really concerned about being left behind. His voice.

Her voice.

Your voice. She glances over at her fiancée and lifts a corner of her lips when the woman looks back at her. You, not she, or her. Always. She affirms to herself. Somehow the choice of pronouns matters. Somehow.

Sometimes she doesn’t understand herself. She feels like she adds to the sum of disorder of the chaotic world, even though it’s her job to enforce the law, to add order.

She doesn’t understand people, especially the people who inflict violence and atrocities on others. She’d like to think that she doesn’t understand the ones who inflict those things on themselves either.

They are mad, like Lucia. The heroine in the opera, who killed her husband, a husband forced upon her, and had gone mad, because she loved another man.

St. Lucy who poked out her eyes to give to the man she didn’t want to marry.

Luce.

She shakes her head and away the kindly face of the bride of Christ at Sparkill. Talking about future charitable duties had nevertheless put the seed in her mind that perhaps she could see the woman again. She’d like to see her again and not think of her as the ex-doctor who managed the nursing facility where Alex convalesced. Although does one stop being a doctor?

If things had panned out differently, in WitSec, and you had to stop being a lawyer, how would you feel?

How would I feel? Could I stop being a cop?

Would I stop finding associations to your six weeks in Sparkill, in everything?

“Un armonia celeste, di, non ascolti?” Her subconscious picks out the lyrics, and arranges her thoughts. A heavenly harmony, can you hear?

Will I stop remembering, how when each day surrendered to the night, I dread the steps of my mother stumbling up the stairs? And how that silence echoed after she fell down to her death?

Or the sigh from my partner’s lips, and the reluctant scrape of his chair pulling him from his desk, when there’s no more work at the precinct, none that justifies overtime anyway, when he has to go home? A home without his wife, his children. Completely alone?

The wakeup call I heard, that made me realize - it could very well be me, alone, stumbling up the steps to my apartment, after hitting the bar with the guys at work? It could be me fumbling with the locks that unlock the door to my apartment. My very nice apartment that is too small for two people but too big for one, even one with a cat.

When the morning came back to life, when your arm weighed heavy around my shoulder, that first of our last days in Sparkill, when I heard your whisper of my name… you have no idea how that felt, what that meant.

I can’t begin to tell you what that meant, even if I wanted to. I could only try to tell you how I feel, to know I’m your ‘one’, and even then words were inadequate. You have no idea how. It’s so much more then ‘the sum of our experiences’ – a phrase you seem to love. So much more, and even I don’t know how much.

Can you hear me thinking now, like I feel your gaze on our joined hands?

When we first came together that afternoon, so many years ago, did you know we would be together for life? Did you think twice? I did, even though over and over I had imagined how your touch would be. Demanding and impatient, like you were, or soft and vulnerable like earlier today?

I thought more than twice. Way, too many times really. Olivia shakes her head again, just once, before a squeeze of her hand draws a smile across her face.

It’s pure night outside, and you know what? I can’t wait to see the sun, can’t wait for tomorrow.

“Un armonia celeste…”

Can you hear?

*******

24.

“Happy birthday, Liv.”

Following the voice, Olivia opens her eyes. Quickly, she blinks at the light pushing through the giant twin rectangles of their windows, morning yellow muted by half drawn shades. She blinks again, seeing her fiancée resting on her elbow, already dressed. When? When did you leave the bed and how did I not know? Instead of asking aloud, she leans over, and curls her arms around her lover’s torso, her intent to unwrap her present positively clear. “Oh, yeah.”

“Wait. Hold on a sec.”

“But it’s my birthday,” she whines at the hand against her chest. Not really, it isn’t. Her actual birthday was over a week ago. They had a party, too, in Hyde Park, because Randy sprained his ankle ‘pulling some crazy stunt’ according to Martha and couldn’t travel. Her Nirvana Day, stolen from Buddhists commemorating the death of Buddha, to celebrate her own freedom. From what? Her past, her issues? Not having an answer, she decided next year she would have a regular birthday like regular people. Thrilled with the idea, Alex suggested instead of waiting, they should celebrate it again on their own. She had somehow readily agreed, and now she plans to make the most of the occasion. “You promised a birthday breakfast in bed.”

“Exactly. There’s a fresh bread-basket with all sorts of dips, and lemon pancake cake, and waffles with gelato, and…”

The mention of food makes her sniff the air. Lemon pancake cake! Yes! She spots the scent, while the overall sweetness lays heavily on her senses, awakening her appetite. “Whoa, whoa, that’s a lot of sugar,” she argues with barely disguised eagerness.

“We’ll be doing a lot of walking.”

“Walking? What happened to birthday celebration, in bed?”

“But we’re in Milan. Our last full day in Milan!” Alex protests with a smile mirroring her lover’s, falling into their dance. She knows how to do this and where it would lead. The familiarity is more than comforting. “What would Daniela think?”

“Dani has meetings all day, I thought? She’s not thinking about us staying in bed, I’m sure.” Olivia reasons with a lightly arched brow and her best lawyer voice, borrowed from her fiancée. “We can come back to Milan any time. I’m only 36 once. And it’s my birthday celebration.”

Something’s changed. Perhaps it’s the scenery, or the Mediterranean sun. Whatever the cause, it’s like a quick minuet, freeing and exhilarating. She stops bracing against Olivia, and instead walks her fingers down the valley of her chest. The visible tightening of her lover’s nipples and the audible hitch of her breath makes her smile a deeper smile. “You know, you used to prefer low key.”

“We can be very low key, in bed.” Olivia closes her eyes. Part of her wants the teasing to turn serious, another part wonders how long they could drag it out, resist, and grow the anticipation. She squeezes her legs closed and clears her voice. “You have this little moan that’s really deep and sexy, that comes out once in a while. I can try making it happen again.” And again.

“Think about your gelato. It’s cinnamon. Cook made it especially for you. And melting as we speak.” The grin on her lover’s face makes her ask. “What? Do I even want to know?”

“I’m thinking about my special birthday gelato. And what a perfect dish you’d make.” Olivia licks her lips, slowly, for the effect. It works, both ways. Oh, yeah. “Gelato con Alex? How do you say ‘in bed’ in Italian?” Olivia asks with a wink.

“So you don’t want your birthday present?”

“Haven’t you been listening to me?”

Playfully, Alex hits her lover’s arm. “Liv! Be serious!”

“Oh, Baby, I am.” She gathers the sheets around herself, and presses a sound kiss on her lover’s chin. “All right. Gimme my birthday present you’ve got planned. Then can I have what I really, really want?”

“Let me guess, in bed?”

*******

25.

Quickly, Alex drags the catering cart from the center of the room. She plops the main tray on her lover’s lap. “Here, eat first, before the temperature gets all wrong.”

Momentarily, Olivia wonders how her fiancée managed to get the cart inside without waking her, rather, how she slept through the heavy noise. Then her eyes lift to the single red rose and the spray of baby’s breath in the vase. “It’s beautiful,” she sighs, her attention diverted once more as she marvels at the types of food, and the golden pastries lined up before her. There is no way they can consume all that. Even if they just tasted a bit of everything, it would require a day of walking to burn off the calories, she realizes with amusement. Smiling a deep smile, she looks up to the woman who made all this and more possible. “Thank you.”

Two little words, and somehow they say more than a book of Dickinson’s poetry or a shelf of Harlequin prose. Alex returns Olivia’s smile. She brushes a kiss near her lover’s eye, to acknowledge the hovering tears, and rises from the bed.

“Wait, aren’t you joining me?”

“Just a minute, I’m going to get your real present.”

“Then stay. Eat with me.” Olivia grabs her fiancée’s sleeve, stopping her retreat. “I’m sure whatever you got me’s fabulous, but…” It’s never going to compare… Yeah, that’s too schmaltzy even for me. Instead she lets go, and extends her hand. Silent understanding passes between them. After Alex settles beside her, she moves the tray, so it rests on both their thighs. “Happy birthday,” slips unbidden from her tongue.

“Happy birthday, Liv, and many, many more,” Alex whispers back.

Together, they eat in companionable silence, feeding each other occasionally, and smiling and communicating with their eyes. Both take their bites unhurriedly, tasting every flavor, delighting in every nuance, to draw out breakfast for as long as the food allows. Finally, Olivia scoops a spoonful of melted gelato into her coffee, and offers it to her fiancée. She watches, as if in slow motion, the cup lifting to touch the woman’s full lips, and follows the movement of the liquid as it slides down her throat. Even without a mirror, she is certain her smile is ‘goofy’ when the drink is returned to her hand.

Alex smiles, and inhales, and holds her breath to sustain time. A moment later she asks, “So you ready for your present?”

Dramatically, Olivia shakes her shoulders. “Sure.”

“You’ll have to wait here.”

She tucks the bed linen higher over her chest and smirks at her fiancée’s responding expression. “Not planning to go anywhere. Hurry back though. You want me to close my eyes?”

“No. It’s wrapped,” Alex says and sprints into the next room.

Olivia arches towards the shuffling sounds, wondering where the secret hiding place could be. Not that she ever went looking or even thought about it. When another door creaks shut, she sits back and lets her eyes survey the room. Something she has not done either, at least not in solitude and not in this light. By the time Alex returns with the huge box that the woman drops unceremoniously into her arms, she is almost out of her skin in anticipation. She tries not to let her impatience show as she unties the ribbon.

“You don’t have to be so careful, you know?”

“I know, but…” Looking down, she slides her fingertips along the cream paper with gold flecks. “When did you have time to do this?”

“I didn’t. Gift-wrapping service. So, go ahead.”

With that, Olivia grins and tears into the package. When the lid of the box comes off, she gasps. Immediately, she leaps onto her feet, her nakedness forgotten as she pulls the garment from its tissue-paper nest. “Holy cow, Alex. This is beautiful.”

“You like it?”

The tuck of hair behind pink ear and the shy, hesitant smile registered, and she can only gape. “When?”

“I sent them your jacket, the one I wore when I left New York.” So you wouldn’t know; I know you wouldn’t be looking for it. “And they made alterations accordingly.”

“Wait, them? They? This is not off the rack?” She looks at the box again. “Alex, this is insane.”

“Dani knows them; her parents helped financed their company. I’m sure an assistant or someone from their team of seamstresses did the actual work. And it is prêt-à-porter, just a sample, from part of the winter collection, which in the fashion world, is already passé,” Alex rushes with her explanation, and then recomposes herself with a deeper breath. “Anyway, I asked them to add the puffer vest. It’s detachable, see?” She unfastens the zipper to show her lover. “You can wear them separately or together. It’ll keep you warm for any freak winters we get.”

“Alex, this is too much.”

“You said yourself, you’re only 36 once.” She shrugs, as if the gesture didn’t mean anything more than just an extravagant birthday gift. “Besides, the moment I saw it, I knew I wanted to see it on you. I think I’m entitled to a little indulgence once in a while?”

Olivia has to smile. She knows that is not an argument to be countered, not one she wants to anyway.

“Do you like it?”

“I love it.” She runs her hand along the deep wool fibers. “It’s so soft. This is just regular lamb, right? Not some exotic, endangered thing from the top of the Himalayas or the Pyrénées?”

“Just plain mutton, someone’s dinner.” She joins her Olivia in caressing the coat. Then she feels the heat of her lover’s gaze. Her lips lift into a smile, and she asks with a fortified voice, “What?”

“Put it on.”

“Why? It’s your coat.”

“I know. But I want you to put it on. And I wanna remember this, every time. It’ll keep me extra warm.”

Alex thinks she knows what Olivia’s suggesting; but just to be sure she asks, “You want, just the coat.” The responding look in her lover’s eyes confirms the answer. She swallows, and unknots the belt of her robe. With the brunette’s help, she slips on the charcoal shearling coat.

*******

26.

“So what would you like to do?”

The lascivious grin from her lover makes Alex want to roll her eyes. She does. “Come on, Liv, we’re in a foreign country.”

“So?”

“You’ve never been to Spain.”

“Sweetheart, we’re in Spain.”

“Don’t you want to go out? Take in the sights?” You’re not still afraid I might faint somewhere or go walkies are you? She almost asks. That was why they spent the time they did in bed when they were in France, and Hawaii, or so it seemed, although she is not certain why she is suddenly thinking of that. So she insists again, louder, to drown out her thoughts, “Come on, Liv!”

“It’s the middle of the afternoon. We just got here. We should take advantage of siesta.”

“I thought you wanted to visit Spain? Wouldn’t you like to practice your Spanish while you have the opportunity?”

“Not really. It’s useful for work, now, occasionally. Before, I just took it cuz my mom thought I should.”

“Okay,” Alex agrees, despite feeling crushed. Olivia is supposed to remember the effect Spanish has on her, well, not Spanish per se, but from her lips. Not very mature, is it? “So while we’re holed up here, would you like to talk?”

“About?”

Oh, all the things we’ve been avoiding, like my coma, or the cause thereof? Or the back story about my aunt Maureen? What’s up with my cousin Ariel? Wouldn’t most people ask? “I don’t know? How’d you like Dani?”

“She’s nice. Very nice. I like her.” Something about her still seems familiar, her smile, maybe? “It’s very nice of her to fly us out here on her family’s plane. Although, I’m still not sure about you co-piloting.”

“I sat in the cock-pit and watched. I doubt I’ll get to do anything on our way back.”

“Have you met you? You can be convincing; you get your way, Princess.”

“Yeah, Pot, I do.”

“Yeah, well, you’re still sitting way over there.”

“Across the table, you mean.” This very small table big enough to hold two sets of cups and saucers and a single stem vase. The look Olivia gives her makes her want to sigh aloud, and she does. “I just feel like we should take advantage.”

“Of?”

“Being in a foreign country? You had all those guide books for France.” And none for Spain, she had noticed. “Don’t you want to see the architecture? Learn about the history of Seville? It’s interesting.”

“You’re more interesting.”

“You see me everyday.”

“Ah, but not 24 hours a day when we go back home; we both have jobs. Now our time is our own, and I prefer to spend mine with you,” Olivia explains reasonably. “You know what? If there are places you want to go, then we go.”

“There’s nothing you want to see? Besides me, naked.”

“Honestly? Not really. I mean, it was nice for Gen. Thomas to invite us, and I think it would be rude if we turned down her gift, considering it’s like an engagement-slash-wedding gift, and we wouldn’t want to do that, be rude, to one of your mother’s oldest friends.”

“I agree.”

“But Spain just doesn’t ring my bell. Never did.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re feeling aversion.”

“Aversion might be too strong a word.”

“And not very irrational.”

“I agree.”

“But you liked Milan?”

“I adored Milan. I wish we were spending more time there instead of here.”

“I’m sure Dani could accommodate us, or we could just get a hotel.”

“But it’d be rude to Gen. Thomas.”

“All right,” Alex concedes. “Maybe we could take a couple of days at the beach? Or is it Andalusia or Spain in general that you don’t like?”

“Not sure? Since we’ve only been here, and for what, two hours?” Reaching across the table, Olivia takes her fiancée’s hands into her own. “Why don’t we just stay? And we could go out for walks. I think there’s some sort of morning market. I do remember reading on-line. That actually sounds like fun.”

“Just no museums or tourist traps?”

“That’s right.”

“Okay. That sounds good, Liv, actually.”

“Good compromise?”

“Yes, yes I believe it is.”

“We’re learning, Sweetheart.”

“So we are.” Steps, baby steps, dance steps. “Say, you wanna go check out a club, maybe? If we feel like going out tonight? I would like to learn their dance. It’s like flamenco but not quite. Looks pretty, the hand gestures and the movements.”

“Las Sevillanas.”

“You know it?”

“Of it. Read about it, on-line. Sure, I’d love to learn.” Olivia smiles. Figured you would.

*******

27.

Carefully, Olivia returns the framed faded photograph to the shelf and lets her gaze linger over the rest of the random knick-knacks. They surprised her; she had expected the place to be more formal, or something. More like a hotel or timeshare, rather than a home perhaps. Now she wonders how often the woman comes here during the year, and tries not to feel like an intruder. She turns, when she hears her fiancée at the terrace door. In a few steps, she is there to unfasten the different locks, and slide it open. “Gen. Thomas, you met her?”

