It had been two years since they'd seen each other. Two years since breaking it off for good after considerable struggle to stop. Neither wanted to end it; but the only thing harder than ending was continuing. The deceit, the guilt, the risk, it had all taken a toll. She'd gone on Xanax halfway through; he'd taken to sleeping on the leather couch in the second floor study. Having so much on the line, they came to a collective realization: it could end sadly, or it could end badly. With much turmoil and tears, they eventually decided on sadly.
But after the final break-up the fire still smoldered, and as they jockeyed over life's daily hurdles with partners they shared little true emotion, thoughts of their perfect encounters never left their minds. They knew it was unfair to compare relationships. As a couple, they'd never shouldered the burden of dealing with a child's angst or medical issues, never discussed money, never dealt with one another's shortcomings or personality quirks on a daily basis. Instead, they'd enjoyed a fairy tale relationship where only the surface of things mattered. Issues of deepest importance took a backseat to having fun and quenching their sexual thirst for each other.
Still, there was something about them as a couple--some chemistry that bubbled up when they were together--which made them believe they would have weathered life's storms with aplomb, even while dealing with the kid's issues, even if the personality quirks were on display each day. They'd have their stressful times, as all couples do; but they'd have their soothing nights too, where behind closed doors they'd regroup and recharge, fortifying each other, helping one another face tomorrow's challenges by loving each other so perfectly today.
As dumb luck would have it, or perhaps it was fate, their families were booked at the same high-rise hotel on Florida's Gulf coast during their kids' winter school break. It would have been more of a coincidence if they hadn't stayed at the hotel years earlier on a business trip; still it was a piece of good fortune.
It was on the morning of the second day while his wife and kids were at the beach when he spotted her. He'd been talking to the concierge about restaurant suggestions and for no apparent reason glanced over to the elevators just as she was coming from one. It was another piece of good fortune, or maybe a miracle.
She looked harried as she stopped in front of the elevator, exhaling a hard breath, blowing it up her face to remove the wispy bangs that had fallen into her eyes. He'd seen this gesture so many times before--as they worked on particularly perplexing law cases together, or talked of letting each other go---and he literally stopped in mid-sentence to stare at her.
She was wearing a sexy sundress he'd never seen before. It made him jealous, realizing her life had moved on without him, her beauty and sex appeal intact; and it made him long for her all the more. He looked her up and down, from head to toe. Her dark hair was in a messy bun, the dress hugged her slim hips seductively and she wore open-toed sandals that strapped high around her ankles. He couldn't tell from across the lobby, but figured her toenails were painted a girly shade of pink.
She caught his eye as the elevator doors closed behind her. He wondered if she'd pretend not to see him, look away, walk through the lobby as if the greatest coincidence in their history had not just happened. Instead, she rushed toward him like he was a magnet.
They embraced in the middle of the lobby with only enough words to figure the crazy coincidence, laughing about having agreed back then the hotel would be a good place for kids. And then, after establishing that their spouses and kids were unlikely to walk into the hotel, they embraced again.
It was ironic to hug openly in a hotel lobby. Unless they were traveling on business and had legitimate reasons to be together they'd never so much as entered a hotel at the same time before. They'd always built elaborate schemes of entering at different times, from different entrances, sometimes under assumed names, all designed to get them safely in a room together so they could make love for hours.
Here, in this hotel, the meeting was unplanned and innocent, so they figured they could explain the embrace if they got caught. "Oh, hi honey, this is Brian Walters. We used to work together at Cravath. He's here with his family..."
They tried keeping the second embrace as cordial as the first, but his hold on her skinny hips lingered as he smelled the suntan lotion on the nape of her neck. She let out a weak moan as he held her close and all his desires came flooding back in currents of lust. When she felt him swelling against her thigh, her next moan was weaker in resistance, and stronger in desire.
It had been two years. During that time, he'd done all he could to put their magical connection behind him. He put in even longer hours at work, spent considerable time with his daughter, began painting landscapes again in his makeshift studio out back; but no matter what he did to occupy his mind, he couldn't shake his true feelings. He was in love with her. When alone in the shower, to this day it was she he thought about.
She held him to her, remembering the incredible aliveness of his body as he nibbled at her neck. He had always known exactly how to touch her, when to be soft, when to be passionate, when to take her however he pleased. After a minute he pulled back and looked down at her body. Her breasts were full and rising against the lightweight fabric of her dress. He knew she was his, at least for this little while, just as she'd always been, in sync with his movements, thinking the same thoughts, wanting the same things. None of the passion between them had dissipated over time. If anything, their time apart had only heightened their longing.
He looked into her dark eyes and noticed they were beginning to shine as she batted her thick eyelashes.
"Don't," he said, squeezing her hands in his between their bodies.
"You never liked my emotions."
"I love your emotions, Mandy. I don't like what they do to me."
He looked down to her fingers entwined in his, saw them heavy with diamonds, as if they were anchors to keep her in place. He glanced away, hoping for something meaningless to look at. His eyes fell upon three pieces of Louis Vitton luggage in a corner of the lobby and he zeroed in on them while gathering himself. Then his eyes moved back to her.
"How's Dennis, and the boys," he said quickly.
"Everybody's fine. We're...fine. I'm meeting them now. Rebecca? Rachel?"
"Rachel's at the Nichol's School now. They're good with autistic kids. She's doing much better there."
"She's a special child. I've missed your stories about her. And...Rebecca? She's well?"
"Rebecca's fine. Rebecca's... ...well."
