Mrs. Montgomery laughed. “You, my dear new daughter, are going to have to face your husband alone. Just remember that the Montgomery bark is worse than the bite. Stand up to him. Give him a good long hard fight, then another good long time in bed, and you’ll be fine.”
Aria blushed.
“I have to go now. I have my own husband waiting for me in Maine. I hope the two of you come to visit very soon. Oh, by the way, were you actually suffering from morning sickness?”
“No,” Aria said, smiling. “But give me time.”
“The first one will probably be here before the year is out if I know my son. He’s always liked girls.” She kissed Aria’s cheek. “Now I really must go. Come see me soon.” She left the rest room.
“She’s not like my mother-in-law at all,” Dolly whispered. “That woman would never pour tomato soup over spaghetti.”
Aria looked toward the door. “Your American men do not deserve the women.”
“Uh-oh,” Dolly said, and ran to lean against the door as the first people reached it and began trying to enter.
“Grab your raincoat and climb out the window. I’ll hold them off. And you’re right about the women,” she called as Aria’s foot disappeared out the window.
J.T. was waiting for her.
“Of course,” he said before she was halfway out the window, “where else would I find my royal wife but climbing out the bathroom window?” He took her about the waist and helped her down. “You go shopping and you get arrested for shoplifting. Of course you’ve more than conquered that problem. All the shop owners in town now genuflect at the sight of you. You go to a ball and you humiliate me. You have my own mother prancing about half dressed.”
He led her to his car, opened the door for her, and she climbed in. As she waited for him to walk around the car, she stuck her hands in the pocket of her raincoat and found his pocket knife. Mrs. Montgomery must have put it there.
“This is not the way an American wife acts,” J.T. said as he opened the car door and got inside. “Nor is this the way a royal princess acts. Nobody acts as you did tonight.”
“You are right,” she said contritely. “This is a terrible dress for anyone to wear.” Very solemnly, she took the knife and cut the inch of ribbon that connected the two cups of the halter top, and exposed her breasts to the dark interior of the car. “And the skirt must go too,” she said, holding the knife at the slit and moving so her leg was exposed from hip on down.
J.T. started to speak, then he glanced out the back window. He was on her instantly, covering her body with his.
“I want to see you in the morning, Lieutenant Montgomery” came a man’s voice from outside.
“Yes sir!” J.T. replied, still covering Aria.
The admiral looked embarrassed at the intimate scene and walked away.
J.T. and Aria looked at each other then burst out laughing.
He kissed her passionately, his hand fumbling under her coat and searching for her breast. “You were great, baby, absolutely great.”
She kissed him back, moving her hands to the buttons on his dress uniform. “Was I? Better than your redhead?”
“She’s my secretary, that’s all.”
She pushed at him. “You kiss your secretary’s hand?” She was getting out of breath. He was tearing at her skirt.
“When she stays up all night typing a report for me, I do. What did you sew this with? Fishing tackle?”
His elbow hit the horn, making them both come to their senses. He looked at her, his eyes hot and hooded, then he rolled off of her and started the car.
Using the same techniques she had used to free herself from her kidnappers’ ropes, Aria wriggled out of the remnants of the Carmen Miranda dress so that she was nude under the raincoat.
J.T. drove too fast to reach their house and he must have cooled off some too because he started lecturing her again as soon as they were inside. “You don’t want to draw attention to yourself, yet you display yourself like tonight. This was not American behavior. This was not the behavior of my wife.”
She dropped the raincoat and stood nude before him. “Is this American? Is this the behavior of your wife?” she asked innocently.
He blinked a couple of times. “Not exactly, but it’ll do for the moment.” A split second later he was on top of her, knocking her to the floor. “I’m tired of fighting,” he whispered. “I’m going to enjoy what time we have together.”
They made love on the living-room floor, then J.T. carried her to the stairs and, in a contortionist’s nightmare, made love to her with her back against a stair tread. She began backing up the stairs and he followed. They finished on the floor at the head of the stairs, both of them out of breath, sweating, and limp with exhaustion.