Page 79 of We All Live Here
“Perfect,” he repeats, raising one eyebrow. He has turned his body toward hers, one knee crooked in the cushions, one arm along the back of the sofa. His hand is touching her shoulder.
“Well, in the domestic sphere anyway.”
“There’s only room for one person to be perfect around here,” he says softly. “And that role is clearly already taken.”
She blinks slowly at him.
“You’re just wonderful, Lila,” he says. He takes her hand in his, turns it over and runs his thumb over her palm in a way that causes her breath to stop in her chest. “I thought it the moment I saw you in the playground. You just cope with everything life throws at you with such grace and calm—you have this special air about you.”
“Special?”
He shrugs, as if it’s obvious. “You’re so caring and kind. And obviously very beautiful. And you’re always there to talk to, whenever I’mfeeling low. I don’t deserve you, really. I mean I’m just—I don’t know—all over the place half the time. I hope you don’t mind me telling you this.”
“Not at all. But you’re being way too complimentary.”
He looks at her, his smile almost gone. His eyes are gazing into hers, brimming with seriousness. “I’m really not. It’s been a tough couple of years, and I told you that knowing I can check in with you, or see you—well, it’s really lightened something for me. I struggle to open up to people. But even if I don’t get to see you enough, I know you’re there. I can feel our connection. You make me think I can get through this. You…you’re something else.”
As she gazes at him, he gently takes the wine glass from her hand and places it on the coffee-table. He is still holding her hand, which he lifts to his lips and kisses. She feels the reverberations of that kiss at a cellular level, like an internal meteor shower in her body. And then he leans forward and, gazing intently into her eyes, waiting for just an exquisite fraction of a second before he finally does it, he kisses her.
•••
Afterward, she wishesshe hadn’t drunk quite so much because things had taken on a dreamlike quality. She was aware of his kisses, their increasingly frantic nature, the distant snatches of the music, the feel of the tweed sofa under her bare skin. She remembers him unbuttoning her dress, telling her she was beautiful again and again as each inch of her was exposed, and then she remembers something more urgent and animal steadily taking over, their fingers clutching at each other, the kisses deep and punishing, the point at which his reason disappeared and instinct took over. He needed her. He had actually needed to be inside her. The strength of his desire was like being given something.
She is not sure how long they lie on the sofa afterward. She feels calm, satisfied, like a storm has passed over and now she can relax. Her arm isslung over his back, his skin faintly tacky with sweat, and he is still on top of her, his torso wedged between her legs, his soft hair draped on her collarbone. She feels his skin against hers, can smell a vague scent of something spicy and woody in his shampoo, like the kind of thing you would smell in an Hermès bottle. He is surprisingly slim, his muscles clearly defined under his skin. She wants never to move again. She could stay like this forever, with his hands on her, his weight pinning her. She thinks she will wind herself around him all night, so that every inch of her body is in contact with his. She is already anticipating doing this again—she is not sure she’ll be able to leave him alone.
Gabriel’s head shifts and he tilts his head to see her. “You okay?”
She smiles, a slow, easy smile. “I’m more than okay.”
“Sorry if that was…a bit rushed. I got overexcited.”
“Really. It was lovely.”
“You’re lovely.”
They lie there for a moment longer and then he starts to shift, taking his weight on his left elbow so that he is no longer on top of her. He seems faintly dazed and, without his glasses, somehow more vulnerable, his eyes having the slightly unfocused look of the habitual glasses-wearer.
“Are you warm enough?”
“If you stay on top of me, yes,” she says, grinning.
He looks at his watch. “Jesus. It’s a quarter to one.”
She’s about to say something about time flying but thinks it will be corny. So she just pulls at the wool blanket at the far end of the sofa to cover them up. “So,” she says, “we should probably get some sleep?”
His expression changes a little. He gazes off at the edge of the room, then turns to her, a little apologetically. “Actually, Lila, would you be okay if we didn’t sleep?”
“You want to do thatagain?”
“What I mean is, I don’t think it would be good for Lennie to wakeup to find you here. I mean we don’t know each other that well, and I don’t want her getting the wrong end of the stick. I just think at this stage it would be better…” His voice tails off.
“You—you want me to go home?” It takes her a moment to grasp that, yes, this is actually what he is saying.
“If you wouldn’t mind. Just for now. She’s been through such a lot and I don’t want her getting confused at this stage. It’s been a lot for her, you know?” He puts his hand on her shoulder. “I’m really sorry to ask.”
Lila lies there for a minute, then sits up and reaches for her dress. She realizes it’s inside out, and starts pulling at the fabric, trying to get it the right way round. “No, no,” she says. “It’s fine.”
“At any other time there’s nothing I’d like more than us to be together all night.”