Alex eyes the pair of orange lounge chairs before settling her focus on the tower visible from the roof. She wonders if that is part of a monument or just an extension of a traditional apartment complex similar to this one. In truth, she has very few recollections of the city. “Supposedly, when I was young, there was one vacation we took with Uncle Bobby. I can’t remember.” Actually, she doesn’t have too many memories from when she was a child, period. Less than she thinks she should have, than she imagines normal, now she speculates if it is true. “Why?”

“She’s interesting.”

“That’s a good descriptor for my mom’s friends.”

The snigger didn’t escape trained ears. “You’re being rude.”

“Just making a truthful observation.”

Olivia shakes her head and smiles. “She’s not weird-interesting. More interesting-interesting.”

“Are you calling Martha weird?” Alex asks with humor in her eyes, then her expression changes. “Are there things about my mom you’d like to tell me? Perhaps things I should know?”

Why is she astonished that Alex would simply cut to the chase? “Umm… I’m not sure how much I should tell you?”

“Look, I know people keep secrets. Sometimes too many of them. And especially my family.” Alex replies with a small shrug and states simply, “I live with it. And you can tell me, or not tell me…”

“You don’t care?”

“Not really? I love my mom, and I have to love her…”

“You ‘have to’?”

“Something tells me certain secrets she keeps, I’d rather not know about,” Alex admits. “I know she’s not a bad person, and she always does what she thinks is best and right at the moment of decision. I can’t really fault that, even if I don’t always agree, can I?” She doesn’t wait for an answer and continues as she sits in one of the chairs, “So, if you know some of her secrets, and feel like you have to share, or if you just want to tell me, go ahead. I promise I won’t say anything to her.”

“That’s the least of my concern, Sweetheart,” Olivia says and briefly contemplates whether to join her fiancée in the other chair. Then she watches the woman lean back and shield her eyes from the sun; and she moves, to cast her shadow over the rays. “I just think it’s kinda sad…”

Looking up to her lover leaning over her, she smiles in silent appreciation. “Aren’t there things about your mom you didn’t want to know?”

“Like what?” Olivia asks in reflex, then immediately nods. “I suppose.”

Making a quick decision, Alex seizes the opportunity. “Have you really not tried to look for your grandparents? They might still be alive.”

Olivia forces her shoulders to rise and fall. “They could look for me, too.”

“They don’t have the resources you do, as a cop.”

“Actually, Sweetheart, my grandmother died when I was twelve.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Liv.” She says, as if she didn't already know, as if what her lover told Martha in confidence had stayed that way. “I’m sorry,” she repeats.

“Yeah, anyway, back to Gen. Thomas.” Olivia turns the conversation away from herself. “She has a daughter, you know? A coupla years older than you? Your mother said you’ve met?”

“The one you rescued?” With her lover’s confirming nod, she continues, “That’s what she said, too. But I can’t say I remember either.”

“The daughter doesn’t know, but she was adopted.”

“Okay,” guardedly Alex replies. She wonders where Olivia is going with this, and why tension is unexpectedly creeping up her spine. She tries to ignore the latter and smile another smile, encouraging her lover to continue.

“You knew…” Olivia’s tongue trips on the name. “Uh, Martha and Randy’s son, was adopted?”

“Sure. Everyone does.”

“Did you know she’s his birthmother? Thomas, I mean.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t you find that kinda strange?”

“To give up a kid only to adopt another?” Alex speculates for her lover’s sake. “Or to adopt one and then give up her own?”

“The former.”

“I’m sure she has her reasons.”

For some reason, Olivia really wants her fiancée to ask. She wants the woman to insist, so she could tell her how the general got pregnant from a rape. That Alex’s first crush or love or whatever he was - was also the result of rape. Why the similar circumstance of their birth, the coincidence, suddenly matter? She didn’t know. “You really don’t care?”

“I’m not sure why I should?” Pressing down on the metal frame, she straightens, and swings her legs over the edge of the chair. “We’re on vacation. And thinking about my mother’s affairs usually gives me a headache.” She lets the pinch between her brows show. “Did I mention we’re on vacation?”

Relenting, Olivia steps aside and offers her hand. She is grateful when Alex obliges and fits neatly into her arms. Fighting the overwhelming urge to never let go, she offers, “You wanna take a walk?”

*******

28

“I was here.” Alex points with her chin at the white building with the gold and red trimmed façade. If one focuses only on the impressive front door and the heavy iron gates that used to guard a convent, one could pretend the place wasn’t awash with blood. “When I was little. My dad brought me, one Spring,” she explains, making a sweeping gesture towards the rest of the arena with her free arm.

Responding to the sudden grip of her fiancée’s hand, Olivia pulls to a stop. Watching the blonde carefully, she asks what she knows to be the opposite of truth, “You wanna go in?”

“Not unless you want to.” Alex offers anyway, “I think there are guided tours of the place.”

“It’s okay,” Olivia reassures. Making a quick decision, she adds, “I’m not sure I like the idea, despite how Hemingway and Picasso glorified it. Kinda barbaric.”

“Brutal. This is one tradition I wish I hadn’t experienced.”

“You came for a fight?” She hopes she manages to keep most of the outrage from her voice. There are times she wonders exactly what kind of man Alexander Cabot was. Like now, she cannot imagine what lesson he was trying to teach his daughter, taking her to a bullfight. “How old were you?”

“Young. There’s no age limit in watching. I’m not sure there’s age limit in fighting, at least training.”

For a boy, maybe. And even then… Still, she tries to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, “Wow. I’m not sure I could… although it’s part of the culture here. And your dad was a hunter.”

“Blood is blood. We eat meat, we kill.”

From Alex’s clipped tone, Olivia knows the straightforwardness of that statement was forged. Sometimes she wonders if there will always be a need for walls, to hide the vulnerability and softness. Somehow it makes her think of the old ramparts, built on Julius Caesar’s orders. She shakes the thought from her head, and gives her own opinion, “Different than killing for sport.”

“Or to defend oneself or another. Or like how Edith culls the land. Although we eat the meat from her hunt, at least Oliver does.”

“Lucky cat.” Olivia smiles and makes a mental note to pick up a special souvenir cat toy like they had in Milan, while changing the course of their dialogue, “How’s he, I wonder.”

“Spoiled rotten, no doubt.”

“There’s some transference of affection, I’m sure.”

Or guilt. “I’m sure.” Since, for whatever reason, she never visited me at the infirmary. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Alex knows why the woman stayed away, she was told. Nevertheless, the memory remains shadowy, just beyond grasp. Maybe it’s for the best, she decides, and veers the conversation to a safer place. “He probably gets fresh, whatever it is that he likes, everyday. He’ll probably prefer to stay permanently with Edith.” She looks away from the large red door towards the sky before resting her attention on her shoes. An impish smile graces her face when her eyes level again, and she says with a shrug, “Anyway, I’ve thought about taking a weekend class. Wonder if I could do it.”

“A class? Somethings tells me you’re not talking culinary.” This time, Olivia hopes her voice conveys her outrage. “You wanna stand in front of 2 ton bull?”

“They’re not any heavier than any horse, I don’t think.” Alex replies with another shrug and a swallowed sigh, “And horses can throw you.”

“Yeah, but they can’t gore you.”

“I think in training, you face a cow. With a wooden stick, and the muleta, the red cape thing.”

“You’re serious about this?”

She shakes her head. “Just wondering… wondered.”

The tense was right the first time. “You’re still wondering.” Confusion and anger war within the brunette. She can’t even imagine Alex watching the violent sport, let alone taking part in it. Her logical mind is aware her fiancée hunted when she was a child, and the woman knows her guns and rifles, but to see her actually holding a weapon, even Don’s revolver… Especially Don’s revolver… Just seems out of character.

“No, not really.” This time, Alex provides a shrug and a sheepish smile. “It’s not the most responsible thing to do anyway.”

“You have people who worry about you, who care whether you live or… well, gored.” Righteous anger colors her words, despite the internal warning against argument. Vacation or not, she will not stand by to watch her fiancée put herself in danger ever again.

“I did before.”

“But now you’ve got me.” And you’ve already left me twice. “Third time won’t be a charm.”

Her lover’s distress is palpable, and Alex winces at the pain darkening already dark features. She turns to push at deep fawn color bangs. “I’m sorry.” Sorry for thinking stupid things. Sorry for putting you through what I did. Sorry for everything. Her eyes plead for forgiveness.

“Maybe we could at least go get you one of those colorful pointy sticks? As souvenir?”

Just like that, Alex receives her absolution. If only she could be so easy on herself. “Banderillas. They come in pairs,” she imparts, and then her voice softens, “My dad got me some. They might be in storage still.” It drops to a near whisper towards the end, “Maybe we could find a used suit, or something. They’re pretty.”

“For you?” Easily, Olivia catches her fiancée’s noncommittal shrug; she smiles. “I think you’d look dashing. Our next Halloween party, let’s start a tradition. You’ll be the matador, and I’ll be your Carmen.”

“Ugh.”

“Carmen no good?” Playfully, she taps her fingers to full lips, in place of a kiss. Her spine tingles when Alex puckers her lips to return the quick gesture. The sensation evolves when her fiancée takes her by her arm again, and they start lightly down the street. “Why? I can play gypsy, I think.”

“She dies at the end. Murdered, by the matador.”

“Oh. Right. Okay, flamenco dancer? Or your bull? Love struck? Like all the other animals when they see you?” Like that dog at the café earlier, who wanted to follow us despite its owner’s call? Her teasing grin reminds.

“Har har.”

*******

29

The sky had opened up - a deluge without warning. Is it supposed to rain like this? It is early Spring, when precipitation is heavy. There is that saying about rain in Spain. Always thought it was just because of the rhyme. Alex shivers.

“Cold, Baby?”

Of course, Olivia noticed. She notices everything, whether she faces it head on or sticks it into a compartment and forgets about it is another matter. For a minute, Alex doesn’t answer, more because she isn’t quite sure. She is cold, and wet, but is that the only reason? Finally, she gives a half nod, and pulls the woman closer. “You’re warm. You’re always warm.”

“Handy, don’t you think?” The brunette grins. “Although I must smell like a wet dog.” She flicks water from her leather jacket.

Alex inhales, deeply. The sharp scent of tanned hide hits her nostrils; underneath it, noticeable as always, is the sweet, heady spicy scent that reminds her of cookies and home. “All right, I’m not a fan of Seville. Maybe even Spain.”

“Why? Because it’s raining? We’re caught in the rain?”

“Because we have to be circumspect.”

“Oh?”

She stares at her lover’s lips. “I really, really want to kiss you.”

“So kiss me.”

“We’re in Spain. Seville.”

“Seville’s a major city, sort of.” Olivia nudges their bodies further under their temporary shelter in the narrow pedestrian street and offers, “And they managed to pass gay marriage here in Catholic, conservative Spain.”

“But most women still stay home.” Alex reminds, while her arms drift down to loop around her lover’s waist. “And there’s a church on every block.”

“No, really? Just one? I thought they’re like twin sets. One across from another. Kinda like competing bodegas.”

“Liv! We’re in the rain, hiding under a metal awning.”

“I don’t think we’ll get struck by lightning. But just in case we do,” Olivia whispers, brushing her thumbs across her lover’s cheeks, and leans in.

What was supposed to be a brief caress ignites. Tongue strokes against tongue, not teasing, but desperate, wanting. Then like fucking, deep, and rough and strong. Alex could feel her nipples tightening, rubbing raw against the satin of her bra. The ache between her legs much more than a sweet torture as it plunges into her heart. Breathless, she pulls back. “God, we need to get out of here.”

“Why?”

“Or find a hotel.”

“I see.” Olivia grins, she can’t help it, charmed by the hoarseness of her fiancée’s voice and her flushed cheeks. Something about the look, she is torn between wanting to ravish the woman and holding and cherishing the moment. Does it have to be either/or? “How’bout we…”

“No. Not in public.’

“Sweetheart!” Olivia laughs. “I wasn’t…”

“I was.” Still am, actually. Alex doesn’t say it; her eyes do.

“Oh…” She edges closer. Immediately, a hand rises to brace against her chest. She takes it, and runs the tip of her tongue moistly across the palm.

Tracing the arch of Olivia’s brow, she sees teasing behind dark eyes. Teasing and challenge if she so wishes. Reluctantly, Alex steps back and aside when she hits the shuttered door. “Stay away. I mean it,” she tosses a quick warning at her lover before pulling her into the rain.

*******

30

At the side breakfast table, which has become their favorite place to sit as it offers the view from the terrace but with privacy and without the elements, Olivia peruses the tapas menu. There are so many things still to try. There is something about the olives, too, as they seem to taste different, better. Maybe ‘cause we’re closer to the source. Hm… She wonders who gets to choose this time. Me, me! Her inner child speaks. Then she hears the pit-a-pat of her fiancée’s bare feet hitting the Spanish tiles, and she looks up.

For several long moments, brown eyes roam openly over Alex’s figure as she approaches. Clad in a black shirt and dark tailored denim, the blonde appears relaxed. The colors contrast nicely her fair features, still flushed from a fresh shower. Or sex. She smirks, and leaning back into her chair, she holds the woman’s gaze and asks, “So how’s the beast.”

“Better.” Alex smiles and makes a motion of turning a lock and tossing the key behind her, as she slides into her seat.

“That’s too bad.”

“Olivia Benson,” she says with a pleased sigh.

“Benson-O’Brien? O’Brien-Benson?”

“What?”

“We never talked about this.”

About what? What’s there to talk about? The thought never really crossed Alex’s mind, but not because she didn’t want it. In fact, she avoided it. That she’s nearly hyperventilating also makes it difficult to have any cohesive thought now. “Par-huh?”

“Do we change our names? Would be easier when we have kids, right?” Olivia laces her fingers together and shrugs. “But how do we decide who goes first?” She asks with a seemingly casual smile and offers another shrug. “But I guess since we still have to go through the courts, it’s not automatic like a hetero couple getting married, we could wait.”

“You’re serious about this?” Her normally deep voice ends in a squeak.

“Yeah? If we could get married, legally, would you…?”

A no-brainer, thank god. “Sure.”

“Heartbeat?”

“Half a. Fraction.”

“Okay, then.” Olivia smiles. “We’re in agreement.” She reaches out.

Are we? Quickly Alex grasps her lover’s hands; she tries not to hold on too tightly. “We are?”

“We don’t ever have to change our names. But it doesn’t mean we’re any less married. But people say weddings, kinda like funerals, are for the families and friends anyway. If we could get married here, now, legally, I’d ask you to elope. Anyway, I can’t imagine myself being any more married already. Even we haven’t formalized our commitment.”

‘Weddings and funerals?’ ‘Elopement?’ ‘Married?’ Her lawyer brain scrambles after the hastily spouted concepts. How quickly Olivia brushed the topic of a name-change aside, and how skillfully. Unless she resurrects it herself, the subject is as good as dead. Yet, it’s clearly something her lover wants, or at least has considered, or is considering. Old fashioned, that’s how the brunette describes herself. It is part of her attraction, if she’s honest. When will we get pass this… hesitance? Reticence? For lack of a better word, with each other? She gives the large hands another squeeze before letting go. “Okay, we’re in agreement.”

“Good.” Olivia nods; then a smile lights up her face. She slaps the table in excitement. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. We seem to do everything backwards anyway, let’s make this our honeymoon.”

“Honeymoon in Spain?”

“Excuse to stay in?”

Infected by her lover, Alex laughs. “You just want an excuse to have an excuse.”

“Guilty.”

“On the other hand, if we tell them that’s what we decided, when we get home, they’ll understand why we didn’t do much sightseeing.”

“Exactly.”

“Good thinking.”

“Beast in agreement?”

Without reply, Alex once more takes hold of Olivia’s hands, and pulls her up as she stands. “Let’s dance.”

“Dance?”

She falls deeply into amused eyes, and smiles. “Our first, as a married couple.”

“Yes, let’s.” Olivia twirls her partner around, and pulls her close, then closer still. “And afterwards we go get tapas, no, ingredients for tapas, enough for a week.”

*******

31

Laughing, Alex holds fast to the key. It had almost slipped through her fingers before. After a bit of fumbling, and after turning thrice, the lock releases, with a flourish she pushes through the door and keeps it open for her companion. “Entrez-vous, Madame?”

Her color still high and a little breathless from running, Olivia giggles, and stops at the threshold, a bottle of vintage Taittinger hangs from each arm and a box of cold tapas in her hands. “I believe you made a pass at me.”

