Page 51 of The Last Letter of Rachel Ellsworth

Chapter Forty-Three

In Veronica’s room, much later, Henry spied the copy of One Thousand and One Nights and picked it up. “Have you started reading this?”

“Not yet.”

He sat, leaning back against the headboard, and opened it. “Shall I read to you?”

She curled into his side. “Yes, please.”

The room was dark save for the pool of yellow lamplight on the night table.

His body was warm, and when he opened the book and began to read, his voice rumbled from inside his chest to her cheek.

Drowsy and sated, she listened to the story of Scheherazade cleverly spinning tales to a betrayed sheikh.

“I didn’t know she was telling stories to save all the other women in the realm,” she said. “Heroic.”

“Mmm.” He finished the first story, and on the cliff-hanger of what would happen, he closed the book and set it aside.

“You’re stopping there?”

“It wouldn’t be very respectful to the tale if I just kept going, now would it?”

She chuckled. “I suppose not.”

He turned off the light and slid down next to her. “Do you like being held when you sleep?”

She did, but it seemed needy to say so. “Do you like it?”

“I do,” he said, his velvety voice rolling over her in the dark. “Get comfortable.”

Veronica curled up on her side, and he fitted himself around her, his arm draped over the curve of her waist, his chest against her back. His skin was hot. “Good?”

“Very.” Veronica drew his hand up to her cheek and kissed his knuckles. He kissed her shoulder. With the sensation of his body behind her, his skin against hers, she felt safe and sexy, and deeply, deliciously satisfied. As she closed her eyes, her last thought was simply, Henry .

When she awakened, Veronica found herself alone in the bed. She sat up, looking around. “Henry?” she called. But there was no answer. Maybe he’d gone to call for some breakfast. It would be like him, and they didn’t really want to reveal anything to Mariah at the moment.

Given the little space of solitude, she piled up the pillows and tugged the covers over her naked breasts, a smile curling her mouth.

The moments of the night came back to her in flashes—his calf sliding over her leg; the feeling of his hands on her waist, her breasts; his kisses.

Had she ever known anyone who kissed so well?

She sighed, the luxury of good sex easing all the molecules in her body.

This morning she was enfolded in the cloud of satisfaction, of having given and received pleasure, admiration, release, and it was easier to forgive the woman who gave in to emotionally unhealthy sex to give herself some relief.

A person could manage the physics on her own, but it was hardly the same thing as sex with another body.

Henry, though. Not just a body. His warm voice, those big hands, his delicious lips—

Good God, a voice said in her mind. Don’t get all wrapped up in a holiday fling! How many women do you think he’s had sex with? Hundreds?

At that moment, he opened the door a crack. “Can I come in?” he said quietly, which made her think Mariah was still asleep.

“Of course.” When he entered, carrying a tray of coffee and pastries and yogurt, the mean voice in her head dropped away. “I haven’t gotten up,” she said, laughing. “And here is my breakfast! Which is only fitting for a room where royalty dwells.”

He smiled, carrying the tray to the bed.

Veronica felt delightfully wicked pulling the covers over her naked breasts, aware of the small, precious injuries on her body from sex, the slightly sore muscles, the little bruises.

He kissed her, and that was somehow arousing all by itself, that she was naked and he was dressed. “How are you?” he asked.

“So good.” Veronica laughed. “Also ravenous. How about you?”

He kicked off his shoes and settled on the other side of the tray, reaching for a cube of melon. “Same.”

“It seems rather imbalanced that you’re dressed and I’m not.”

“If I get undressed, we will not eat our breakfast.” He offered her a small plate.

“Sensible,” she said, gobbling a handful of almonds, then a date and a glass of water. “And hot.”

He, too, ate eagerly. “This might not be enough, actually. I’m starving.”

“We’ve stretched out our stomachs with all the pigging out!”

“Or we’ve just expended a lot of calories.”

“Or that.” She buttered a slice of bread. “Should we rouse Mariah and go down for a bigger meal?”

“She’s awake. She just didn’t want to get up yet.” He lifted a shoulder. “It’s Christmas.”

“Oh my God, I forgot!” She chortled. “I can’t believe I’ve been dreading this so much and now I forgot.” She slapped her forehead in the classic gesture, and the sheet fell to her waist. She grabbed it, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry on my account.” He reached over and tugged with one finger. “Maybe I’m not that hungry for food.”

“But what about Mariah?”

“She’s hiding away for a little longer.”

The sultry expression in his eye ignited everything all over again. Carefully, unconcerned with the sheet falling way, she picked up the tray and set it aside. She opened her arms.

An hour later, they emerged from her room one at a time. Henry went first to his room, and Veronica showered, dressed, and carried two small gifts out with her.

