I drew a deep breath to slow my heart rate, and smiled for what seemed the millionth time that evening, as George slickly slid the keycard into it's slot and opened the suite's door with a quiet chirp and the faint growling moan of mechanized tumblers.
He turned an arched eyebrow toward me with a pleased grin, and opened the door with a flourish. "After you, my lady..." he drawled in the deep baritone of his Memphis and whiskey-laced voice.
As always, it made me tingle.
He'd been making subtle comments like that all night, playing the part of the English gentleman, to "Butter your transition back Stateside", so he said. I'd only come back from London, officially, to attend his sister's wedding; unofficially to celebrate his new job and simply spend time together. He was intent on keeping me here this trip.
We'd met on the first day of our third year of University at Berkeley several years ago, both of us having transferred to that coast of the world to get away from our families. We were each very much out of place in Northern California's most bizarre major cultural center, and we gravitated toward one another like bees to nectar. Well, I suppose he was like the bee, in that little analogy; I, the flower, opening to his touch and allowing him access to all of the nectar he wished to partake.
We'd been inseparable for two years, free with our hearts and love, instant and abiding in our certainty we were meant to be together forever... in the way of all passionate youth, I suppose. We met each other's families, much to their great pleasure, and had plans to move in together in Boston, where he had been accepted to law school, and where I could continue onto my Masters in Philosophy.
But it was not to be. Two weeks before graduation, my mother passed away, and I return home to England in a state of distress that outlasted both the summer and start of term. She had been killed by a reaction to an improperly prescribed blood pressure drug, and the subsequent trial stretched on for three years. I am the eldest, and while we're not a family of classical structure, and while I once yearned for my escape, it nevertheless left my heart empty to think of leaving my father and brothers behind in the wake of her death.
George was a rock for the first year, and I loved him all the more. But distance only works if there is a known end in sight. And as he settled into his second year of law school, I slowly at last began to pack up my mother's belongings, having situated myself into her role as caretaker of the household. I honestly couldn't give him an estimate of how long I would be. My youngest brother was only going into his fourteenth year, and that was a daunting figure in our minds. It led to frustrated discussions and days of silence as we retreated from one another into our respective, and now separate lives.
Eventually, we both moved on, into hesitant and half-hearted pursuits of romance with others, many of whom were unfortunate enough to desire more from us. We didn't discuss such matters in what became our weekly conversations or emails, though we both knew. Although we relegated one another to the title 'best friend', we still remained uncomfortable with the duties in such a role, and did not grant one another the usual privileges of such a position.
And now, here we were. Far down the road from the week that summer long ago when he came across the sea to comfort me. Four years since I last was warmed by the caress of his eyes. Too long since I last felt my body react as it was this night - as it had since seeing him that morning, leaning against his car outside baggage claim.
Thankfully neither of us were required to do anything at the ceremony the next day, for that evening's rehearsal dinner was a blur. All I remembered clearly were the eyes that kept stealing my glances away from the bride, and the electric touches to my arm and thigh as we sat as close together as possible. Even the food served was lost to me. All I could smell was his scent beside me, and all I could taste were the flavors of him that rose to my tongue from the subsequent memories of his body in my mouth. Yet we hadn't so much as kissed all day.
I stepped into the room with a soft smile, my gaze lingering on his as I passed close, my clutch dangling from my fingers along with my heels, having taken them off in the plushly carpeted elevator. The room was as expected: spacious and richly appointed, with a huge bed, sofa, table, chairs, and a bathroom that looked to be as large, though I didn't go in. Typical DeLyon family style accommodations. I didn't comment that his parents, who had rented rooms for the family who flew in for the wedding, were obviously in favor of our getting back together.
I leaned my back against the wall of the small entryway, watching him close and lock the door, before turning to look at me with a long, silent gaze. God, I'd missed the sight of him. Tonight he wore a light blue button up shirt with simple, dapper black tie and black slacks. My breath held under his scrutiny, my body wrapped in a simple dark blue spaghetti strap dress that hugged my torso before flowing loose from my waist to my bare knees. It was suitably elegant without upstaging the bride to be. My hair, normally quite unruly for all its sleekness, had behaved admirably well this evening, remaining in it's twist, off my shoulders. The ears, neck and throat over which his eyes roamed held no adornment.