The mock outrage causes another deep laugh. She gives her lover a gentle shove, then leans back against the closing door. She grabs the leather jacket and tugs at its lapel.

“Hey, hey, careful.” Olivia pulls away. “Let me put this down.” Her brows lift and eyes widen as the house keys sail pass her to land on the hall table with the mosaic surface. She shrugs and lays their purchases on top. This time she lets Alex pull her back, she doesn’t protest when they turn and her back hits the door frame. With help, her jacket lands on the tiled floor in a heap, soon followed by her shirt. Now her hands busy with her lover’s coat and blouse.

“You taste like rain.”

“So do you.”

“We’re wet.”

“I’d say. And getting wetter.” Olivia whispers in a rush, “We should grab a shower. Give the champagne time to chill.” She gasps and weaves her fingers through blond locks, her arms straightening as her lover descends.

“Breathe.”

Blue eyes darken. She obeys and sucks in air, filling her lungs while confident hands unclasp her belt, unbutton and unzip her pants. She gasps again at the searing heat of her lover’s breath against her skin. Her legs buckle, she feels even weaker when hands grip her hips to keep her up.

“Baby…” She’s dying for that first touch, begging for it. “Please, please.” She understands this is her lover’s lame attempt at holding off the inevitable. They both know she isn’t going to last, not after being mercilessly teased, verbally and physically, through the wine shop, while waiting for their carry out food. Somehow they managed to keep decorum, and if the taxi driver caught Alex brazenly eye-shagging her, he didn’t let it show.

“’Please’ what?”

“Come on, Baby, I need…”

“Tell me, Liv, what do you need?”

Their eyes lock. She’s so close, if she arched, just a little… But that’s not what her lover wants, not what they both want. “You. Your lips on me.” She hisses as a quick tongue swipes at the juncture of her legs. The too brief touch turns her groan into a high-pitched whine. “Please?”

“Just my lips? No tongue?”

Oh, my god. Somehow the superior smirk only makes her hotter, wetter. She slams her eyes shut. “Your lips, your tongue, your mouth, hands, everything, I want it.”

“’It’.”

“Please, Baby...” Her whine trails off into a whimper, her thighs are quivering; she doesn’t care. “It. You. Make me. Come.” No sooner than the words leave her mouth, she sex is surrounded, filled. Knowing fingers curl forward and push as lips and tongue work her from the outside. Soon, stars are exploding behind her eyes. Her whimpers turn keen when her lover doesn’t stop, when she keeps pulling from her waves and waves and waves of pleasure.

It feels good, so damn good, she doesn’t want it to stop. And she tells the blonde, who adds a finger and pushes firmer, and sucks and flicks harder. God.

“Oh, god,” slips through her lips with a pant as another orgasm tears through her. She shudders at the emptiness while fingers depart, only to suffer another jolt when hot breath, hotter tongue scorch her entrance. This time, she comes with a sob.

Too soon, she is left empty. Then her arms are bending again, her legs muscles straining. Then arms are surrounding her, lips are seeking hers. And she tastes herself, sweet, yet salty like the sea; she feels like drowning. “Love you,” she gasps, and gasps again when surprisingly strong arms hold her impossibly closer, tighter.

So much… It actually hurts.

*******

32

A final chaste kiss near her mouth makes Olivia smile.

“What?”

“You’re like a kamikaze pilot,” she explains, looking up to Alex’s eyes that remind her of the sky on a sunny day.

“Oh?”

With the glint of triumph, there is a hint of further challenge in her gaze. As always, the combination makes her knees weak. It was disconcerting at first, now she traces her fingertips lightly down her lover’s lapel. “You swoop in, and get, you know.”

“My mission accomplished?”

“Shut up.” She gives the woman’s jacket a light jerk. “And I’m not dangerous.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I could’ve drowned.”

“Sweetheart!”

“You’re blushing!” Alex grins at the deepening color. “Why?”

“Because.”

She cradles her lover’s cheeks in her hands; heat burns her palms and sets her heart aflame with tenderness. “Because I made you come? Like an ocean?” She asks softly.

“Shut up,” Olivia protests. “You’re the ocean, your eyes are blue.”

The comparison draws a laugh from the blonde. Then she leans in, until their noses almost touch. “Oh, no, I get wet, granted, very wet.” She presses a soft kiss to Olivia’s lips. “But definitely not like that.”

“Does it bother you?”

The question surprises her. “No? I’m glad I made you feel good.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah?” She pulls back, just enough, to watch her lover’s features. “Why?”

“Because. I don’t do that.” Olivia explains. Part of her has been wanting to, since it first happened. Only she wishes she didn’t have to use words, and that the blonde would just know. She hopes she does now. “I mean didn’t. Not…” Before you. “The first time when you, when I…” I was mortified. “I thought I was, um, losing bladder control?”

“Yeah, I read about that.” Alex smiles her understanding, as she pieces her lover’s words together. “So no one else has made you gush?”

“Alex!”

“That is what you did.”

There it is again, the infuriating little grin. It makes Olivia want to pout; instead her cheeks grow warmer against her lover’s hands. “You don’t have to say it.”

“You’re embarrassed. Why?”

“Same reason you get embarrassed when I tease you about the screaming beast.”

“But I’m not teasing.” Alex lets go, to run her fingers through her lover’s feathery bangs, to tuck her hair behind her ears, before letting her hands drop to her broad shoulders. She could feel their dynamics change with the small gestures, and she marvels as she explains, “Gloating a little bit maybe, but definitely not teasing.”

“A little?” Olivia snorts. “Proud of ourselves, aren’t we.”

“Yeah, if I’m the first one who makes the great Benson gush,” she answers. The unexpected yet predictable Cheshire cat grin she receives in turn makes her ask, “What?”

Casually, Olivia captures the finger poking her shoulder, and brushes her lips against its tip. “Nothing.”

“Oh, come on, Liv. There’s something.”

“Just being a little smug,” she quips and pushes a kiss at her lover, while giving the woman’s belt a playful tug. “About being the first who got inside the Ice Princess’ pants.”

The confident grin turns shy. “And ‘only’, don’t forget.”

“You’ll have to remind me, often.”

*******

33

Alex wakes with a groan. Her head feels fuzzy, from the lack of sleep or too much champagne, she cannot be sure. Her muscles strain as she stretches, while various sore spots announce themselves. “Fucking kidding me,” she grumbles as bits of her body tingle as her skin glides along her lover’s. She groans again.

“Sweetheart?”

“Sorry. Go back to sleep.” She tries to turn away. Olivia stops her with a palm cupping her breast. Calluses from years of gun use zing her flesh. “Ugh. Stop that.”

“Mmm?”

“Here.” She says with a nod as she moves her lover’s hand to rest against her stomach. It stays only a moment before traveling downwards. She smacks the offending arm while her traitorous legs yawn open. “Liv!”

“Oh, Baby.”

“Stop it.”

The half-heart protest makes Olivia smile. “Why? Your body’s reacting.” She drags her fingers upwards, painting a line to circle her lover’s heart. “You want it. Loud and clear.”

“Yes, and it’s your job to give my body what it wants.”

Instead of reacting to the sarcasm, she merely nuzzles the blonde’s neck, imprinting her grin along the arching curve. “Job? No. Privilege and duty, absolutely.” She lets out a contented sigh, breaking up each phrase with a soft pinch, a hard caress, and myriads of teasing touches in between, “I love how responsive you are in the morning. And the in afternoon. And in the middle of the night.” Desire flows like a current connecting them.

“You do realize we’ve been in bed for two straight days.”

‘Straight’? The joke is not worth the effort, Olivia decides. Instead, she leans over and draws a pink nipple into her mouth. She grunts in appreciation as her lover fists her hands in her hair to pull her close, “Mmhmm…”

“We’ve got five more days in Spain.”

“Mmhmm…” She hums and mumbles around the engorge bud, “Five more days of unbridled passion.” Then with a ‘pop’, she lets go.

“Jesus.”

For a suspended moment, she raises her head, gauging the cause of the gasp with a lingering look. What she sees makes her smile again, slow and wicked this time. She laughs when Alex lets out a needy whimper and grabs for her head. With a jerk, she pins the woman’s hands. Her woman, she thinks with a rush of tenderness, and laces their fingers together. For a few more seconds, their limbs entwine, and then she is snug between long legs. Pressing down, liquid heat burns her belly; she eases up onto her elbows and stifles a smirk. “Hi, good morning.”

“”Morning.”

“Good. We’re getting there,” she comments while varying the pressure of their contact, and watching pink flush spread. She lets go, so trembling fingers could trace her face, outline her jaws, down the tip of her nose and across her lips. Her tongue snakes out to give the fingertip a light tug.

“Where?” Her lover rasps.

“Losing syllables, you.” She’s gaining incoherence herself, too. Five days, five long and worriless days. It feels like all the time in the world.

With a touch of languor, she glides up, drawing another sharp breath, a low moan, before taking parting full lips. Their tongues stroke each other’s, dancing. Soft hands grip her back, then her hips. She follows her lover, letting her adjust their bodies; their legs scissor.

Mouths fused despite their rapid, ragged breaths, they move together, in counter-speed. Both women shuddering, falling, into climax after climax. Into each other. Their love.

*******

34

This time, it is Olivia who wakes first. Dark eyes blink at the midday sun filtering through the slats of the window treatment in lemon yellow streaks. They burn warmth across her skin. Without care, she clasps the body next to hers and uses it as anchor as she stretches a full-body stretch. Somehow that motion alerts her companion’s stomach, and she laughs.

“Hm?”

“I think you’re hungry,” she comments and watches the blonde rub sleep from her eyes. There’s a sort of innocence in that act; it beguiles her. Everything about the woman, her sexiness, her fire, even her stubbornness, they enchant and enthrall her. “I think I’m drugged.”

That got Alex wide awake. “What?”

“Love’s like a drug.”

“Oh, god. That’s so cliché.”

“But it’s true.” Olivia nods and offers up her cheesiest grin. “I’m hooked, and I want more.”

“You always want more. Insatiable.”

“Junkie. Fix.” She says, lacing their hands together, even as she wants more. Her lover needs to eat, they both do. Both of them are finally filling out their clothes again. Plus, we need our energy, if we’re spending the next five days in bed. She knows they won’t; still, she smiles.

“There’s no rehab for this, you know.”

“No rehab, no intervention. Don’t need them, don’t want them.”

“I hope it lasts,” Alex answers with a happy sigh.

“My pusher,” Olivia smiles. A corner of her lips jerks higher at the blonde’s expression. “It will,” she promises.

“Okay.”

“’Okay’? That’s it?”

“That’s not it.” Alex rolls away and scrambles out of bed. She notices the lack of clothing in sight and remembers the haphazard piles they left, starting with Olivia’s jacket at the door. Tugging at a corner of the sheets, she instructs, “We’re grabbing a shower.”

“We are?”

She stares down the waggling dark brows and gives her own smirk. “Yes, together. Hurry.”

Olivia replies by flipping over her covers. She flexes, making a show of her body, and notes a sudden movement down her lover’s throat. “My, someone’s hungry.”

“You have no idea.”

*******

35

Alex slides her sunglasses over her head and accepts a menu from the proprietor of the café. “So, no mountains?” She continues the conversation while picking out words here and there.

They say if you spoke Italian, you could communicate with a Spaniard, so far she hasn’t found it to be true.

“No, no mountains.” Olivia leans her elbows on the counter and lays her eyes on her lover. It’s good to be able to openly appreciate without worrying who they might run into, or whose sensibilities they might offend.

“We should at least do the stuff my mom arranged for us,” Alex suggests, pretending to ignore the brunette’s visual caresses. “Otherwise, we’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Come on, you don’t think your mom would understand?” She runs her fingers through her hair. Suddenly, she wonders how her companion would feel if she gets her hair cut short again. Short and lightened to a chestnut red maybe? “We’re on our honeymoon.”

“We should see some sights. Besides, I’ve never been to those places.”

“And you want to go.”

“Yeah.”

“And what do I get?” She asks and waggles her brows when her lover pulls her nose from the menu.

“My company? Sex? Sex.” Alex laughs. “You know, it’s not like I’m rationing you or anything. Wild monkey sex?” She offers as Olivia looks less than impressed. Whatever that means. “And you get to pick our next tapas order.”

“Now you’re talking.” The brunette straightens immediately, and holds out her hand, rubbing her fingers and thumb together as if to snap them. “Gimme, come on.”

“All right, all right.” With a exasperated huff, Alex turns over the menu.

“And I’ll collect the other wherever and whenever I want.”

“Excuse me? I don’t think…”

“’Wild monkey’, your words, since you didn’t define them, and don’t try to tell me this is not how contract law works. The law doesn’t apply.”

“Fine.”

“Fine? That’s it?” Olivia looks up from the folded piece of paper and smirks. “You’re easy.”

“Shut up, and pick our food. I’m starving.”

“Gee, Sweetheart, I wonder why.”

“Olivia.”

“All right, all right.” She mimics without realizing, and grins, rubbing her ankle against her lover’s legs, utterly undeterred. “You think we get take in all the sights in one day?”

“Probably. Maybe two? Since the park’s visiting schedule’s fixed?”

“You really want to see an Iberian lynx de-skin and devour a bunny in six seconds or less.” The brunette still hasn’t decided if she should be disgusted or amused by the animal’s innate ability.

“Don’t you think it sounds unbelievable? Although I doubt we’ll see anything like that. We’ll be lucky to see a lynx at all. They’re shy.”

Olivia merely shakes her head and smiles. There’s really nothing she could say without sounding too judgmental. Seriously, she sees enough human-inflicted violence and gore. Too much, in fact, she could live happily without seeing how a wildcat speed-eats its prey. Still, her lover has a natural curiosity about all sorts of things. That’s just who she is, and it makes life interesting a lot of times. Actually… “Hey, maybe we’ll get lucky, you never know.”

“They’re critically endangered,” Alex sighs.

First, she orders a chamomile tea for her lover and a coffee for herself. Then she pulls the woman near so she could point out her choices of food. Finally, she meets blue eyes and smiles a deeper smile. “Another reason I hope we see them.”

*******

36

For the rest of the day, Alex expected to be surprised. Ambushed in the semi-darkened restroom of the restaurant, dragged into the abandoned alley behind the Plaza de Toros and ravished in broad daylight, or at least teased by a naughty hand underneath the table cloth at the café where they stopped for a light snack. Even on the drive back to Harriet’s place, after they picked up their rental, Olivia behaved and they talked. Truthfully, she had enjoyed the conversation, so much so that before she knew it, they were parking the car.

Now inside, she can’t help but feeling a little disappointed, disgruntled even if she were honest, when all the sweet anticipation came to naught.

“So.”

“Here.” Olivia hands the blonde a glass of sherry, and sits on the other end of sofa. She put her own drink on the side table, and pulls the woman’s feet into her lap.

Alex closes her eyes and sighs. “Thanks.”

“I’m sorry, were you gonna say something?”

She sighs again, relaxing into her lover touch, so firm, yet gentle. “You’re so good to me.”

“We’ve done a lot of walking.”

“I’ll do yours before we turn in.”

“It’s okay, I’m fine.”

That does it. She tries to pull her feet back only to have them held fast, as if Olivia had expected the move. “Why don’t you let me take care of you?” She verbalizes her dismay.

“Sure I do. I let you take care of me all the time.”

“Besides sex.”

“I wasn’t talking about sex.”

“You cook, you take out the garbage, you clean the bathrooms, pick up my dry cleaning… You even unpacked all my clothes and hung them up.” The latter really surprised Alex. It was an act of blind faith on Olivia’s part, and it touched her more than any other gesture or words. In a way, it was also like the woman had flipped on lights, bright like a stadium’s, to keep her eyes wide open, to make her see clearly. “You even fixed the broken button on my shirt.”

“No, I didn’t, Nelly did.”

“Okay, fine, you took it to the cleaner and had her fix it, while you were doing all the other things.” Making our home livable. She protests, and tries unsuccessfully to move from the brunette’s hold.

“Ah, but you wash the dishes…”

“I put them in the dish washer. Woo.”

