"A big step."
He laughed. "Whose side are you on? Are you trying to turn me against you?"
"I'm just trying to make sure you stand up for yourself."
"You're always worried about that. Don't worry. I'm not a complete doormat."
"I didn't mean that. I just…I don't know. I'm not very good at this dating thing."
"I know that. Neither am I. I've done plenty of stupid things in my past relationships. I deserve a few karmic turnabouts. Of course, that doesn't mean I want this to become an ongoing thing, but one mistake…one mistake I can forgive. If I haven't had much practice dating, you've got to be even worse after, what, how many years of casual, uh, flings?"
"A lot," I replied vaguely. For some reason, I was reluctant to tell Seth my age.
He picked up on that, his eyes narrowing ruefully. "And right there. That's another thing. Almost worse than what happened. You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"You don't tell me things. Things about you. It's like you're afraid to show me who you are. But like I said, that's what love is. You open yourself up. I want to know you. I want to know everything about you. Sometimes I feel like no matter how strongly I feel about you…I still don't know you at all."
"I'm not very good at that part either," I said softly.
Seth pulled me into an embrace, crushing me against him. There was a fierceness in that motion, an unflinching sense of possession that stirred my blood. "You're my world right now, Georgina, but I can't go on with this…not if there's no honesty."
His tone was gentle and loving, but I heard the warning between the lines. I'd had my fuckup. The next time, I would not get such amnesty.
This terrified me a little, yet I was proud of him and realized I had a lot more to learn about him too. He had every right to be laying down the law. He was not a doormat. I regretted my mistakes, and while I was glad to be forgiven this time, I didn't want Seth to waste his life on me if I couldn't ever treat him right.
My young French lover, Etienne, had never recovered. I'd learned years later that he'd broken his engagement, staying forever single. He'd thrown himself into his painting, earning a small following. Several portraits of me—as a blond Josephine—still hung in private European collections.
Etienne had not been able to get me out of his system, and it had made a mess of him. I wanted things to work with Seth so badly. I wanted us to be together and be happy for as long as we could manage it. But if we couldn't, I didn't want him to waste his life on me as that young painter had.
"I love you," I murmured into Seth's shoulder, astonished when the words just slipped out. And I realized then just how much I meant them. He inhaled deeply and held me even tighter, and I felt the love pouring off of him, even with no spoken declaration. "I'm pretty sure I don't deserve you."
"Oh, my Thetis, you deserve a lot of things. And honestly"—he shifted around and studied me—"as much as it hurts…I'm sort of glad that you, you know, had that chance with Bastien."
I frowned. "That chance to be with a copy of you?"
"Well, no. That's still kind of weird. I mean the chance to have sex and, well, enjoy it. Every time I think about what you do on a regular basis…" He closed his eyes a moment. "I just envision you being raped over and over. And I hate it. It makes me sick. I'm glad you were with someone you cared about…even if it wasn't me. You deserve to have good sex for a change."
"You do too," I said, overwhelmed by Seth's nonstop selflessness. "And you know…if you ever wanted to find someone and just, well, have sex for the fun of it…well, you could. You know, just to fulfill the physical need. I wouldn't mind." I didn't think I would, at least. I uneasily recalled my slight jealousy over his correspondence with Maddie.
He looked at me seriously. "I don't have sex just to fulfill a need. Not if I can help it. Sex may not be a requisite part of love, but it is an expression of love. It should at least be with someone you care about."
The answer didn't surprise me. In fact, it suddenly reminded me of something. "Hey, I've got something for you."
Despite our dire romantic status, I had nonetheless chosen twenty of the best pictures Bastien had taken of me and had Hugh print them this week. I hadn't known until now that I'd actually be able to give them to Seth. I found them in my bedroom, bound with a pink ribbon.
"Your birthday present." I started to hand the pictures over.
"Wait," he said. He opened up the messenger bag he carried his laptop around in. A moment later, he offered me several sheets of paper. I gave him the pictures. We sat in silence, each of us studying our respective offerings.
For half a second, I thought he was sharing a manuscript after all. A few lines into it, I realized it was addressed to me. It was the writing he'd promised me a while back. The detailed exposition of all the things he wished we could do.
Reading it, I sort of lost track of the world around me. What he'd written was exquisite. Some of it was like poetry. A beautifully crafted ode to my beauty and my body and my personality that made my heart swell. Other parts were brazenly explicit. Hot and steamy. They made O'Neill and Genevieve's elevator look like a kindergarten classroom. I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks as I read.
When I finished, I looked up at him breathlessly. He was watching me, as the pictures had taken less time to peruse.
"I take it all back," he told me, holding up one of the shots. It showed me sitting crosswise in a chair, naked. My legs draped over the edge lazily, showing a nice view of my pink painted toenails. A hardbound copy of one of Seth's books sat on my lap. "Sex might be a requisite part of love after all."
I glanced down at the manifesto. "Yeah. It just might be."
We sat there a moment, then burst out laughing. He rubbed his eyes. "Thetis," he said wearily, "what are we going to do with ourselves?"
"I don't know. Do the pictures just make things worse?"
"No. They're wonderful. Thank you. They're a good way of having you…even if I can't have the real thing."
An idea slowly coalesced in my mind. The pictures just involved looking. Looking was safe. And one didn't just have to look at a two-dimensional image. "Maybe…maybe you can have the real thing." He gave me a quizzical look, and I hastily amended: "In a hands-off way. Come on."
"This seems dangerous," he said when I led him to the bedroom.
Sunset was filling the room with mood lighting. I pointed to a chair in the corner. "Sit there."
I moved to the opposite corner, hoping it was enough space.
"What are you— Oh." He bit off his words, swallowing. "Oh."
I slid my hands slowly up over my hips and breasts, over to the top button of my blouse. Slowly, deliberately, I unfastened the button. Then, just as carefully, I moved down to the next button. And the next. Then I unbound my hair, letting it fall messily over my shoulders.
A striptease is all about letting go of self-consciousness. And it's about pacing too, I supposed. Admittedly, doing a show in front of Seth, whom I loved, moved into a realm I felt a little unfamiliar with. Nervous energy twitched inside me, but I didn't show it on the outside. I was on the stage, and I moved through my steps with sultry confidence, watching my own hands sometimes and making eye contact with him at others. This was part of my gift to him. He obviously liked seeing my body, even if, for the moment, he watched like one frozen, eyes wide and face carefully controlled.
The blouse eventually fell to the floor, followed by the skirt. I'd had bare legs earlier today but had covertly shape-shifted on thigh-highs while we walked to the bedroom. Left only in those and a cherry-red bra and panty set made of satin, I languidly moved my body in smooth and alluring ways as I played with edges and straps.