“J’ai vos petits-dejéuners. Où dois-je les mettre?”
“Là-ba, c’est bon, merci.”
Stepping aside, the young man let the employee pass through the doors with the cart. Delicious aromas wafted after, and he couldn’t help but wonder what was hidden under the silver covers. Following the elderly man inside, he watched as the grandfather noticed the young lady, who was still in bed and had only maintained her propriety by covering herself with the duvet. Bowing slightly, he wished her a good morning.
“Bonjour,” she said shyly. The old man smiled not unkindly.
“Excusez-moi pour dérangeant votre matin. Bonne journée, madame. Monsieur.”
When the door closed quietly behind him, she sat still for some time before whispering, “Do you think he knew?”
“Seeing from the saucy little look he gave me while leaving, I would presume so, yes.”
She groaned and covered her face with a pillow. Face flushed red, she couldn’t help but agonize. Not that she particularly cared for the old man’s opinion, but just thinking about how a complete stranger had known just what they had been up to in the early morning hours simply by glancing into the room mortified her. Did she really look that promiscuous?
Her husband gently peeled the pillow away.
“Don’t hide. Or else how am I supposed to see your pretty face?”
“He knows,” she moaned. “He knows…”
“Yes, and just think of how jealous he is, knowing he’s never had someone as lovely as you in bed with him all his life.”
She buried her face in his bare chest, and he laughed as he took hold of her shoulders. Smoothing her hair, he comforted her all the while trying not to let his amusement get the better of him.
“It’s really alright. Les français comprennent.”
“It’s just embarrassing,” she whined. “I don’t want anyone to know.”
“You certainly didn’t care last night whether anyone knew or not.”
“It’s not funny,” she mumbled. “You know how I feel about…about this kind of thing.”
He sobered. Of course he did. They had had long conversations about it, in which she had detailed her conflicting emotions on the topic. While she led others to believe she didn’t particularly care about sex, the truth of the matter was, she very much did care who she slept with. In her youth she had allowed others to use her body without much thought as to what the cost of every use would be. All her life, among all those she had engaged in sexually had been blank faces. None had ever been admitted emotionally the same way they had been physically, so in a way, the previous night, she had been a kind of virgin too. All this he had known long before even their engagement because she had told him one night when she had frightened him with her sudden tears, and it was because of that memory that he tightly embraced her.
“Thank you, Cera. Truly.”
“For choosing me. I love you, sweet pea, and I promise you’ll never live another day without being reminded of how much you mean to me. Of how much I love you.”
Sniffling, she let him dry her tears. Stooping down, he kissed her long and hard. It was a chaste kiss in spite of its length, but it was all she could have asked for, and she felt comforted by it and him and his words and gentle touch.
“Now how does some breakfast sound to you? Since the Negresco was so insistent on interrupting our lovely morning with an old man and his trolley.”
“It sounds nice.”
Wrapping her silk robe around her shoulders, he kissed her forehead.
“Then lettuce begin our lives together with some BLT’s. Or whatever it is that they brought us. I have no idea, to be quite honest. A part of me thinks that they brought the cart to the wrong room. The French can be quite bad with numbers, you know.”
“Oh, you’re horrible.”
“Sorry. It’s just the British in me.”
Giggling, she nudged him. He grinned at her, glad to see her smiling again. Taking her hand, he led her towards the brilliant morning waiting outside, where together they stepped out onto the terrace to enjoy their first morning as the other’s dearly beloved.
. . .
A/N: And yes, there will be a continuation of their wedding night, I just wanted to get this out of the way while I had it in my head. And writing smut all the time is hard, no pun intended.