So we’re listing specifics. Fine. Olivia feels the growing frustration and fires, “You rinse them first and then put them in the dish washer, then you put them away. You make our bed, change the sheets. You pick up my dirty clothes from wherever I leave them, and most of the time, you finish up laundry, folding and putting them away for me. According to color and type, I might add, which I never ever do, which makes getting ready so much easier.”

“Trust me, Liv, some of those things I do for my benefit.”

You know you can be so infuriating sometimes… But… Just as quickly as it had begun, the irritation fizzles. She takes a deep breath, holds, and releases the rest of her exasperation with it. “That might be, but you could also nag me to do them.” Like other wives. She blinks. “And you don’t. Bottom line, you still do all the stuff I don’t like to do. And you don’t complain when I read the Sunday paper before you,” she adds with a crooked grin.

“Excuse me?”

“You have no idea how many relationships fail because of that,” Olivia teases, and strokes the bottom of her lover’s foot. “But seriously, I don’t get knots like you do, and a good soak does the same for me. And I like touching you,” she says, and further demonstrates.

Alex fights against the desire to close her eyes and just relax to her companion’s gentle ministrations. It is not an easy battle, not with the way Olivia manipulates her muscles. She finds herself pouting instead. “I like touching you, too.”

“I know you do.” The brunette stops, as if in deep contemplation; she chews on her lips for show. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Let me guess, you’re a closet foot-fetishist who doesn’t switch.”

The playfulness in her lover’s tone grows Olivia’s smile. “Not even close, although I like your feet… I like every part of you.”

“Spill.”

“I’m ticklish.”

“That’s it?” Alex laughs, while a weight she didn’t feel before lifts from her spirits. “That’s why you don’t let me touch your feet?”

“Yes, and you’re not allowed to use it against me, ever.”

“Who says?”

“The love of your life?” Olivia bats her lashes. “Who you care about, and cherish, and want to super good care of?”

“I’ll think about it. No promises.”

“So you gonna tell me what’s really been eating you?” She seizes the lightness of the moment and asks. “And don’t tell me ‘nothing’. I know you. You’ve been snippy.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…,” Alex hesitates, unaware she was acting ‘snippy’. How often do we do things without recognizing their true effects? “I’ve just been wondering, and you know I’m not big on surprises… I wasn’t sure when you were going to pull ‘wild monkey’, if you’d jump me in public.” Like when we were in Paris, she keeps that part unsaid. Her companion seems to have read her thoughts anyway.

“Maybe it’s where we are, you know, Spain, so Catholic, and conservative. Did I mention Catholic, with nuns selling jams everywhere? Public sex never really crossed my mind?” Olivia explains with unspoken apology, and searches for understanding in grey blue eyes. “Would you be really disappointed if I told you I wanted other things?”

‘Other things’? “Like what?”

“Just… we’ve been making love non-stop since Hawaii. And I’m not complaining, you know I’m not, and it takes two to tango, and all that.” For once, she doesn’t stumble over her words. It’s not that difficult. She smiles and continues, “But I think I actually miss just holding you, and talking, and falling asleep with us in each other’s arms?”

A different kind of intimacy, Alex understands that, the need for it. Like being away, from everyone and everything else, and just reconnect with each other… She suspects that is at least one of the reasons behind this trip. As well, she suspects her mother’s opinion and the woman’s role in the gifted vacation. “Like we did when we first started dating?”

“Well, maybe not exactly like that,” Olivia replies as she settles fully into her seat, assuming no objection from the blonde as she readjusts their bodies so they both rest comfortably in the sofa. Instead of urging impatiently for clarification, blue eyes flutter close while full lips curl in a light smile. The small gestures bring unexpected peace, and joy to the brunette, and she continues, “I’d like to be able to have a real goodnight kiss, and maybe in the morning we go back to our bunny-selves?”

As agreement, Alex scoots closer to her companion’s warmth and sinks deeper into the cushions. With a small chuckle, Olivia begins bestowing a kiss to each of the wiggling toes.

*******

37

“What are you watching?” Olivia asks as she hands her lover a mug of tea and rejoins her on the couch.

Alex glances down on the straw colored liquid and blows on it. The steam fogs up her glasses so she pulls them off and sets them on the coffee table. “I don’t know, some sort of special.”

“Is that a funeral?”

“Looks it.”

“Televised funeral?”

“Replay. Part of something commemorative, it seems.” She sees a wooden, but frail looking woman, wearing a widow’s veil being led to the front of the church. “Poor thing,” she says and turns off the television set. “Anyway.”

Something about her companion’s smile looks conjured. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Alex replies automatically, and then she gives a slight shake of her head. “Just something about the woman…”

Dignified, petite and blonde, from the wisps of hair peeking out, Olivia noticed, too. “Reminded you of Celine.”

“Yeah,” Alex sighs. She forces another smile. “Anyway, so what would you like to talk about?”

In a way, that was a good lead-in – the memory of Celine at Alexander Cabot’s funeral; she couldn’t have planned it better. So Olivia ventures, “Back to Gen. Thomas…”

“Again?”

“She is one of your mother’s oldest friends.”

“Uh huh.”

“She’s an attractive woman, for her age.”

“Okay…” Wherever this conversation is leading, Alex feels dread. It’s inexplicable and unreasonable, she decides, and supports her elbow on her free hand.

“She was attractive when she was young, too. Very attractive. I saw photographs of her.”

“Uh, I think there are photographs of her on the bookshelves outside.”

“Oh, there are? I guess you’re right, there are,” Olivia agrees with a casual shrug. It’s not too late to detour, and momentarily she wonders if she should. Something urges her forward. “In a way, they kinda remind me of us. Except shorter.”

“Why? Because my mother’s blonde and she’s a brunette with olive skin, and you both wear uniforms? Wore them?”

“Sorta? Maybe?” The tension in her lover’s voice makes her wince; she pauses to find her words. “And they were close.”

“Well, I think the three of them were like the musketeers in college? The third being Martha.”

“Martha has Randy...”

Martha has Randy. “Wait, are you trying to tell me… You’re not trying to tell me…” You can’t possibly be… I can’t believe… “I think your overactive imagination’s really gone overboard this time.” Pulling both arms tightly against her chest, Alex holds onto the ceramics cup and hopes it doesn’t shatter in her hands. “Wait, my mom. My mom told you…”

“Would it be so bad?” Olivia asks. Maybe it’s true – people want the whole world to pair up when they’re happy in love themselves. “If your mom got together with a dear old friend?”

“Did she put you up to this? This is not happening. If it is, which it’s not, I shouldn’t be finding out from you, not like this. She should be the one, I can’t believe…”

“Sweetheart.” She hushes her lover and reaches out reassuringly. “I’m just speculating. Your mom didn’t say anything.”

“My mom can’t possibly be… she can’t be…”

“A lesbian?”

“I’m here. She’s not...”

“What happened to love beyond gender?”

“She loved my father…” Alex starts to argue, but changes her mind. “That’s beside the point. She’s my mom. She is sixty-… of a certain age.”

“Sixty-something people don’t have sex?” Olivia chuckles. “Are you telling me we’ll be living like celibate nuns when we’re your mom’s age?”

“Liv.”

“I’m just sayin’.” Her expression turns serious. “You’re right, at least kinda, about the age thing, and well, sometimes I worry about her in that house.” At first, she wondered if it wasn’t just because of the threat made while Alex was involved in the case that ultimately put her in WitSec. But after the last few months, and the time they spent together, she realizes it wasn’t just her cop instincts talking. She genuinely cares about the woman.

“She’s not alone. She’s got Edith. And Robert.” Alex breathes deeper, feeling the panic lessen as the subject changes. Another time, she would evaluate her reaction; right now, however, she is more than happy to jump on another idea – one that has been percolating for a while. “But, you’re right. I’ve been thinking about her living in Yonkers. It’s not really that far from the City, but far enough. Especially if the weather’s crappy like it’s been there, and it’d take forever to get out there.”

“I agree.”

“Maybe I should suggest that she moves to my old apartment?” She smiles into her lover’s eyes. “What do you think?”

“Your old apartment?”

“Yeah? Would it bother you?”

“Uh. I thought she said she sold it?”

“I’m positive she hasn’t.” She replies, vaguely remembering a similar comment from Ling a long while back. Then when she saw the property tax notice to her old place, she just assumed she had erred in her assumption, considering her mother’s numerous holdings. “When did she tell you that?”

“Maybe she didn’t. I might have misheard, or remembered wrong.” Huh.

*******

38

“Do you think it’s wrong?” Olivia asks, letting out a hitched sigh. “That I feel the way I do?”

“Huh?” What are you talking about now? Automatically, Alex tenses. She knows exactly why. What she cannot say is why she insisted on driving. If her lover were, then she would be the one in control of the conversation. Instead, she has to focus on the road.

“I even had a dream about it, a while back. Last year, I think,” Olivia continues, her thoughts meandering, as if counteracting the straight-forward highway. There is something barren about the landscape, despite fields of what must be olive trees. Or orange. “You know, a lot of things happened in this year.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about everything. I mean, some of it was wonderful.”

“Some, not so much.” Like the last part of the last year, for example.

“Yeah.” Olivia nods, seemingly more to herself. Then she looks to her companion and smiles. “I feel good about us though. Do you?”

“Sure.” We’re here, aren’t we?

“It’s been almost a year since our first real vacation together, since France,” she resumes, her words dragging, sluggish, like her mind. Too much Spanish, she thinks, as her brain falls easily into the language, almost like she does Italian, and the opposite of French. “I’m not sure Hawaii counted, but it was still nice, to be there, with you, alone, just the two of us. Well, and Oliver.”

At least driving allows the privilege of being monosyllabic, Alex concludes, willing a smile. It quickly becomes genuine when pleasant moments leap through her memory. “It was.”

“We don’t, well, at least I don’t, have that much time left already this year… At least it feels like I don’t. But whatever I’ve got left, do you mind… if we go somewhere? It doesn’t have to be far.” Olivia watches her lover, to see any subtle changes in her eyes, and adds, “I like when we’re just us. Or we could go visit Liz?”

“I’d like that. We could make sure the bear rug doesn’t get lonely.” She frees one hand from the steering wheel, and, without hesitation, squeezes her lover’s arm to support her words, “I like ‘just us’, too, Liv. And being away from everything.”

“We’ve changed, our dynamics. I think.”

“Seems like it.”

“But it’s a good change, I think?”

“We’re talking a little more.”

“I guess. True. We are.”

With another smile, and keeping their connection, Alex prompts, “So you were telling me about your dream?”

“You know I have these wonky dreams sometimes.”

“Not so wonky if they help you solve cases. I’m sure your subconscious is working even when you’re not.”

“I think my subconscious knew, or maybe what I wanted just manifested itself. It’s not wrong, is it?”

“That depends on what you’re wanting?”

“I dreamt that I was your first.”

Ah. That. Sometimes Alex wishes things were like before, when people just take stuff like that for granted. She doubts her grandparents, or even her parents, spent that much time on this topic. Even Martha, in her supposedly free-loving go-go dancing wild ways, ‘knows’ only Randy. “You are,” she says, and tries a shrug. It is a big deal, and it is not.

“I also dreamt that this guy, someone your mother knew, blew up. I think he did, land mines, I think.”

“Oh, Liv, that’s horrible!” She tightens her hold on her lover in reflex, not realizing the strength of her grip until Olivia shifts to lace their fingers together. Offering a small smile, partly in silent apology, she suggests, “But it doesn’t have to be true, even if part of your dream was.”

“Anyway, I had your blood on my hand.”

“Well, you did, when I got shot.”

Well, not exactly the same. Olivia hides her wince. “Yeah,” she agrees. “Anyway, I’m not sure where I’m going with this now? Except I wanted to be your first, whether or not I subconsciously picked up all the times you tried to tell me.”

“Did I?” Alex asks, knowing the answer.

“I think so.”

“I was torn,” she admits. Might as well get it out in the open. Appropriate, considering the empty road we’re on, right? “Part of me wanted to tell you. Part of me was afraid…”

“Of what, Sweetheart?”

“Remember the talk we had, about feeling responsible being someone’s first, and sticking around because of it?”

“Oh, Sweetheart, that was just hypothetical. I wouldn’t have done that for real, stick around just because.”

“You wouldn’t?”

The frank surprise unsettles Olivia, and she responds with a crooked grin, “Whether I want to or not, you know me, I’d end up making the other person miserable.” She laughs lightly, resigning to the truth. “We’d both be miserable.”

“I suppose,” Alex concurs, and maintains her inflection to denote a statement, “It’s moot though.”

The certain tone makes the brunette smile. “Totally.”

*******

39.

“Speaking of sticking around…” Olivia begins with a playful grin, her voice high and light, setting the tenor of the conversation. “Can I take back part of what I said about following you everywhere?”

“Why?”

“At least can ‘everywhere’ be limited to cities? Cities with more than ten stores and eight hundred people?”

“Seville has more than eight hundred people.” Alex laughs. “And more than ten stores.”

“Yeah, and two-third of the population are nuns and half the stores sell ‘authentic English marmalade’,” she air-quotes, “Made by these same Spanish nuns.”

Alex gives another deep laugh, and focuses on the road.

“And what about where we’re heading?” On purpose, Olivia colors the question with a whine, “Shouldn’t we be there already?”

“Sweetie, we’ve only been on the road for twenty minutes. Maybe not even. Let me know when you see the giant bull, that’s where we turn off.” As an afterthought, Alex asks, “You didn’t enjoy yourself when we were in Galena?”

“I did, but that’s different. I just don’t think I can do Patience and Sarah,” Olivia relays. Then she adds, “Who on earth puts a giant bull in the middle of nowhere?”

“The people of the Cabezas of Saint John? What’s a ‘cabezas’, do you know?” Moments like this, where they manage to keep track of diverging conversations, is when their simpatico becomes evident. Alex lets out a happy sigh and adds another question, “Who?”

“Characters in a book. Written back in the 60’s. You’ve never read?” Olivia continues after her lover’s small head-tilt. “It’s about two women, together? Hills, I think? Although cabeza means ‘head’? Like pig’s head in tacos and burritos?”

“Can’t say I have,” Alex decides. “Head? Plural? Saint John has heads?”

Olivia laughs. “Not touching that one, nope. But you read like books are going out of style.”

“Non-fictions, and detective stories. That’s it. And, for your information, not even the detective stories before you came around.” And now only because the main character is a brunette with brown eyes.

“And smut.”

“That’s instructional research.”

“I’m not complaining.”

“But you’re teasing,” Alex voices without dismay. “So, Patience and Sarah.”

“Oh, they just lived on a farm in Upstate, supposed to be based on real people, an artist and her lover,” Olivia explains.

“Why, are you saying you don’t want to grow corn with me? Raise sheep maybe?”

“Yeah, Sweetheart, I can see you elbow deep in manure.” The image is beyond ridiculous; the brunette doesn’t hide her mirth.

“Eh, no, that’ll be you. I’ll make sure you have lemonade and sandwiches though.”

“So that’s how it’s gonna be. I get stuck doing all the dirty, heavy work.”

“If we’re living on a farm, yeah.” Alex wrinkles her nose. “And you won’t be touching me with those hands.”

“Gloves?” Mirroring her lover, Olivia shakes her head, both women grinning widely. “So we won’t be living on a farm.”

“Seriously, Liv, don’t worry, if that’s really your concern. I won’t make you live in bum-fuck nowhere.” Alex assures, “I like New York; it’s our home.”

“But I could do Mondestin, at least part of the time.”

Somehow that’s no longer surprising, which in itself is unexpected. “Even though it’s haunted.”

“As long as you stop fainting all over the place. Or sleep-walk.”

“It’s getting easier, isn’t it?” She clears her voice, to keep it from rising like Olivia’s does. “To talk about what happened?”

“I know we need to. And about the things you heard, things I said to you, in Sparkill. And why you think you had to get away.”

“But not right now. We’ll do it slowly, if we even need to at all. And actually, some of the things, we don’t.”

“And some things we already did. And we survived. That’s gotta count for something?”

“Counts for a lot, Liv. We’re together, and we’re strong.”

“Yeah,” Olivia confirms with a tug of her lover’s hand. Then she offers a toothy grin. “And we don’t wanna be farmers.”

Just like that, the mood lightens once more. “Right.” With an arch of her brow and a smirk, Alex makes the gesture of pulling at an udder. “The only breasts I want to touch are yours.”

