Trust Me

gratification as seldom as possible.”
    He got to his feet with Desdemona in his arms, went around the desk, and locked the door.
    “What will Mrs. Pitchcott say?” Desdemona asked as Stark carried her back to the desk and sat down.
    “I don’t know.” Stark unbuckled his belt. “I’m not sure. Probably something about making lemonade.”
    “Lemonade?” Desdemona stared at him in amazement. “Why in the world would she – “
    Her question was cut off in midsentence.

    “I’ve always liked lemonade,” Desdemona murmured a few minutes later.
    “Me, too.”

    Six weeks later Stark closed the door of Desdemona’s loft with a triumphant slam and reached for her. “Do you realize that from now on we’ll be able to spend the whole night, every night, together?”
    “That fact had not escaped my notice.” Desdemona smiled as he lifted her high in his arms. The white satin skirts of her wedding gown billowed in gleaming waves over the black sleeves of Stark’s tux. “Has it occurred to you that you won’t need an inflatable, anatomically correct doll for your wedding night this time?”
    “Yes, it did. I got a pretty good deal on the catering, too. This must be my lucky day.”
    “No doubt about it.”
    Stark laughed. Desdemona realized it was the first time she had ever heard him do so. It was a good sound, she thought. It boded well for the future.
    Outside the windows, moonlight and neon illuminated the cityscape of Seattle. There were tickets for a trip to Hawaii in Stark’s briefcase, but the plane did not leave until the following day.
    The wedding night was to be spent in Desdemona’s loft because Jason, Kyle, and Alison were staying at Stark’s fortress. Alison planned to house-hunt in Seattle while Stark and Desdemona were on their honeymoon.
    Stark carried Desdemona toward the shoji-screened bed. There was undisguised wonder in his eyes as he gazed down at her in his arms. “You’re beautiful. Did I ever tell you that you remind me of a piece of fractal art?”
    “Yes, you did, but you can tell me again.” She kissed his throat and started to undo his black bow tie. “Did I ever tell you that you look terrific in a tux?”
    “I don’t believe that you’ve ever mentioned it.” He settled her on the bed and leaned over her, caging her between his arms.
    “Well, you do, and I love you,” Desdemona said.
    “Because I look good in a tux?”
    “No. Just because you’re you.” Desdemona tugged on the ends of the black silk tie.
    Stark did not fight the summons. He came down on top of her. His mouth covered hers in a kiss that echoed the promises they had made at the altar.

    An hour later Desdemona raised herself on one elbow and looked down at Stark. His eyes gleamed in the shadows.
    “I just thought of something,” Desdemona said.
    “What?” Stark traced the outline of her bare breast with the edge of his thumb.
    “You forgot the prenuptial agreement.”
    “I didn’t forget it.”
    “But I didn’t sign anything,” Desdemona reminded him.
    “You gave me your word of honor,” Stark said. “You promised to love, honor, and cherish me until death did us part.”
    Desdemona smiled. “And that’s good enough?”
    “With you it is.” He framed her face with his strong hands. His eyes were intent and serious. “I love you, Desdemona.”
    “I know,” she whispered. “You don’t have to say the words.”
    He smiled slowly. “Trust me, you’re going to hear them every day for the rest of our lives.”