I laugh happily. ‘You couldn’t look like a grandfather if you tried. Now try them on.’ Sorab takes the box and bites the corner while he takes off his shoes and puts on the slippers.
‘Well?’
‘Like walking on air.’
‘Excellent.’
He gazes into my eyes—his are dark and moist. ‘Do you know I have never worn slippers?
‘Never?’
‘Never. You’ve totally changed my life, Lana.’
‘I’m not finished,’ I say and pass him the next package.
He opens it. ‘Sweats?’
‘Hmmnnnn…’
I stand and watch him strip off his office wear and get into the dark blue sweats.
‘What do you think?’
‘Edible,’ I say, and I really mean it. Low-slung pants on slim sexy hips. A little bit of skin shows and I reach out and touch it.
Instantly, he looks deep into my eyes, his expression changing.
‘I’ve got other plans for you tonight,’ I tell him and retract my hand. ‘Here,’ I say and hand the baby over to him.
He takes Sorab and goes off to the living room. I return to the kitchen. Food will be ready in twenty minutes. By the time I put the stretched bread lightly brushed with tomato sauce into the oven, Sorab is sound asleep on his father’s body. While Blake puts him down for the night, I turn down the lights in the dining room, and stand back to admire the glow of the candles on the white table linen heavy with all kinds of foods.
Tart giardiniera in oil, olives, cured meats from the deli, salads, ribbons of fried dough dusted with powdered sugar and an intricate terrine of fruits layered with alcohol-soaked sponge. And of course, a very special bottle of red that I have opened and allowed to breathe.
The first piece I slip into his mouth. The expression of rapture and astonishment is gratifying.
‘It is how I imagine the food in the paintings of Caravaggio to be—real, hearty, Roman—a bird roasted in a wood oven, ’ he says.
‘Really?’ At that moment I make up my mind to learn about art and music, to become, culturally, his equal. He will never have cause to be ashamed of me in front of his peers.
The rest of the meal becomes a dreamy evening that will forever echo in my heart. Everything was perfect. I watch Blake eat, as a mother watches her child eat. Protectively, proudly.
And he eats without inhibition or his usual control and care—cutting his food into dozens of pieces, which he then carefully picks at as if they are something dangerous. He eats with genuine pleasure, sucking the sauce off his fingers, reveling in every new flavor.
Finally, among the crumbs of our feast, Blake dips a lemon cookie into the dessert wine and brings it, still dripping golden drops, to my lips. I quickly swoop down and bite. The sweet raisin-like taste explodes on my taste buds, as a drop escapes from the side of my mouth. Before I can bring my napkin to my lips he leans in and licks the corner of my mouth. As if he is a wolf or some animal that uses its tongue to wash the body of its mate.
He carries on licking diligently until every last lingering trace is gone and still he licks until he happens upon the two tiny drops on my neck. I stare at him. So close to me, still so foreign and yet, my whole life. This is the man I had not intended to love. And now I cannot imagine my life without him.
He raises his eyes to me. ‘I couldn’t understand the concept of eating food off a naked woman before. Now I can.’ He slips his hand along the inside of my thigh. ‘The grace of the human figure, the delicacy of its form is the perfect plate. I’d love to fill your body with all manner of food and slowly lick it off.’ His fingers reach the apex of my thighs. I part my legs willingly. ‘Soufflé aux fruits de la passion on your nipples, sabayon sauce on your belly, caramel on your pubic bone and bananas en papilote between your legs.’ One long finger enters me.
I blush as if he has not done far more outrageous things to me. Perhaps the thought of lying on a table and being a platter for food that will be consumed off my body is incredibly erotic. And the thought of Blake slowly licking and sucking actually makes me wet.
The finger retreats. I inhale.
He puts the finger in his mouth. I exhale.
I pour out two glasses of sambuca, place three coffee beans on their surfaces and set them alight. Over the blue flames I catch Blake’s eyes. In this light they are so dark they are almost black. The intensity of his gaze makes me catch my breath. I forget about the burning drinks, until he lowers his face without breaking eye contact and blows out the flames.
He dips his finger in the sambuca and smears it on my lips, and lifting me off the chair carries me to the bedroom to be ravished.
‘The sambuca…’
‘I’ve had enough.’
‘The dishes,’ I whisper into his neck.
‘Tomorrow.’
‘The candles…’
‘Later.’
When I wake up again, it is because of a cry or a moan. I turn my head and he is not in bed. I roll out of bed and go into Sorab’s room. Blake is holding him and softly crooning him back to sleep. Our eyes meet over our baby’s head. His are soft, softer than I have seen them.
I wish I could capture the moment forever.
He brings one forefinger to his lips. So I don’t say anything. Simply memorize that magical moment. When a man’s beautiful soul is unearthed by his son. When we are all connected. He, Sorab and I.
Nine
‘Tonight you get to meet my brother. We are having dinner together.’
I look at Blake, surprised. ‘Quinn?’
‘No, Marcus actually.’ He watches me carefully.
I bite my lip. The memory of his brother’s cold, blue eyes is seared into my memory forever. ‘I have met him. At the hospital, when you were in a coma.’
‘He told me. But briefly, right?’
‘Yes, incredibly brief.’
‘Didn’t go too well, huh?’
‘Nope. He didn’t want me in the picture.’
His lips tighten. ‘You are in the picture now. He’d better get used to it.’
‘Maybe you should go on your own this time. I’m sure I’ll get to meet him on other occasions.’
He puts his finger under my chin. ‘You are coming tonight.’
I send Sorab over to Billie’s early and I bathe and start getting ready hours before Blake is due to return. I try on a dozen outfits, but nothing looks good to my critical eye. I look at the clock. Blake will be home soon. Black. Black always works. I hunt for something black. I find a simple black dress with a sweetheart neckline and zip myself into it.
I look at myself in the mirror unhappily. I look pale. The solution might lie with red lipstick. I apply some and blot my lips. I still don’t look or feel right. There is a ball of apprehension in the pit of my stomach. It feels as if I am about to enter an exam hall unprepared. I’ll stick like glue to Blake and that way I know I will be safe. My thoughts are interrupted by Blake’s appearance at the bedroom door.
‘Oh!’ I whirl around startled. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’
He grins. ‘I wanted to surprise you.’
I clutch my chest dramatically. ‘You succeeded. I nearly jumped out of my skin.’
He is carrying a bag that he drops on the bed on his way towards me. When he reaches me he holds me by my elbows. ‘You look very, very…very…very beautiful, but that is not what you are wearing today.’
‘No?’
He shakes his head slowly as his hands turn me around. For a moment I feel his finger on my bare skin, then the zip starts its downward journey. He turns me back around and gently pulls at the sleeves of the dress. It slips down my body. He winks at me.
‘Love the underwear, by the way.’