“Hey! You’re not comparing me to a cow!”

*******

40

“I don’t know why it bothers me, I really don’t,” Alex finally speaks her mind, unable to contain the idea. “It’s unreasonable, and frankly, immature.”

“Huh?”

“The thought of my mom in a relationship, with a woman, or another man.” She admits with a disgusted sigh, “I don’t think the gender of the person would bother me any more or any less.”

“Ah, I see.” Olivia leans closer towards her lover and smoothes her palm gently up and down her arm. “I’m sorry for bringing it up,” she offers, eyeing the gear shift separating them, and the repetitive scenery outside. “Honestly, it was just my over-active imagination. I have no real basis for saying what I did.”

Suddenly, the focus is off of her illogical inflexibility. For that and more, Alex is grateful. She smiles. “You’re worried about my mom being alone, and that’s very sweet.”

“But she’s not alone, she has Edith, and Robert, and her friends. And she has us. We’re going to keep an eye on her,” Olivia argues. For the first time, she makes up her mind, “And we should do whatever necessary to convince her to move into the city. Your old place is convenient, for her, and us to visit, daily if necessary.”

The idea makes Alex laugh. “My mom’s liable to move out of the country if we suggest daily visits.”

“I’m just saying…”

“I know what you’re saying, Liv.” Regretting her initial reaction, Alex offers her lover a deep smile. “And I appreciate how you feel, about my mom.”

“Well, she is your mom.”

“And in a way yours, too, if you like.”

Briefly, Olivia rests her focus on the passing grove. She is smiling when her attention returns to her companion. "You know, I've been thinking, for a while now." At least since I started clipping the society pages for you. "But more after what you said, when we were in Milan, clothes shopping,” she says and smiles again, hoping her hesitance is not misconstrued. "That maybe, when the time comes, I could do the wheeling and dealing? If I could charm confession out of criminals, how hard would it be to schmooze and get money from the rich? Most of them want to contribute and clear their conscience for being blessed with more than their fair share anyway." "What?” The words fly out before Alex could catch them, “You want to be the society wife?" Olivia shrugs at her lover’s choice of words. It isn’t far from the truth. "Well, you're the Cabot, or the O'Bryan with the YA, and I'm nobody." "You're, too, somebody." "Not in society's eyes. I'm just your significant other. And I'm a cop, " she furthers with another shrug and yet another smile, “Hopefully at least a lieutenant by then.”

“Lieut. Benson.” That makes Alex smiles. Benson-O’Brien. O’Brien-Benson? Her smile grows deeper still.

“And that I risk more than just money for the greater good with my job, and in a way you do too being married to a cop, that might make them feel guilty. Surely it'd get the people to open up their wallets for Destin or whatever social cause you want?" "You have been thinking about this." "Some."

A lot, they both know. Alex responds by reaching out and taking the brunette’s hand. Meanwhile, she can only think to say, “So, you’ll let me call the shop?”

In Milan. To ship out everything they’ve put on hold. Olivia figures. “Sure. A girl could always use more pretty dresses.”

“Thank you,” she adds, for her lover’s smile, her understanding, and so much more.

"It might be hard to believe, but Ling and I, we've had a meeting of the minds, as you transactional lawyers would say, while you were in Sparkill. I think we can be friends; we can definitely work together for the greater good. And you and the heir apparent to McKnight could just hang back and just make sure all the I's are dotted and T's are crossed." "You're sure about this?" "As sure as I am about spending the rest of my life by your side."

She blinks away the sudden blurriness of the road, and keeps her grip on the steering wheel. "Thank you." "Thank you, Sweetheart, for choosing me."

*******

41

“Are you sure you want to skip the mountains?”

“Yeah, Baby? Why?”

“I thought you’d be excited.”

“Why?” Olivia twists in her seat, so she could better study her lover while the woman’s focus remains forward, on the road. “I mean, I would want to see the quote ‘beautiful floral and fauna’, although, I’m thinking it’s too early in the year?”

“You don’t really want to see the floral and fauna.”

“Not particularly,” she admits. Then putting on a serious face, she adds, “Although I’m sorry we didn’t get to meet the lynx at the park.”

“You’re making fun of me.” The way you said it.

At the narrowed blue eyes, Olivia grins. Still she denies, “No, I’m not. I’m genuinely sorry that we didn’t get to see them.” That is the truth.

“What about the mountain part? You used to rock climb.” Alex throws a glance at the brunette from the rearview mirror, and asks, “Would you want to get back to that?”

“Not particularly. That was just something to do.”

“And swimming?”

“Ehhh.”

“You don’t miss it?” The answering shrug is surprising; she pursues, “What about the gym?”

“Are you trying to tell me I’m out of shape?” Suddenly, Olivia remembers Hank’s comment about working hard to keep his figure. And we’re the same age… But I thought… It seemed only recently that she had to take in her belt. But… “I’m not getting soft in places I shouldn’t be, am I?”

“No! Of course not! Liv! What gave you that idea?”

“I dunno! Sweetheart! We go jogging in the morning, more than two miles I might add, and yoga, we do that, and sometimes I use the gym at work. At least twice a week, I do.” She decides to come clean. Even since that punching bag episode, she has been limiting her visits, embarrassed by the scene she made and the comments she still receives. Not bad comments, quite the contrary, but still… “Meanwhile, you’re asking me about other exercises.”

“Oh, Sweetie, I just asked because we tend to do what I like. And I don’t want you to have to give up things you enjoy because we’re together.” Taking advantage of the relatively straight and empty road, Alex reaches over and gives her lover’s thigh a friendly squeeze. “If you like we could let Douglas know we’d be interested in his Knicks tickets…”

“Sweetheart, you don’t like basketball.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t learn.” She justifies, “You go to operas because I like them.”

“Actually, my mom liked operas, and recitals at the Lincoln Center. It was something we did together, because it was something we both enjoyed. I thought you knew?”

“Oh. Sorry, I didn’t…” Remember? She finishes the sentence with a sheepish smile. “That’s good then.”

“Yes, it is. And I really have no desire to see a bunch of men pass around a ball.”

“Women basketball?”

“Nope.”

“Still, if you want to join Casey’s softball team or something, I wouldn’t object.”

“What? You’ll sit next to Serena and wear our colors, and paint my number on your cheeks, and cheer for me?”

“She doesn’t actually go around with Casey’s number on her cheeks, does she?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’m not sure I can even hit a softball.” Olivia makes a face and laughs. “And before you sign me up for the Tour de France, I never did learn how to ride a bike properly, not after the accident.”

“From when you were a kid? Really?”

“Well, I wouldn’t trust myself on the streets of New York.” She shrugs. “Just not that into sports. I do what I need to keep fit and do my job, that’s about it.”

“Then why did you let me think…” Confusion gives way to understanding; it warms Alex’s heart. “Were you trying to show off?”

“Well, maybe just a little. I did enjoy those things.” Olivia offers another shrug before wagging her brows at the blonde. “But staying up on my elbows half the night might be a better workout than forty-five minutes climbing some plastic stones in concrete? And much more enjoyable? For both of us even?”

“You have to ask?”

“Nah, just wanna hear you say it, Sweetheart.”

“So you’re okay trading in the safety harness?”

“Did you just hand me an engraved invitation on a platter on purpose?”

*******

42

“Are you sure that’s the right place?” Olivia asks, ducking under the first awning hanging over the sidewalk after her companion. If the dance studio at the end of the short block is not the right place, perhaps they could sign up for a class, if nothing else, to get out of the crazy rain.

“How many flamenco schools do you think this town has?”

“This dinky place?” She says with an unintended laugh, its cheerfulness surprising to herself. “With my luck, probably ten.”

“You’re cranky today.” Alex observes. Well, it was more a feeling, than an actual observation. “May I remind you? You’re the one who doesn’t want to be rude.”

“Yes, but it’s not about being here, not per se.”

“Oh?”

Olivia scrunches up her nose the way the blonde sometimes does when they are alone. “Somebody didn’t share this morning, or last night.”

“Oh, I shared,” Alex retorts, slipping her hand through the crook of her lover’s arm – a gesture born out of habit – without thinking. She pauses only at her the woman’s arched brow, and shrugs in reply. “I’m very good about sharing.”

“Yeah, we shared me,” Olivia protests in a hushed voice, as they approach their destination. “You weren’t sharing you.”

“You’re making it sound so scandalous, like we swing.”

“That’s not something to joke about.”

“Liv.” Pulling her lover to a stop, Alex half-pouts at the woman’s smiling face. There is something about this town it makes her feel slightly crazy, for lack of a better word. Maybe it’s the trip. She is suddenly reminded of a humorous little article she read recently in the New Yorker, about travelling with your spouse and returning still married, or something like that. “Come on, you didn’t share the day before, or the day before that. Don’t you think I should get my turn?”

“You argue with my libido.”

“Un-crank thyself, please.”

“I want you.”

“Next time we’re in a bed, I’m all yours, all right?”

“All right.” Olivia agrees readily, pushing open the glass door while tugging her lover along. “So let’s go in.”

“Señor Badalá?” She asks the man with salt-and-pepper hair emerging from what appears to be a small office to the side.

He looks them over, and pauses, before a smile overtakes his face. He stands and holds out his hands. “Señoritas! Alejandra and Olivia, I presume? I’m so pleased you finally made it. Please, please call me Rodrigo.” He steps back, not letting go of Alex while regarding her. “You have grown.”

“Have we met?”

“You don’t remember? Your papa brought you back to the chapel so we could chat? Before the fight? Do you remember? It was my last corrida.”

“That was you?”

“Sí, sí, you looked like a little angel, I knew it would be a good fight.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize… You and my father were friends? I just thought…”

“I know both your parents, we met when my wife and her company toured the United States. Her dance company. One year they performed at a party at the Lincoln Center. Your papa, god rest his soul, was the guest of honor. You don’t know these?”

“No.”

“No matter, we’ll make sure you hear, stories from old times, huh. How’s your mama? We only spoke briefly on the telephone. She’s always so busy, running around trying to fix everything that is wrong with the world.”

“She’s well, thank you, and sends her regards.”

“And a case of wine,” he adds with a hearty laugh. “She does this every year, every time before Easter. Anyway, let’s not stand on ceremony, you’re family, to Harriet, so to me also.”

The women exchange a brief look before smiling graciously.

“How was your travel? Did you have trouble from Seville?” Pulling the women by their hands, he steers them out of the front room and speaks in the same breath, “Let me take you back to see my wife. She has been looking forward to your visit. Laura, Laura! Our guests have arrived, Laura!”

******

43

“What’s wrong?”

“Do you think they know?” After a moment of hesitation, Olivia adds, “About us?”

“Why? They’ve been nice.”

“I know. They couldn’t have been nicer.” And I’m sure your mother, our champion, told everyone and made sure we get the proper reception. “It’s just… I don’t know. Maybe it’s Spain. Which makes no sense.” Something about this place… Can’t put a finger on it.

For a minute, Alex focuses on the man smoking on the terrace across the street and several houses down, the end of his cigarette a group of tiny orange fireflies in the night. Somehow it reminded her of the time Thang picked her up, except it was raining, and a different season, on a different continent. Ling never did explain exactly how the man is related to Lillian, besides being her driver. ‘Like us’, as in cousins? From different sides of the sheets? That no one wants to acknowledge? She waves the thought off by putting down her teacup. “You really are not having a good time here, aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry, I’m really trying. I really am.”

“I know, Sweetie.” She puts her hand over her lover’s and strokes her skin. “So you’re not feeling Spain, it’s okay. Hey, we could always keep going and take a ferry.”

“What, and hit Africa? Go on a Safari?”

“Just Morocco? I’ve always wanted to go to Tangier. There’s something about the place. Seems so romantic.”

“Romantic?” Olivia asks uncertainly, not expecting the topic. “Not Casablanca?”

“Probably because Matisse and Delacroix and those people went there and wrote and painted about it.”

“We could go,” she decides quickly, and offers, “If you want.”

“You don’t want to?”

“I don’t have anything against going. Just never thought much about Morocco. Not that I thought little of it, just…”

Alex smiles and interrupts. “It’s okay, I get it.”

“But I’ll go wherever you want.”

“But it’s our vacation.”

“Yes, our vacation, no fixed schedule, no one to see except for Rodrigo and Laura, and here we are. So we could take a ferry, spend a day or two in Tangier. If nothing else, I’ll enjoy being with you.” And happy knowing we’re doing something you always wanted to do. “Maybe we could find a rug for Oliver. Come on, we’re already so close, I don’t see why we shouldn’t just do it.” Spontaneity is good, right?

“Well, we are already here…”

“All right then. In the morning, we’ll ask Rodrigo and see if he knows anything about ferries schedules and stuff.”

“Thank you.”

“Eh, don’t thank me. Tangier is better than you spending more time here in Lebrija, with a retired matador and deciding to go face a bull.”

“You mean here in the middle of nowhere?” Alex smiles; then twining their fingers together, she reassures, “And I wasn’t going to.”

“I know.”

“Although you could learn flamenco. I’m sure Laura would think you’re a delightful student.”

“If you really want me to learn… Wait, maybe we should both learn, so we could be authentic at our party.” Olivia suddenly feels a rush of enthusiasm. Why, she cannot say. “I’m sure there’s a flamenco studio in New York,” she nearly exclaims.

“I’m sure I just need to stand around and tap my feet and clap while you dance.” Alex blinks at the change in her lover’s mood. It is catching if she allows it, and she does. “But you think he’s serious about giving me one of his old suits?”

“He sounded serious.” Olivia grins, visualizing her companion with her blonde hair in a braid, and her tight body sheathed in a dazzling suit of lights. “And he could be around your size when he was younger. I’m sure your tailor could make whatever necessary adjustments.”

“It’s so crazy, it’s not even Easter, and we’re already thinking Halloween.”

“And Christmas after.” She grins, anticipating still further into the future. “Seems retailers have the right idea putting holiday stuff out early, who knew.”

*******

44

“Were you named after anyone?”

“Not that I’m aware,” Olivia replies, hoping her lover misses her pause and following with a quick, “Why?”

“I don’t know.” Alex shrugs, while her eyes sweep across their surroundings, noting the horseshoe arches that, despite the gothic and renaissance details, told of the mosque’s conversion to a Catholic church. “Our Lady of the Olives?” Guess it’s as good as any tourist site...

“Well, people around here take their olives very seriously.”

Alex disregards the smart aleck remark and the dry smile. “So you’re not named after some patron saint of olives.” Why or what really is she asking? She isn’t at all sure.

“Not that I’m aware.” Olivia mirrors her lover’s shrug. “I’m not even sure if my mom liked olives.” Except in her martini. She manages to bite back the words.

“I’m just kidding. Why are you so serious?”

“Am I? I didn’t realize…”

“It’s okay. It was just an observation.”

“I’m sorry.” Olivia sighs, and rubs her hand briefly along her companion’s bicep. She releases another, lighter sigh, feeling the reassurance of their connection. “You know, there are things about my mom I don’t wanna remember?”

“I’m sorry, Liv, if what I said…”

She shakes her head. “But there are things I really can’t remember, and I wish I had more memories of those things. It’s like in trying to block out the bad, I managed to forget the good, too.”

“Or you try to forget one thing, and you end up forgetting everything?”

The smile of understanding seems unexpected, but not really, not after she thinks about it. Still, she asks, “You know?”

“Sure. We all have things we’d like to pretend never happen.”

“I’m sorry, Sweetheart, I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s all right. Maybe one day we’ll be able to talk about those things.” Alex provides another brighter smile. “Or better yet, won’t need to talk about them.”

“Do you? Have anything that you need to talk about?”

“I don’t think so?”

“You know it’s better to talk, to have someone share the burden.”

“You know it goes both ways.”

“Okay,” Olivia agrees, glancing away from the statue of the Virgin. Then she looks up again, making up her mind. “But I don’t have anything I really want to talk about, that’s bugging me. Well, maybe the crack I almost made about my mom and her olives, in her martinis. But all of that is in the past. I really need to let it go.”

“Liv, it takes…”

“It’s okay,” she cuts the blonde off. “Really, it’s time. And really it’s not like my bitterness will change things or bring her back. It’ll just darken my energy, or something.” Whatever Laura was saying earlier. The woman had spouted some advice that sounded at once sagely and motherly, and had taken her aback. But she’s right.

