Author's Notes: Thanks for all who gave feedback to the previous chapter, I really appreciate it. We're almost home, my dears! One more chapter after this one!

13.

"With such thoughts to distract me, the journey was accomplished in less time than I had expected..."

~

We took the ceremony from the Book of Common Prayer. I'd found an older edition of it in the library, strangely enough, tucked in among some obscure and mostly useless German publications on ostraca. Rick objected, complaining that the formality of the language made it too hard to follow; he insisted that he wasn't going to agree to any vows whose meaning he wasn't entirely clear on.

Over the course of one long, hot night, during which he changed his mind back and forth at least half a dozen times, I managed to persuade him. In hindsight, I think he put on a show of being more reluctant than was really the case. Which was fine, since I certainly relished the challenge.

Once he declared himself thoroughly convinced, we really got down to business, deciding what should stay and what had to go. We left out the bit about my having to obey, since I didn't find that particularly fair; I wouldn't have minded so much if we'd both had to say it, but I knew Rick would never go along with that. Instead, we both agreed to love, honour, and cherish, and left it at that.

Rick quite rightly pointed out that he was expected, in addition to everything else, to endow me with all his worldly goods--or, as he phrased it: "Says here I have to give you all my stuff."

"Rick, I am all your 'stuff'," I teased, grinning at him. We were stretched out side by side on my bed, propped on our elbows, with the book lying open in front of us.

He slipped an arm around me. "Baby, you're my best stuff."

The bed being rather small, it was extremely close quarters, but I don't think either of us particularly minded. It was also bare, having been stripped of blankets and sheets during the course of the day's activities. Propriety had been all but abandoned by this time; we'd spent most of the day in my room, with the door locked, alternately talking over the mechanics of the ceremony and being distracted by one another.

I'd never expected it would be like this. Most of what I'd read or heard on the subject proclaimed the whole process rather perfunctory, and the woman's role a passive one. My experience thus far had belied--no, effectively shattered--both of these assumptions. It was as though I'd jumped from a precipice, expecting to fall, hoping Rick would be there to catch me... only to discover I could fly.

I never knew what it would be next: I was entranced, finding myself entirely at the mercy of the subtle splendour of his body. I'd never thought of men as being beautiful before I met him, but they were, and he most of all. And so I would become captivated by the set of his broad shoulders, or the way the sunlight gilded a lock of his hair; or his arm or leg might brush against mine, quite accidentally, and one of us would shiver; or else our eyes would meet knowingly, and then we'd be off on another exciting adventure, exploring the wonders of God's architecture. Sometimes we'd put the lights out, using our other senses to guide us; other times we'd leave them on, like the first time, and discover all manner of wonderful things about one another.

"Now, no more distractions." I swatted him away half-heartedly and rolled onto my back, clutching the book.

It certainly didn't help that, after the latest of our series of encounters, we'd both declared ourselves too exhausted to go to all the trouble of dressing again, and now wore only what personal modesty demanded (my personal modesty, since Rick had none whatsoever and would quite happily have spent the entire afternoon without wearing a stitch, if I hadn't requested that he at least put trousers on).

"We really ought to read this all the way through at least once..." I asserted. Determined not to let any part of him catch my eye, I turned my head in the other direction and found myself staring at my open closet, the hem of my white gown peeping reproachfully out at me. "D'you think I should get a new dress?" I asked.

"What? Now? Why?"

"Well... you know." I didn't even have the grace to blush about it any more. Or the energy, quite honestly.

I felt, rather than saw, his shrug. "I don't think it matters," he said frankly. "The only person whose opinion you give a damn about is Jonathan, and he knows we haven't been in here all day playing cards."

"Especially since he's got the cards," I added. The last time I'd seen my brother, he was hiding away in his own bedroom with cotton batting stuffed in his ears, playing Solitaire and drinking himself into an amiable stupor. I wasn't sure if he was still about, or if he'd taken himself off to points elsewhere for the evening.

"Not my fault you can't be quiet," remarked Rick nonchalantly, hooking one foot over my ankle. We were in constant contact now, peculiarly possessive of each other's bodies in a way we hadn't been before. "I barely touch you and you scream."

I gave a wordless cry of indignation.

He chuckled. "See?"

I smacked his bare shoulder with the book. "I should never have given in to you. You're insufferable!"

"Uh, 'given in'?" he repeated incredulously. "Since when did you give in? You lured me into your bedroom by pretending to be asleep--"

"You don't have to keep harping on it--"

"And then you seduced me..."

