It's Friday, and despite my trepidation over tomorrow's Pitch Madness, I am determined to write something. Here goes! 250 words, +/- 10 on this photo:
|“Where Next,” painting by Edward Frederick Brewtnall (1846 – 1902). Public domain.|
“Could we go here today?” Delilah’s carefully manicured finger landed gently on the map.
“Of course. We can go anywhere you want.”
She settled at Nicolas’ side, relaxing under the easy weight of his arm on her shoulders. “You’re so good to me.”
He allowed the map to fall onto the table. “You’re my wife.”
He sipped the remains of his coffee. A warm breeze tinged with salt floated through the windowless breakfast room, ruffling her collar and teasing Nicolas’ hair. He had spared no expense for their voyage. The picturesque, seaside villa surpassed her every expectation.
Meeting the Marquis had been extraordinarily fortuitous; marrying him even more so. Delilah straightened the cravat that peeked out from his vest before flattening her hand on his chest.
“Shall I speak with the coachman?” he asked calmly.
Delilah hummed in affirmation. “I could consult the cook. Perhaps we could bring a picnic basket?”
“If that will make you happy.”
“Being with you makes me happy.” The safety of his embrace ensured her affection, even if Nicolas didn’t resemble the husband she had once envisioned for herself. A child’s fantasy.
“Well you have me all to yourself, dear one.” He planted a passionless kiss on Delilah’s waiting lips. “For a few more days, that is.”
“Couldn’t we prolong our stay?”
“I’m afraid not. The real world awaits.”
“More reason to enjoy this haven while we can,” Delilah decided, standing. With the protection afforded by their association, she could almost enjoy their honeymoon.
If only this marriage were legal.