“Thank you.”

The brilliance of the blonde’s smile makes her blink. “What for?”

“Sharing with me, without prompting?”

“I’m learning.” She returns with a crooked grin, and picks up her lover’s hand, twines their fingers together and gives her arm a jovial swing. “We’re growing, together.”

*******

45

Bracing herself against the railing of the boat, Alex wonders once more the wisdom of voicing the words, and again about keeping them secret. So often lately, they have been on the tip of her tongue. Letting out a small sigh hidden in the crashing waves, finally, she says, “You know I was flirting.”

“Yeah, Laura thought it was funny.”

“I’m not talking about Rodrigo, and I wasn’t flirting with him.”

Olivia replies without skipping a beat, “Sure you weren’t.”

“I was commenting on his form, in the movie he showed us. From thirty years ago,” Alex argues in reflex. Perhaps she had made a mistake. Maybe her lover knows where she is heading and is intentionally avoiding the subject.

“You admired his form.”

“When he was a matador, when he was fighting the bull.”

“That’s flirting.”

“Fine, fine.” Alex gives in, “Whatever. Like I said, I wasn’t talking about him.”

“Oh, you mean the nun who sold us the marmalade?”

“Olivia! I did not flirt with a nun!” Abruptly, she stops, looks around and resumes with a lowered voice, “That’s wrong on so many levels.”

“Not to mention she must’ve been a hundred and six,” Olivia replies, grinning while rubbing where her lover had hit her arm. It actually smarted a little. Which means… She stops and picks up the blonde’s hand and coos. “Poor Baby.”

“She wasn’t,” Alex retorts. She can hear her voice softening, while her lover’s caresses soothe the sting in her palm. I’m not a violent person, I don’t condone violence; why do I… She shakes her head. “I was talking about the lecture, Cass Sevin.”

“Whoa. That’s like ancient history. You’ll need to refresh my memory. What did you do again? Comment on the pretty color of her eyes?”

“Nothing like that, you’re very well aware.” The flippant tone caught her unawares; she tries to read her lover’s expression. “Wait, you thought her eyes were pretty?”

There was a noticeable edge in the question; it makes Olivia smile. “You had hazel contacts that made your eyes look green before.”

“Oh. I’m surprised…”

“That I noticed the flirting and didn’t say anything? Why? Because I didn’t and don’t wanna act like an insecure jerk?” Olivia shrugs. “You know, the last time I acted jealous, I got these thrown back at me.” She runs the tip of her index finger along the metal bands, and smiles. “I don’t want that ever again. You’re not taking them off ever again.”

“I told you I won’t. Promise,” Alex assures, returning her lover’s smile. “So you weren’t upset?”

“You went home with me, didn’t you? Back to our home. And you were with me the whole time you made love to me.”

Is there a question behind the statement? Carefully, she looks for the shadow behind the lopsided grin, the weight dulling the twinkling gaze. There is none. “Just you, always.”

“Well then.”

“But you were quiet.” Withdrawn even. “At least for part of the evening.”

“I would be lying if I said I wasn’t upset, but not for the reason you think. It’s not important,” Olivia tries to convince. “All right.” She sighs. “It’s just I didn’t grow up wanting to be a cop. Definitely not an SVU cop. I couldn’t even decide on a major in college. I started with a double major, and then I had a different major and a minor, before finally settling down. Thank god I took some summer classes to make up, or I’d never hear the end of it from my mom. And then I wasn’t completely sure about the academy. Meanwhile, here was someone who knew exactly what she wanted to do, who she wanted to be, from the age of five.”

“It is something to be envied.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not going ask why I was flirting?”

“Do you want me to?” Olivia looks down at their hands, still joined together. A tug pulls at her lips. “I figured, like everything else, you’d tell me if you want to? Eventually?”

“And if I don’t?”

She offers a shrug and a smile.

*******

46

Rules. Her mind goes back to her conversation with her lover, in which the woman expressed a yearning for someone to tell her about the new ones. Sometimes she wishes someone would sit her down and explains to her the rules about relationships, marriage... Rules, those she learned, make her question her feelings. Should she be missing her lover, right now, when they haven't been apart for longer than fifteen minutes? We’re on the same ship for Christ's sake! People talk about the honeymoon period. Technically, that's where they are, if not literally. But we're not 'new'...

She looks around her, at the couples in her life; just how many successful relationships does she know? Relationships where the partners are fully committed to each other from the start and throughout?

Elliot's, what caused it to fail? Was there something early on that no one saw, or that everyone ignored? Did he inadvertently ruin it by trying to protect his wife from the ugliness of their job? Munch has had how many ex-wives? Suppose one could learn from other's mistakes... Ling and she have reached an understanding, at least so it seems. It is, however, about their respective roles in Alex’s life. She couldn't possibly go ask the woman for marriage advices, could she? Nope. But... Even Rodrigo. Standing beside her now, completely at ease, no traces of tension in his voice as he tells his story, he doesn't seem to be missing his wife of forty years. Is that what happens after forty years? Before then? When? When do you stop missing the other person's presence? Stop wondering what she's doing when you're apart during the day, when you're not preoccupied with work? When will your heart stop beating faster when you hear her heels approaching? Olivia has no answers for any of those questions. All she knows is that at the moment, she misses her lover, even though she’s just on a different level of the ferry, with Laura, getting refreshments and that they will be back anytime. Yet, time isn’t moving fast enough. She knows too by the rules she has learned that this feeling couldn’t last, and if it did, couldn’t possibly be healthy. She wants someone to explain otherwise, to tell her it is okay to love all-consumingly, and without hesitation.

Suddenly, there is a silence, even through the loud motor of the boat, and she turns towards her companion, to find him looking at back her expectantly. He must have posed a question. She offers a smile of apology. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I didn’t quite…”

Rodrigo smiles back and patted her on the arm. As if the exchange hadn’t occurred, he returns his gaze towards the sea, and continues on with his story.

His story about his family. The trio of boys who went separate ways to make their fortunes, or find themselves in different parts of the world, his grandfather to Sicily, a great-uncle to study at the Collège de Sorbonne, another who went to America for gold, and ended up a believer of the “Manifest Destiny”. That much she had previously managed to pick out.

“That was Harriet’s branch.”

“I see,” she sounds, hopefully the right noise. Had she asked about his background and not remembered? She cannot remember. Part of making conversation, I suppose. She finds herself drifting away from his monologue, to focus on his voice. There is something about his soft timbre that reminds her of a storyteller’s. The way he tells his stories, somehow it makes her think of her grandfather, regaling tales from the ‘old country’, tales she cannot recall, not even bits and pieces. Now, for the first time, she feels sad.

“I haven’t crossed the Strait since I was a young man.”

“You haven’t? But you’re…”

“A Moor by blood?”

“I was gonna say so close, geographically.”

He shrugs, and relates with a smile. “I haven’t been back to Sicily for a long time either.”

“You don’t miss it?”

“It’s a place. Just a place.” His laugh lines deepen. “Meanwhile, Laura and I, we have a good life in Lebrija. And we traveled all over the world when we were young. So it’s okay, you see?”

Okay to not go back to one’s country? What? Okay to stay put where it’s comfortable? “I think, maybe, yeah, I think I do.”

“It’s good, that you’re seeing the world, together, while you’re young.”

So he knows. She doesn’t reply. It doesn’t seem necessary. He doesn’t say anything more. So they both stare into the water, towards the other coast.

*******

47

Her gaze travels down her companion’s tall frame, then back up again, before meeting her eyes, blue like the sky in the midday sun. “You really do look nice,” she says, with more than a little pride in her voice.

“You think?” Alex pulls at the black material of the jabador, borrowed from Laura to avoid walking around looking like a tourist. She knows she is grinning like a school girl when she says, “I feel shapeless.”

Olivia offers a teasing smile. “I think that’s the idea, Sweetheart.”

“Then why aren’t you wearing one?”

“Not the right size?” She replies, her focus still on the color of her lover’s eyes, and the sweetness of her pink smile. Sometimes she cannot believe they are the same age. Sometimes she feels like pinching herself, to make sure she’s not dreaming. “I’ll just get one of those hooded things or something when we get there.”

“A djellaba?”

A what? “Sure, ok.”

“But it’ll look new.”

“Then I won’t get one.”

“But then people will know you’re American. As least they’ll assume,” Alex frets, tugging at strands of her light blonde hair.

“Then I’ll just speak Spanish, or not speak at all.”

She looks around the ferry. It is very obvious who the tourists are. “I suppose you could pass for a local, especially if it’s just you and Rodrigo.”

“We’ll be fine, Sweetheart.” Olivia offers her lopsided smile, and fingers the decorative trim edging her lover’s sleeve. “Rodrigo’s not going to let anyone sell us camels, or buy us for camels.”

“I know, I’m not worried about any of that.”

“Then what’s up?”

Alex shrugs. “Just a little nervous? But not bad nervous. More excitement,” she explains with another bright grin while bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“I’m glad, that I’m, that we’re going to Tangier, that it’s me you’re going with.”

“Me, too, Liv. Me, too.”

“And you do have a shape.” This time, her smile of blatant appreciation accompanies her eyes as she traces the pale golden embroidered strip down the center of the woman’s front. “The trimming makes you look tall, even taller, and it accentuates your narrow waist. I think we should get you your own.”

“What? Halloween costume for next year?”

“Or just wear around the house. It’s nice and soft.”

“And just a little gauzy.” Alex shakes her head at her lover’s suggestive smirk, and matches the banter in her voice. “At least on top.”

“Oh, really? I really didn’t notice.” Olivia arches a dark brow. “But you could skip the pants.”

“Of course, you’ll love that.”

“Or we could get you one of those house dresses. Nice and breezy.”

“It’s winter.”

“So? We’ll just turn up the heat. Way up,” the brunette says, the faint blush coloring Alex’s cheeks in turn grows her smile. She feels like Superman. Or Wonder Woman…

It’s all good being the center of Olivia’s joy, Alex decides as she bumps her lover with her elbow. “Shut up.”

*******

48

She could pass? Really? Of all the stupid, thoughtless, insensitive things she could've said. Alex watches her lover carefully. The woman is in good spirits, attentive as always. She seems unaffected by the observation about her looks and possible heritage. Perhaps what she said hadn't hit her, and hopefully, it never will. Seriously, ‘pass’? Talk about faux pas. Suppose she didn't react to the comments on her similarities with the Signora either. Maybe there was Mediterranean or Spanish in Serena Benson's background. Maybe that's why. It's possible for someone from this part of the world to have grey green eyes and light brown hair. Totally. If one runs into Daniela in Dublin one would never asked if she was Irish, at least not until she opens her mouth. Should she inquire about Serena Benson’s family like Ling had suggested? After all, Olivia had asked about her paternal grandmother, and she had responded. Quid pro quo, you’re familiar with the concept. Although does what you said earlier go both ways? That you'd tell me if it's something you want me to know? And I shouldn't ask in case it's not?

Alex looks around her, to see the throngs of tourists milling about. Some reading books, no doubt travel guides, some posing happily for pictures. Once in a while, laugher sounds out from different groups. It seems hardly the appropriate place for this conversation. But they are trapped, at sea, with nowhere else to go, or run, or hide. Give and take, right? “My first romantic interest was a girl,” she says without preamble.

“Really? I thought… not Kenneth?”

“He was…” Convenient. Available. Besotted with me. “No, not him.”

“I see.”

“A tomboy, maybe, um, yeah she definitely wore the pants.”

“I’m usually in pants.”

“But you’re equally comfortable in dresses and heels. You’re not rigid.”

“Take it she was?”

“She looked like a boy, except for her features. Even then, she could’ve been a fifteen year old boy.”

“I see.”

“I’m not sure that you do.”

“I went through a tomboy phase growing up.” And a hood phase.

“Yes, a phase, that’s it. But Cass Sevin, her mannerisms…”

“Reminded you of your first girlfriend?” The one Celine mentioned? Quickly, Olivia curbs the green-eyed monster. Just how many did you have? And boyfriends? Do I want to know? Do I really care, actually? She decides with a mental shrug. “So she reminded you of your first girlfriend.” And you thought you might feel something? Was it a test? Guess it’s the conclusion that matters. She surprises herself. Suppose it’s all about putting things in perspective. With a real shrug, she comments, “That’s kinda surprising.”

“Why?”

“She’s kinda, um, in your face, about being gay.”

“Yeah.”

“And that’s just... I dunno. I guess it’d be different if sexual politics were part of her art.”

“But it’s not.”

“I’m not like that?”

“I don’t think so. He doesn’t think so either.” Alex points her chin at the man who has been watching them, and practically leering at her lover. “Five hundred camels. Maybe even an albino one.”

“You’re so funny,” Olivia says with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “So Sevin’s not your cuppa.”

“Not really.” Alex admits. “But neither is someone like Serena.”

“Someone like her?”

“Her. She kissed me, a long time ago. She was drunk.”

“Oh, boy.”

“Yes, we vicariously kissed before we even got together, you and I.”

“You could say that.”

Letting out a soft chuckle, Alex shakes her head. “Anyway, she didn’t do it for me either.” When she realized she didn’t care if Sevin was the same Cass from her past, the certainty had given her the freedom to confirm her suspicion. She relays with her eyes, Apparently, only you do. “Oddly, when I was growing up, I wished I were a boy,” she reveals to the smug-looking brunette.

“You did.”

“You’re not surprised?”

Olivia shrugs. “I imagine your dad wanted a son, someone to carry on his name. And you rode horses. And you like fast cars. And you even like shooting, just not the killing. You’ll have a matador suit before we leave Spain.”

“It’s doesn’t bother you?”

“Like you said, I’m not rigid.” She offers a smile that gains confidence as the moment passes. “I get that you don’t always want to be the one wearing a pink dress, even though you look hot in it.”

“I’m not sure I want to see you wearing a pink dress either.”

“Thank you. There’s a line I gotta draw somewhere.” Her laugh is brief, and her gaze remains tender. “I know people like labels, and sometimes I do it, with the guys, but… Anyway, we’re us, we work. I don’t see why we need to label ourselves within our relationship. Most days you like it when I open the door for you and call you my princess, but sometime you like to switch it up and call me sweetie or sugar, or some other similar terms of endearment. I’m not rigid.”

“You keep saying that.”

“It’s true.”

“But I like you in leather.”

“Most of the time you do.” A corner of her lips quirk up to match the angle of her brow. “And most of the time, I like wearing it. But like you said, I’m comfortable in a dress and heels, and I enjoy dressing up and looking all, well, femme, for lack of a better word. And I don’t mind following when we dance. It’s easier actually.”

“It can be.”

So that’s what you were looking for? To define yourself? Or us? Really? Olivia decides to let her skepticism go. After all, they are together, for their sort of honeymoon. That counts for a lot more, in the grand scheme of things. Ten weeks from now, I might need another reminder of the big picture, but right now… She completes her smile. “We’re good?”

“Yeah, we’re good.”

*******

49

Her fiancée… lover… fiancée… somehow she prefers the latter word, despite their previous declaration to each other. It seems more… formal… something. Anyway, the woman had lit up in ways that had nothing to do with the Mediterranean or technically the African sun when their eyes met. Olivia saw it and knew Rodrigo did, too and everyone else who was watching. She can't believe at one point she wanted to hide this. No secrets...

Suddenly, she recalls their previous conversation, about perceived gender roles in their relationship. That's what it was right?

She likes putting their make up on in the morning in front of their Hers & Hers sinks, wondering if Alex would choose that day to bump into her with her hip intentionally accidentally. There’s no secret there, no one wondering what the other person’s doing behind the closed bathroom door.

After their shower, usually together but sometimes not, before bed, again they are before the mirror, this time the vanity’s with their "girl" routines, while vanilla sugar steam swirl from the bathroom. Nobody picking on someone else’s habit either…

Instead they share lotions, toners and cleansers, in the opposite order and Alex always going first of course. Periodically, however, Olivia would try for the bottles just to get her hand swatted, so she could complain about the pain and receive promises of reparation. Often in moments of playfulness or tenderness they would apply the many layers on each other's faces. Alex is prone to drawing crazy irregular lines all over her skin, even turning her into a ‘reverse-raccoon’. Meanwhile, she likes putting neat little dollops on the blonde’s forehead, her cheeks, her chin, the tip of her nose, to be followed with a soft kiss…

Her brows twitch. I'm so predictable. Then her lips quirk. So what? "What?" "Huh?" "You look like...” Alex leans closer, pretending to be pointing at a faraway sight. “I don't know what you look like." Olivia turns and speaks softly, whispering a secret, "I ate a canary? A blonde canary?"

