“No,” he stated firmly.
“But, Pren –”
This time, he dropped his head and he kissed her silent.
That worked.
Just like it always did.
Her weight was resting fully against his body when he lifted his head.
“You want it,” he said, touching her lips with his again. “I want it.” He touched her lips again. “And the children want it. We’ve all lost enough. It’s time to move onto something better.”
“Okay,” she whispered, suddenly acquiescent, dropping her head, putting her cheek to his chest and snuggling close.
He held her for a long time.
Then he kept her in his arm as he reached for her glass, handing it to her.
Then he reached for his own.
They drank their wine together and silently watched the sea.
* * * * *
Fiona
You’re getting somewhere, Fiona told her husband as she floated, arse to the railing, beside Prentice and Bella.
Her husband didn’t answer.
You think you’ve cracked it, though, and you aren’t even close, Fiona continued.
Prentice showed no signs of hearing her.
Fiona leaned forward and whispered fiercely, Prentice, read her journals!
Prentice swallowed the last sip of his wine and put his glass on the railing next to Bella’s already empty one.
He turned Bella toward the door.
Brilliant, now Bella was leaving glasses outside. Fiona didn’t particularly relish the fact that Prentice took Bella outside in the first place, seeing as he never did that with her. But, she really didn’t relish both of them leaving the glassware to fend for their inanimate selves in the wild, Scottish elements.
Fiona put the glasses out of her mind and followed them.
She had bigger fish to fry.
Read her journals, read her journals, READ HER JOURNALS! Fiona shouted to Prentice.
They stepped over the threshold.
Fiona followed them.
When she did, she hit black.
Not her tent by the apple tree and the stream.
Black.