Mariah had emerged, hair wet from a shower. Her color was better, but she still had circles under her eyes. She wore yoga pants and a T-shirt for the Beijing Olympics Veronica had seen her wear several times. They all needed to do laundry. “Good morning,” she said.

“Good morning.” Veronica set down a gold-wrapped package on the table. “And Merry Christmas.”

“Aw. You didn’t have to.” But she picked it up with excitement. “When did you have time?”

“I’ve been shopping at least three times when you were ill or indisposed in some way. How are you feeling, by the way?”

“Okay.” She plucked the wrapping carefully, completely opposite to what Veronica would have expected. “I’m weak, but the poison is finished with me. I ordered some oatmeal and bananas for breakfast.”

“I’m glad you’re better.”

“You never get used to that kind of slam. It’s awful. I don’t know what I ate that you guys didn’t, but I guess it doesn’t matter.”

“No.” Still starving, Veronica filled her small plate to the brim. “Did you ask for a big pot of coffee?”

“I did.” An eyebrow rose. “Although I see both of you have had some coffee already.”

Veronica met her eyes. It would be undignified to lie to an adult. “Yeah, about that—”

She waved a hand. “I’m not blind. You’ve been all thirsty for each other since the first day.

” She looked at the package, removed one more small piece of tape.

“I’d rather you keep it off-screen, for, you know, reasons.

” When she looked up, a welter of tears hung in her eyes. “It makes me think of my mom.”

Impulsively, Veronica moved to sit beside her, wrapping her arms around her. “I know,” she said, feeling tears in her own eyes. “It’s a lot. Everything that you’re going through is a lot. I’m so sorry.”

Mariah leaned into her, heavily, as if she’d just been waiting for arms. “I miss her so much. I hate that it’s Christmas and she’s not here, that I’ll never spend Christmas with her ever again.”

Veronica let her weep, rocking her ever so slightly.

“Of course you miss her.” She felt weepy herself, a thousand new emotions crowding her heart, her throat.

She was lonely without her kids and the family traditions, but it was also good without them, to not have to be responsible for everyone else, and to be able to do something she liked instead of sitting in a ski lodge by herself all day.

“I used to say I was glad of the time alone on Christmas while my family skied,” she said, “but I kind of hated that they always wanted to do that, when I didn’t like to ski at all. I’m glad to be here today.”

“They sound like jerks,” Mariah said, straightening.

“Not really. I just didn’t stand up for myself that well.”

“Are you getting better?”

“Maybe. A little.”

Mariah opened the box and pulled out an antique locket Veronica found the day she wandered around London.

It was tarnished, carved, and had been inexpensive, but she’d gone to a print shop and got a photo of Mariah and a photo of Rachel to put in it.

“They’re just photocopies, but you get the idea. ”

“This is so thoughtful!” Mariah hugged her. “Thank you. I feel like a shit now because I didn’t get anything for you guys.”

“Don’t. I just happened to see it.”

Henry emerged, carrying a bag of laundry. “They’re coming to collect my laundry. Anyone else?”

“Definitely.” Both women dashed into their rooms. Veronica shoved everything into a plastic bag she’d carried for dirty clothes, and Mariah had one for hers, too. A young man came to pick them up and promised they’d be back by evening.

“We have a plane to catch tonight,” Mariah said.

“No problem, mademoiselle.”

Another man arrived on his heels, carrying a tray heavy with food and drink. There was a pitcher of red juice, bowls of melon and dates, oatmeal and a pot of tea, breads and pastries and nuts. “Merry Christmas,” he said. “I hope you will enjoy.”

“Henry!” Mariah said, admiring the table. “This is beautiful! Thank you.”

They gathered around the small table near the fountain.

The weather was cool but not unpleasant, and as they feasted, they chatted about what to do for the day.

Veronica gave Henry a package, which contained a properly aged–looking memento mori coin, and she could tell he was pleased.

He had gifts for each of them, too, a book on Ayurvedic medicine for Mariah, and a small brass rendering of a cat for Veronica.

“I’m so touched,” Veronica said, smiling.

Mariah held up her book. “Ayurvedic medicine?”

He shrugged. “You like alternative medicine. This is at least rooted in ancient current practice.”

“Huh. Well done. Thank you. What should we do today?” Mariah asked. “We should get out in Marrakech before we have to leave.”

“Agreed. Let’s go to the gardens,” Veronica said. “I can’t face any more eating.”

They both laughed. “Great idea. Henry, would you give us lessons in photography?”

“Can do,” he said. “I’ll bring a macro lens.”

“We can forget about Christmas entirely,” Veronica said.

“That was the whole point of being in Marrakech at Christmas,” Mariah said, and raised an eyebrow.

“Great plan,” Veronica said, and high-fived her. “Let’s go play tourist.”