"Shut up. They're all yellow, all of them are, I mean." "Yes, but mine's blonde, not yellow," she counters, and is certain she hears her lover gasp. "Whatever."

A moment later she asks, "What?" "What ‘what’?" "You're excited." "Yes, of course I'm excited!” Blue eyes dance towards the towers of the fortress. “We're almost there!" "You want a rug so bad?" Alex ignores her lover's leer and comments on the obvious. "It's not just about the Kasbah." “Oh, right, museums.” Olivia laughs. "I know it's not just about shopping, we can get whatever we want back home I’m sure. Didn’t some importer help us once? We could look him up…”

“Zip. Your rule, remember?”

Yes, no work-talk. Of course Olivia remembers. She can also sense the near manic energy in the air; she definitely sees it in her companion’s eyes, the brightness of her smile. It has been a long while since she saw that level of excitement in the woman. It makes her happy, and she can’t help the amusement in her voice when she asks again, “What?”

“Do you feel the same way I did, when we were in Paris, I wonder?”

“What do you mean?”

“We were sharing something you always wanted to do.”

“Ah. Paris, maybe. Mondestin? I highly doubt it.”

“Why? What do you mean?”

“Mondestin is your ancestral home, right? After I found out, I felt a lot more excited, more touched that you were sharing it with me. Ten times how I felt about Paris, at least. Make sense?”

Alex smiles. “I guess it does. Yeah, you’re right.”

“But I am still very excited about being in Morocco, with you.”

“Okay.” She fights the urge to hook her arm with the brunette’s. Instead, she says, “Too bad we have to go back.”

“We could take a couple more days, maybe? I could call the captain and I’m sure Ling would be okay with you…”

She cuts her companion off. “I don’t mean just a longer vacation.”

“You don’t?”

“There’s a familiarity, I can’t put my finger on it. But I like it here.” Despite everything else. Or that it doesn’t feel as romantic as it had been when it was just an idea… A yearning.

“Enough to live here?”

She pauses, before shaking her head. “Maybe just because you’re here.”

“I keep telling ya, Sweetheart: home is you.”

After another pause, she nods, and smiles as she replies, “Okay.”

Olivia blinks at sky blue, brilliant against the sun. “’Okay’? That’s it?” Instead of answering, her fiancée offers another blushing smile and strides ahead. “Hey!” A moment later, the brunette unroots her legs and follows quickly to catch up.

*******

50

Slowly, but in a way that seemed fast, the water and motor push them away from the shore. A day in Tangier, half a day and a night really. It wasn't enough time, but somehow it was too long. Alex feels let down. The place was not how she had imagined. It didn't have the romance, the... She honestly does not know what she was expecting. An end to a longing that seemed even more unreasonable now? The thin leather belt, the one souvenir she manages to walk away with, weighs heavily in her purse, and not because of the disturbing reassurances from the merchant that it was not tanned in goat urine. Maybe it wasn’t just the too persistent vendors. With all the little streets and alleys to get lost in, maybe if we had... what? "Hey." She lets the false silence hang for another moment before reply, "Hm?" "Penny?" Withholding a sigh, she sips a breath and offers a tiny smile. "Just seems surreal. This whole trip."

"How so?"

"Meeting Rodrigo, again?" Alex picks randomly one of the nagging questions and gives it voice, "Why didn't my mom tell me we've met?" "Maybe your dad didn't tell her about the fight? Doesn't seem like something she would've approved. And you didn't go to the galas with them right?" She gives a little snort. They both know people don't bring children to that kind of events. Or events, period. "I guess you could be right. I wonder if that's their only connection. Through Laura's dance troupe, or Gen. Thomas? Probably Harriet first, who introduces them." "Probably. But why?" Who cares? "Sometimes I wonder if everyone's really related, like Martha said. At least everyone in my family." She laughs mirthlessly. Olivia doesn't know how to reply to that. Is her lover poking fun, like people at European royalties that almost every one of whom is inbred, at least to a certain extent? "Martha isn't hemophilic, is she?" The question makes Alex feel silly, but in a good way. She doesn’t think other people had that effect on her before; she is pretty sure no one had. "Not that I'm aware," she replies. The blonde's laugh is brighter this time, Olivia notices. "I like Rodrigo and Laura. They're nice folks," she provides. "Yeah." "Are we gonna look up his cousin when we get back home?" "Constantin?" Alex shrugs. "I'll tell my mom about it, and see how she responds." Her brows furrow and quickly she amends, "I didn't mean it like that." "No, you're not going to interrogate Celine." Olivia laughs, feeling suddenly protective of the older woman.

“No, Liv, I’m not, I won’t.”

“I know.”

“Why do I…?”

“Shh…” Smiling, she strokes her lover’s arm, to offer reassurance and comfort. “For whatever side reason or reasons they sent us, this is still a nice trip.”

“You don’t like Spain.”

“You know? I like it a whole lot better now? I can hold your hand and kiss you if I want even in front of a church and a bunch of nuns selling marmalade. Yep, definitely, I’m liking Seville a lot more now. And I always love being with you.” At Alex’s sigh, she preempts, “And don’t you apologize for Tangier. I had fun, and we picked up cool stuff for people and managed to avoid buying a rug. I’m just sorry it wasn’t what you expected.”

“I guess I’m still happy we went, together.”

The blonde’s smile, however slight, spreads a blanket of warmth and contentment over Olivia. Really, she cannot wait to be on Spanish soil again, say goodbye to Rodrigo and Laura, and get into their rental car. Then she thinks about Harriet’s house that is awaiting them, and her feelings towards the general herself. She sobers from the unexpected depth of emotions. Her fiancée was right. This trip has been a little surreal.

********

51.

"Remember Michelle's diary?" Olivia blinks away from the sea foam and turns to her fiancée, "Yeah?"

"She wrote about mémoire involuntaire? I think I have them." Without giving her companion a chance to comment, Alex heaves a breath and rushes forward, "I think we've done this before... Travelling together, by boat."

"Well, people in the past travelled by boat, and if we've been together before...". Yep, definitely surreal. "I guess." "But this does feel familiar, this in between Africa and Spain," Olivia has to admit. "You think so, too?" It is her turn to shrug. "Sure, why not." She pushes her shoulders down and lifts her lips into a smile. “So we still have the Roman ruins.”

“Only if you want to go.”

Momentarily, she loses herself in the calm swirls of her lover’s grey blue eyes; then she shrugs again. “I guess it would be a shame not to see it. We’re already here, so close.”

“We can come back some other time.”

“We should see what we want now, while we’re here,” Olivia declines, remembering Rodrigo’s words. “I want to travel the world, with you.”

“I’d like that.” Yeah. Her lover’s sentiment, its sincerity, they make Alex happy, happier than she felt leading the moot court team to victory, than winning her very first real case. In fact, she cannot think of any other person who could make or has made her any happier. Or sadder, or angrier... The first time she realized that, she knew she was lost. Back then, she hid herself in Olivia’s willing arms. Now, she tries to ignore the distance they feel they must keep out of respect for another’s culture. “Are there particular places you’d like to, first?”

“I’ve always had a thing for France, and we’ve been.”

“We can go back.”

“We should.”

“Where else?”

“Rome, we talked about it, and I’d really like to go. Tivoli, actually, too. I think it’s a day trip. The Temple of Vesta is there.”

“Temple of Vesta, you’re kidding.”

“I’m not making any sort of reference about, you know, I promise, Sweetheart. I just always wanted to go, for whatever reason, maybe like your Tangier? I don’t know.”

“Okay.” After a heavy pause, with an internal wince, Alex provides, “We can probably get a room at the hotel… I think Aileen still has connections, if not ownership.”

“The hotel? Your aunt owns a hotel in Rome?” Why am I really surprised?

“My grandmother’s ancestral home.”

“Oh, like Mondestin?”

“Yes, you could say that.”

“That’s interesting, who converted first?” Olivia asks without check. The confusion coloring her fiancée’s features tells her the question had never occurred to the woman. “I’m sorry, I was just wondering if one side of your family inspired the other to turn your ancestral home into some sort of inn. It doesn’t matter. I’m not sure why I asked; must be a cop thing. Anyway, it’s nice, shelter for the travel-weary and all that, unless it’s one of those residential hotels...” Shut me up already!

If Alex had noticed Olivia’s flustered words, she chooses not to acknowledge them. Instead, she smiles and provides with a shrug, “It’s an interesting question, I’ll have to ask. Anyway, yeah, it’s more a residential hotel, for corporate clients.”

“Travelling executives?”

“More income, less upkeep, plus packaged concierge services.”

Olivia nods. “Smart.”

Yeah, whatever. “I guess. The home, similar to Daniela’s place actually, it was lost, to my grandfather’s family.” Was Antonia Romano, too, part of spoils of hostile corporate takeover of sorts? A gesture of good-will towards cessation of rivalry? That would explain the woman’s love-hate relationship towards her children and grandchildren. “Anyway, ancient history.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s a gorgeous building. And we should see Rome together. I’d like to have better memories of it, other than the last time I was there. When my grandmother died.”

“Sorry, Sweetheart.”

“Really.” I’m okay. She smiles as proof. “And we’ll go see Vesta, and we’ll toss our coins in the Fountain of Love.”

“Like she wanted.”

“Yeah. But I want, too.” Alex tries a better smile, one convincing, even to her, finally. “Tangent, but my grandmother’s maiden name was Romano, you know, somebody from Roma, Rome. So it’ll be like going to Saumur, just my dad’s side.”

Olivia tries to match her lover’s levity and fails. She shakes her head. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

For wanting to crack about whether you have commoners in your roots? “I know it bothers you, that your father’s family cares so much about lineage.” And I have none to offer, even if you didn’t care.

Alex shrugs. “Oh, well, I’m here. That’s what counts, right? I mean, if my grandfather didn’t marry my grandmother, my father wouldn’t be here, and if he didn’t marry my mother…”

“I’m glad you’re here.” Olivia silences her lover with a gentle squeeze of her arm, and brings back the most important, at least in her mind, “And we’re together.”

“Yes,” Alex agrees with a nod. “We’re together.”

*******

52

“So, we visited Italica.”

“Yes, and saw some creepy heads,” Alex replies. Smiling, she reaches across the bed, and fingers the strap of Olivia’s camisole.

“Yes, very creepy heads,” Olivia agrees, her mind recalling but not focusing on the statues of roman emperors at the ruins in Santiponce. Her eyes slam shut when her lover’s palm skims across the tip of her breast. “And we went to Isla Mágica,” she continues, her sentence ending in a whimper.

‘Yes, we stopped by a theme park, a Spanish theme park.”

“Diversión sin límites,” she continues, repeating the park’s slogan after steadying her breath. Her lover’s light eyes darken as expected; then the beginning of her smirk stalls when the blonde edges forward. “Unlimited fun?” She asks, unsuccessfully keeping the whine from her voice, and watches pink lips curl up half infuriating, half seductive.

Alex slips her hand under the soft cotton. “Definitely.”

“We’ve been in two other beds.” Since you said ‘the next bed’.

Sliding her palm along skin, smooth as velvet, Alex intends to plow forward with her seduction. However, unexpectedly, Olivia grasps her wrist and holds her progress. “Yeah?” She acknowledges reluctantly.

“You still haven’t shared,” Olivia voices with more concern than complaint. She keeps their nearness and strokes the edge of her fiancée’s arm gently with her thumb. “You wanna tell me what’s wrong?” She preempts after a small pause, “Don’t even try to deny it. I know you, and you know I do. And if it’s something you have to work through, let me help, ‘cause obviously, it has something to do with me, or us.”

“You do know me.” Alex smiles ruefully and shakes her head. “I suppose you want me to be completely honest.”

“I insist.” Olivia stills the soft caress and presses her lover’s hand firmly to her chest. “No secrets, remember?” She says and let go, and wills her companion not to pull away. As expected, the woman does, but not completely this time. That makes her smile. “Baby, please.”

For a moment, Alex plays with the distraction - she measures the curve of her lover’s waist. The patience in dark eyes cannot be denied, and she releases a sigh. “Okay, it’s irrational, and unreasonable, and it’s ridiculous, but I lied.”

“About?”

“It does bother me.” She continues quickly, “I didn’t think it would; it really didn’t before. I always tell myself the same things before, and I believed it and was okay with it…”

When it becomes clear the sentence has died, Olivia pushes, “What’s bothering you?”

“Our experiences, the contrasts.”

Ah. Mr. Hedge Fund. Men. “You might be missing out?” She says despite the twisting in her guts.

“No, not that,” Alex reassures. “I’m happy, like I said, that you’re the only person I know-know, sexually, more or less.”

“’More or less’?”

“Look, do we really want to go there?” She hadn’t intended to confess, the words just slipped out. “Honestly, some things I’d rather forget, completely,” she explains, letting her brows furrow, and further reassures, “But definitely less rather than more.”

“Okay, okay,” Olivia accedes. The alternative, however, is no less comforting. “So you’re upset about me.”

“’Upset’ is not the right word.”

Then what is? It’s unlikely, but she fishes, “Jealous?”

“Not really? I don’t think so? I have you, now, and you’re completely besotted.”

“Yes, I am, and I will be, for the rest of our lives.”

“Then why should I be jealous?”

“You shouldn’t.”

“So why am I feeling the way I do?” Alex complains, aggravated with her irrational feelings, and herself for having them. “It bugs me that you’ve slept with people you don’t care about, while I was in longer, more serious relationships, and I didn’t…”

“Sweetheart, you look at sex, I think we look at sex… we treat it differently. For me, it was fun, casual, and for however long it lasted, helped me forget who I was and what else I was feeling.” The words aren’t as difficult as when they were ideas she was sorting out in her head, Olivia admits. She sighs before setting out to convince. “You’re different. You don’t like it when people get too near. You don’t even like it when tourists stop in the middle of the sidewalk and you have to brush against them to keep going, and instead, you walk on the edge of the street.”

“All right.”

Res ipsa, it speaks for itself, doesn’t it? “So of course you’re not going to let someone you don’t feel connected to touch you intimately.”

*******

53

“You think I have a fear of intimacy?”

Dark brow arches. Perhaps the question is surprising, but not the tactic, not when Olivia thinks about it. Her lips lift towards a crooked grin, while she touches her fiancée’s hair. “That’s not what this is about, is it?”

“No, I suppose not,” Alex admits with a sigh.

“Nice try though,” Olivia acknowledges. Then her smug smile dies. “I really don’t know how you did it.”

“Did what?”

“Job, especially after Max.” Did they both contribute to the moat you build around you?

“You do your job,” Alex replies. I didn’t go through what your mom did. “I don’t think the experience with Max did that much damage, in retrospect. If anything, I think it helped me understand the victims better, and be more sympathic. I couldn’t just focus on the win-ratio. Anyway.” She doesn’t want to continue with this conversation; it isn’t the issue.

“I think some of the times I slept with men, just to prove to myself that there are still good ones out there,” Olivia reflects with a deeper sigh. “And other times I wanted to show that I called the shots, that I had more power over them than they do me.”

“Make sense,” Alex offers. What else could she say? That I hate this talk we’re having? And my current line of thinking that is neither rational nor mature?

The wince was fleeting - a mere temporary constriction of her lover’s pupils, but Olivia caught it. It made her sad and happy at the same time. “You know, I meant it, when I said I wish I could turn back the clock, and re-live my life, so I could give you my innocence…”

“Liv…”

She preempts the expected argument. “Yes, yes, my experience makes things more interesting…”

“Well, it does.” Alex shakes her head, rubs the bridge of her nose, and laughs lightly. “Can you imagine? Two 30 year-old virgins in a relationship?”

“Like you said, inexperience doesn’t mean ignorance. I really couldn’t tell, you were just that good, or we were already so in tuned, or both. So I think we would’ve figured it out.”

