Eleven
Jenny
Two years later
I weave my way through the bustling crowd, two paper plates clutched in my hands. Giant slices of hot pizza mock me as I go, the scent of warm, cheesy dough and oregano tickling my nose, but though I desperately want to, I don’t hunker down behind a stone wall and tear into them both like a wild dog.
Guess I’m too loyal for my own good.
The early evening sun is warm, the crowds noisy and colors bright. Gondolas float between stone streets, and shopkeepers chatter between their stalls.
My husband grins broadly when he glances up from his camera two minutes later, seeing me power-walk across a bridge back to his side.
“Hungry, sweetheart?”
I catch up to Lincoln and shove one of the plates at his chest. “Get that thing away from me. I nearly had an illicit affair with that pizza in an alley.”
Lincoln snorts, but he lets his camera hang from the strap around his neck, taking the paper plate from my hand. “I wouldn’t have blamed you, you know. And if I knew you wanted food, I’d have fetched some for us.”
Yeah, yeah, I know. Lincoln’s all about me being brave, facing down my anxiety demons, but since I’ve started showing, he’s suddenly determined to wait on me hand and foot. It’s sweet and all, and I’m sure I’ll milk it for all its worth once I’m further along and my feet hurt, but for now…
My independence was hard won. I’m enjoying every second of it.
I turn to face the water, tearing a bite off my pizza. Sweet, delicious heaven. Another gondola floats past, everyone on board wearing masks, and I watch with the kernel of a thought taking root in my brain.
“Did you get the shots you need of the festival?”
Lincoln grunts, chewing his own pizza.
“Is that a yes?”
He pretends to push me into the canal.
“So…” I rock back and forth on my toes, excitement clawing at my insides, and you know what? Two years ago, I would never have dared to ask this question, but things are different now. “Do you think you could get hold of one of those weird masks for tonight? They’re um. They’re pretty intriguing.”
And by ‘intriguing’, I mean I want my husband to wear one while he fucks me on our shadowed balcony.
Lincoln blows out a slow breath, and when I glance over, he’s scowling at me, eyes glittering with dark promise.
Score.
“I’ll buy one after this.”
“Thank you,” I say sweetly, popping a chunk of pizza crust in my mouth.
I wasn’t sure what to expect when we left our apartment to travel the world together. Probably not this. But you know what?
It’s pretty damn fun.
* * *