“Yes, of course,” she responded before turning to look at him with a quirkily raised eyebrow. “And you?”
“I have a beautiful woman on my arm, and the love of my family surrounding me,” he said in all seriousness. “What more could a man ask for?”
His own words resonated around his mind as they re-took their seats. For therewasmore that a man could ask for. He could ask for a life with this woman. He imagined it, waking up every day with her lying next to him, her midnight tresses spread upon his pillow as the sun peeked through the gap in the curtains, bathing her beautiful curves with its light.
His heart beat quickly as his mind wandered, watching her open her green eyes to smile up at him as she lifted herself from his bed and reached for him. His daydreaming had him leaning over her, kissing those delicious red lips as he could whenever he chose, for she was his wife, and would be with him for the rest of their days.
In his mind, Jeffrey made love to her, her gasps in his ear more real in this moment than the play which had resumed on the stage below them. As he imagined her writhing beneath him, he reached over in their reality and took her hand in his, tightening his grip as in the dream Jeffrey and Phoebe entered into the throes of ecstasy.
Afterward, they would go down to breakfast, where they would share intimate conversation — this was his dream, so he needn’t be concerned with the fact that they would likely have to share the breakfast table with his five siblings and his mother — and he would laugh at her wit before they both spent the morning together reading the papers of the day.
No, the papers were not something he should think of, as that only led him to consider the fact that there was still much upon which they disagreed. Not the papers, then. They would retire to the library, where they would share their secret affection for the latest Waverly novel.
There was Maxwell now, stretched out upon the rug that had cost a fortune and should not be collecting dog hair and muddy tracks, but of course Jeffrey could not bring himself to force Maxwell away.
Phoebe, sitting next to him on the settee, leaned in, and he was more than ready to bring those lips under his again, though he was content in simply staring at her, in hearing her laugh at something he had said.
The only thing that finally brought him out of his musings and back to the theatre was Phoebe’s hand on his arm, shaking him.
“Are you all right?” she whispered softly, her eyes wide and concerned.
He must have looked as though he were in pain, which he was in a sense, but not the type of pain she was imagining. It was pain of another sort — desperation and frustration over the fact that the vivid images in his mind only left him desperately desiring more.
Jeffrey gazed down at her now. His dream may have been just that — a dream, but the face that looked up at him, the woman who sat next to him with her warm hand on his arm, was as real as the woman in his mind. He could hardly believe it himself, but he thought maybe — just maybe — he was falling in love with her.
He leaned down toward her, his lips coming close enough to tickle to the top of her ear. The words were out of his mouth before he even had time to think of what he was saying.
“Marry me.”