“I guess.” It’s all moot anyway. She stifles another sigh. Unexpectedly, Olivia shifts forward, closing the distance between them. Her smile is… Shy? It piques her curiosity, even more when long dark lashes flutter. Liv? Her voice is trapped in the tight space between her lover’s full breasts now coming into view. She lifts her hand with a deep inhale, and touch, and feels the brunette’s nipple tighten against her palm. Her body jolts alive, and she wants to climb on top of her companion, to push her into the bed. She wants. Something in the texture of the woman’s smile, however, slows her down.

“You know,” Olivia starts, and she takes another breath, to soothe away the squeak. It is still a whisper when she continues, “I dunno if it’s something that doesn’t interest you, or that you don’t wanna do, since you haven’t, so I never said anything, but we talked about it a long time ago…”

Yes? Alex feels her heart pounding as she watches the words slip from her lover’s mouth. To ease her own anxiety, she lets her caress drift down the curve of the woman’s waist, as she waits impatiently for her next words.

“You know, I haven’t exactly done everything.”

“You mean…” Suddenly mute, she swallows, and continues her query by stroking lower to her lover’s hips and circles around to give her flesh a firm squeeze.

“Yeah.”

For another second, the butterflies in her stomach swarm. Their flight tickles, it makes her giddy. She is grinning widely when she pulls her gaze from Olivia’s lips to her eyes. Her voice is deep and confident when she speaks, “Funny you should mention that. I’ve been thinking about it. In fact, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you… amenable?”

“Sure.” Uh huh.

“And not just to indulge me.”

Quickly, Olivia shakes her head.

“You sure?”

“I want it. Trust me.” She offers quickly. “I want to share that with you. Really.” I want it, wanted it. Now. Her body pushes forward and demands. “Touch me.” Her thighs arch open and she all but grabs her fiancée’s hand.

Almost tentatively, Alex grazes her lover’s mons, to slip between her legs. The lush, liquid heat scorches her fingers and makes her moan. “Oh, god.”

“Believe me?”

She closes her eyes and smiles. “I want,” she hears Olivia say, and she presses a kiss to still her words. She kisses her, hard and thorough and deep, and full of love and possession and gratitude. They are both breathless when she pulls away. Her gaze lingers on her lover’s lips as her fingers paint across them. The hot touch of the woman’s tongue further melts her core. “I think I want to save it though,” she listens to her own voice, seemingly from afar, overruling her present need. “For after our party.”

“I see.” Olivia cannot deny the heavy disappointment in her gut; quickly, she pushes it aside. “Yeah, okay, it’ll be symbolic, in a way. Okay, I can dig that.” Quickly she gives meaning to the act, knowing that to be her fiancée’s sentiment; and anticipation grows. Finally, she adds with a lopsided smile, “You know now I’ll be thinking about it until then. That’s cruel and unusual punishment.”

“I’ll make it worth your wait.” Alex promises with a soft laugh, “I hope.”

“Oh, god, I’m sure, it’s just the waiting… Oh, god,” she sidles up to her lover. “Baby, can we?” She asks, needy and high; and not waiting for an answer she pulls herself under, sighing in relief over the woman’s weight. “Would you?” The responding deep chuckle makes her swoon.

*******

54

“What are you singing?” Olivia mumbles around her spoon, trying unsuccessfully to keep laughter from her query. She is not mocking her fiancée; she in fact finds her off-key melodies adorably irresistible and cute. “Seriously.”

In response, Alex wrinkles her nose, and bleats out the refrain, “All you need is love…”

“Love. Love is all you need,” Olivia joins in, effectively taking over the song. “Oh yeah, oh, hell yea! Love is all you need.”

“Not you, though.” Alex rolls her eyes at the half empty jar in her lover’s hand. “You got enough marmalade?”

“I’ll let you know.” The brunette grins. “You’re singing, that means you’re super happy.” She leaves the question unasked.

“I don’t know.” Alex blows out her cheeks. “All right. I guess I’m thinking about our party. And the songs my mom’s threatening.”

“Come on, I think it’ll be fun.”

“Sixties theme?”

“As long as we don’t have to dress the style, I’m good.” Although… Olivia amends, “If you wanna wear a mini skirt on the other hand, I’m cool with it.”

“Six inches above the knee, Liv?”

“No shorter than your short-shorts.”

Alex looks down at the carry-out menu in her hands, and briefly contemplates swiping her lover with the thin sheet. In the end, she laughs with a sigh, “Eat your marmalade.”

“It’s good marmalade.” Olivia grins, knowing what she had been spared and pushes the lines by sucking loudly on her spoon. “Great. Awesome, actually.”

“You didn’t like that they were made by nuns.”

“But it’s good marmalade. I’m not gonna cut off my nose.”

“What’s your issue with nuns anyway?” Alex asks, half dreading where the answer would lead. We have to get ‘there’ eventually, right?

“You try going to Catholic school all your life.” Olivia makes a face and smacks her lips, to keep the tone nonchalant and light. “And Sunday School for years.”

“Take it you want our kids to go to public school?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs.

“We’ll talk about it.”

“But I do want them.” For the first time since they gathered at the little table, she puts down the jar of jam; and she reaches across the short distance to touch her fiancée’s hand. Taking a deep breath, she starts with a serious smile, “And I’m, I’m sorry about your aunt, and your cousin, and I’m sorry… I don’t know if you’re waiting for me to talk about them…”

“Well…”

“I’m not sure,” she sighs, “I’m not sure I have anything to say, or if there’s anything I can say. And I’m not sure I want to think too hard about it, you know? Not just because we’re on our sort of honeymoon.”

And we’re still trying to get comfortable with each other. Alex looks down and tugs at her lover’s fingers, relieved that they are going ‘there’ but it won’t be a long and drawn out ‘trip’. “It’s okay. I don’t think too much about it either.” She shrugs. “I know my mom visits Ariel regularly, but I haven’t seen her for years, and as far as I know, neither has Jack, or his children.”

“They can’t get in, even if they wanted…”

“True, but I don’t think they do. Anyway, it’s okay. We don’t have to talk, in fact, let’s forget about them. Okay?”

“Okay,” Olivia readily agrees. Then, while they are being serious, she picks up another thread, loose and hanging on her mind, “I just can’t get over it, a nation of Catholics…”

“And Muslims. Don’t forget the Moors.”

“Yes, and that just further supports my point: you have a nation of conservative people, and somehow they manage to pass same sex marriage.”

“I’d say good for them.”

“I’d say.” Her eyes lower to their linked hands; they linger while she licks traces of marmalade from her lips. Finally, she looks up, to meet her lover’s patient gaze. “Say, would you wanna, some day? If we could, somewhere?”

“Didn’t we have this conversation before, in this room, about being married?”

“Yeah?”

“You’d like that piece of paper?”

“You’re a lawyer.”

“And we’re all about things in writing,” Alex laughs. “I guess it’d be nice.”

“And our future children could be legitimate.”

“Liv?”

“This is not… I don’t really think of myself that way. Just, you know, rack it up to me being old fashioned.”

She takes in the casual smile, and searches her lover’s dark eyes. Finds nothing murky in their depths, she nods, “Okay.”

“Good. Then if and when we can?”

“Could be years from now.”

“I’m not in a hurry. Not going anywhere,” Olivia says while giving Alex’s hand a gentle pull. Her smile beckons; it widens when her fiancée stands and takes a step forward.

“Me neither,” Alex sighs contentedly as she settles over her lover’s lap.

“Hey, we could get an extra copy for your scrapbook.” Carefully, she unloops the mother of pearl buttons. “Our 50th Anniversary,” she breathes across scalloped lace.

“God, I hope our country’s not that behind.”

“Me, too,” Olivia agrees. She slides the tip of her nose along the top swell of her lover’s breasts and presses her advantage, “And I also really do want our children to have a relationship with their grandmother, like we talked about.”

“Okay, I know. I agree.” And I’ll do my part to resolve whatever issue I have with my mom, whether or not I remember whatever it was that she said she did… It shouldn’t matter. Nothing should, aside from this, she decides. “Yeah.”

“Meanwhile, how’bout some marmalade?”

The suggestion makes Alex laugh. Her eyes slam shut when her lover paints a sticky heart over her chest. Weakily, she protests, “You’re gonna eat it all before we go home.”

“We’ll just get more before we go back to New York,” Olivia replies, concentrating on filling in the orange line. A smug smile tugs at her lips as fair skin flushes pink. “I keep telling you, Sweetheart, I’m already…”

To avoid her lover’s gaze, to hide her blush, Alex takes the touching hand and caresses it with her lips. “Don’t say it, Mushball,” she scolds half-heartedly, tasting the tart sweetness.

“But it’s true.” You’re my home.

“I know.” She smiles and lifts her head as if making a decision, or making the final statement of her summation, “Me, too.” With a light chuckle, she alters the mood. “You realize customs might not let you in, with the marmalade.”

“Don’t worry,” Olivia assures as she slides Alex’s shirt from her arms, “They won’t survive the plane ride.” She notes the clicks of shells hitting mosaic tiles as she tosses the garment onto the table, and the sharp inhale as her lover’s breasts fall free. She wants, so much, and she can hardly wait. To taste the orange, to dance the fruit, she remembers the Rilke poem.

“You’re mad.”

“Only about you.”

*******

55

It was their last night in Seville – the last night of their vacation really, for in less than twelve hours, they would be flying out of SVQ and into JFK some fourteen hours later. Between them, they shared a mild niggling regret, not because they wouldn’t stop back through Milan as planned. They would see Daniela soon enough back in New York.

“Surely not because I couldn’t fly some stupid plane?” Alex had earlier complained and shrugged off the thought. Then she commented on the sign outside the club. “7 am? These people are insane.”

“They just enjoy themselves.”

“How about a discoteca?” She had asked, surprising herself and Olivia both.

“We’re not wearing the right kind of club clothes, whatever they are here; and they’ve got bouncers. Besides, you really wanna party with people half our age?”

“We’re not that old. Flamenco bar? We might catch a performance.”

“They won’t be professionals.” Olivia teased gently, “You’re going to find them lacking.”

“Hey, I’m not a snob!” Alex gave her lover the reply and the light shove the woman expected, and got tickled in the ribs in return. She leaned back into the embrace, paying no heed to the people around them. Many were mixed couples, some had the tentativeness of first dates, while others more established, like them, and all were waiting to get into the same popular dance club. “So you did research Seville.”

“Told you I did. Just not guidebooks.”

“Tea houses. We could do that.”

“We could, if you really wanted to. But I think we should go in. It’ll be fun.”

“I can think of other fun things to do for our last night in Seville,” Alex pushed the back of her body further against h lover’s front. The little resultant gasp in her ear widened her smile, as did the smoky timbre of the woman’s voice.

“Definitely. But if we’re never coming back, at least it’s not a priority to come back, we should do this. We practiced for this.” Olivia flashed a big grin when the checker reached them. She exchanged Euros and pleasantries with the girl with dark spiky hair and large eyes who somehow reminded her of herself. “Here we go,” she grabbed her lover’s hand and presented both their wrists for the stamps.

Alex turned towards the brunette and hedged against the din, “Practice is one thing...”

“You’ll do fine.”

“Right,” Alex responded, unconvinced, as her lover led her further towards the flashing lights and thrumming music. “We need mirrors, like in a dance studio, or yoga.”

In answer, Olivia let out a laughing sigh. “Come on, it’s not hard. Just watch me. Do what I do.”

“Easy for you, you’re a detective, you observe and pick up details, and you have rhythm.”

“So do you – rhythm.”

“No one’s leading. I can’t dance when no one’s leading.”

That pulled a chuckle from Olivia. With a teasing smile, she muttered something under her breath and shook her head.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, sweetheart.”

“Did you just call me bossy?” Alex accused with mock outrage.

“Not at all, Honeybunch.”

“Let’s get a drink, I need a drink.”

“It’s really not that difficult.” Olivia found the spot on the dance floor she liked, and smiled into laughing light eyes. “You go ahead, and do whatever, and I’ll just watch you. You’ll be my mirror.”

“But I don’t know what I’m doing,” Alex argued, as she split her attention between what the other people were doing, the music, and trying not to feel self-conscious. She almost sighed in relief when her lover pulled her close.

“Trust me, Sweetheart, you’re doing fine.”

“Two left feet and no hips.”

“Just relax. Your hips move fine when we make love.”

“Shut up.”

They were dancing to the music but not quite. Still, it was fun, Olivia decided, and the other patrons didn’t seem to care. Everyone was dancing to their own form, if not rhythm. “In a way, this is like sex.”

“Everything’s like sex to you.”

“With you? Oh, yeah.”

“Shut up!” Alex scolded at first, in an attempt to hide the effects of the proprietary sweep of her lover’s eyes along her body, disrobing her in the process. Then she matched the woman’s lascivious grin, and offered, “Unless I can talk you into tea house… I’ll even throw in sex.”

“That’s a given.” Olivia merely laughed. “Come on, when’s the last time we danced the Sevillana in Seville?”

“Or in a gay club in Seville? Look at them.”

The next turn, she follows the direction of her fiancée’s gaze to see two men dancing, arms over their heads, back in fluid arcs. “They’re awesome,” she commented when they are together again.

“Yeah.”

“How’bout we be each other’s mirror, huh?” She suggested. “Let’s try that?”

“Is that…?” Alex shook her head. “Too technical. I’ll just watch you, and you’ll watch me, and we’ll do whatever.”

Isn’t that what I said? Olivia wanted to protest, then suddenly the term fall into her head: Mirroring. She hadn’t thought about that in ages. Something she studied in Psych, or was it Sociology? That lesbians or maybe even people in general, fall in love with people who look like them. Something about self-love, and self-acceptance. Is that what’s happening? She thought about their height, roughly the same, and her own hair that was getting longer and lighter. Her clothes that draped over her lover’s body, although Alex always insisted that it was to make her feels close and protected…

Then their eyes met. Maybe it was just the light reflections from the glitter balls overhead. She was bedazzled, and the speculations about being in love with one’s mirror flew from her mind. When she saw the smile, and the clear focus, Center of the universe, she felt…

Now, a light tug of her fingers is drawing her attention. Reflexively, she closes her fist, and brings the back of her fiancée’s hand to her lips. Looking over as skin touches skin, the amusement in blue eyes raises her brow.

“What were you humming?”

“Hm?”

“You were humming.” With growing amusement and a tinge of concern, Alex asks, “What’s the song?”

Olivia blinks, and she tries to recall the melody. Finally, finding it, she hums aloud. When blond head bobs to her silent question, she switches to lyrics, “The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain…” To her delight, the line pulls a low laugh from her fiancée.

“What is it? Sounds familiar. And it’s a lie.”

Considering all the rain they had during their relatively brief visit? “Kinda like no rain in Paris in April?” She smirks. “My Fair Lady.”

“Really? Huh.”

“Yeah, when Eliza finally broke her accent?”

“Okay.” Alex gets ready to settle once more against her lover’s shoulder. A light squeeze of her fingers stops her. “What?”

“I’m thinking about getting a haircut when we get home, before our party.”

“Go for it.”

“You sure you don’t mind?”

“It’s your hair. And it’s hair - it’ll grow.”

Olivia offers a knowing wink, “But you want veto power, even though you say it’s my hair.”

“Not if you put it like that.”

With her free hand, she raises her lover’s chin and presses a small kiss to her lips. “I love you.”

Alex smiles back. “Love you, too.”

“So.” Olivia pauses for a breath.

“So?”

She makes a decision, and says, “La lluvia en Sevilla es pura maravilla.”

“What about Seville?”

“Say it with me,” she requests, and begins repeating the phrase slowly. To her surprise, Alex follows suit without question. At the end of the sentence, she explains, “The rain in Seville, it’s pure marvelous.”

“Right.”

Despite the one word skepticism, she nods and guides her lover’s head, to resume its original course. Stroking the length of golden silk as the woman settles against her shoulder once more for the flight, she makes another decision, “Maybe I could teach you Spanish? Some key phrases, in case we ever come back to Spain? Or go to Mexico or something? Would you…”

“I’d like that, Liv. Thank you.”

“It’ll be fun, I promise,” Olivia says with a smile, not sure if she means the language lessons or their life together, or both, but it really matters not. A moment later, she whispers under the engine noise, “Dulces sueños, mi amor.”. Sweet dreams.