"I did no such thing!" I rolled over and shoved him off the bed. He landed on the floor with a sound thump. "That's it. Out. Out, out, out, I'm not having you in my room a second longer, you horrid man."

"You want me to go back to bunking with Jonathan? Fine. Don't ask me how I'm gonna explain all these bite marks." He looked down at his chest, then grinned up at me. "Maybe I'll tell him I was mauled by a jackal."

I hit him in the face with a pillow, then stretched out on my back, the open book clasped to my chest. "I don't have time to have another dress made," I sighed.

Rick climbed back up onto the bed, reclining next to me on his side. He draped one arm across my waist and pulled me closer. "Buying a new dress would be like admitting we did something wrong," he told me. "I don't think we did. Do you?"

I gazed up at him. "No," I breathed.

"Good."

He leaned down to kiss me, but I put the book between my face and his before he had the chance. "Read," I told him. "We're almost finished."

Yeah, yeah." He laid the book open just near my shoulder, so that he had to lean over me to read, and then shifted his weight until I was effectively pinned between him and the bed. Unmistakably the opening gambit in what could turn into a very interesting game. "Okay, let's see..."

"The bit that starts, With this ring," I prompted absently, suddenly admiring the lovely golden curve of his jaw as though I'd never seen it before.

"Right. With this ring I..." He stopped reading as I reached up to touch him, trailing my fingers along his jawline to his chin. "Um, wasn't it you who said no distractions?"

I withdrew my hand.

He grinned, and foxfire flared in his eyes. "I didn't say stop."

I resumed my playful little investigation as he began again. "With this ring I thee wed..." His eyes drifted closed as my fingertips gently brushed his mouth. "Evie," he murmured, breath warm against my hand.

"Keep reading..." I pressed, although we both knew he'd never make it.

"With my body... I thee... worship... okay, sounds like a plan." He tossed the book over his shoulder; I heard it smack against the far wall. And I didn't particularly care. It's difficult to maintain interest in preparing for a wedding when one is getting an early start on the honeymoon.

I finally hit upon the brilliant idea of enlisting Jonathan to act as our mock officiator, thus quashing any possibility of our own particular brand of procrastination. This solved one problem, although it created another, as we both became somewhat irritable. Rick did a lot of pacing, and I did a lot of talking. At one point I had to sit on both my hands to keep from biting my fingernails. We argued with each other and Jonathan over trivialities--who was to sit or stand where, whether we needed to go all out and pantomime the walk down the aisle or simply rehearse the bits we actually had to say, and so forth.

After going over the ceremony a couple of times verbally, Jonathan began to get rather sick of us. I had to keep reminding him that he needn't read the bit about obeying, because I wasn't going to say it. Rick began inserting decidedly non-traditional things into his pretend vows, seeing whether I would catch him promising to take me "in sickness, and hung over," and so on. He also kept trying to move his hands to less respectable areas of my person whenever he thought Jonathan wasn't looking--which is all very fine and well if you're subtle about what you're doing, but Rick is not a particularly subtle man. (His claim that I started it, by means of a series of suggestive looks, is of course patently ridiculous.) When slapping his hand away didn't work, I had to resort to pinching him--although that didn't work particularly well either, since he quite enjoys it, for reasons I still can't fathom. Finally I stamped on his foot, which produced a funny low growl. He didn't say much after that, but the way he looked at me suggested that he'd already surpassed the limits of his patience.

I was feeling rather harried myself by this time, and I didn't protest when Jonathan declared himself quite disgusted with the pair of us, and announced that he was off to spend the night with a friend. Whether the friend was male or female, I saw no reason to inquire, having learned through experience that there was very little to be gained by prudery, save a good deal of frustration. Besides, when all was said and done, it was quite nice having the entire suite to ourselves, rather than being confined to my little set of rooms--although I must confess that, once Jonathan had left, there was little variation in the way we occupied ourselves.

Quite simply, we couldn't get enough of each other--an extremely distracting state of affairs, but also a very pleasant one, as long as the outside world left us alone to play the game of love to our hearts' content.

The night before the wedding, when I wanted to go over the ceremony just one last time for comfort's sake, Jonathan locked himself in his room and flatly refused to come out. He wouldn't even let Rick in, which caused quite a commotion because Rick refused to spend the night in my room, stubbornly insisting that it was bad luck (the emphasis is his own) for him to see me before the wedding. I pointed out--quite reasonably, considering the ridiculous tenor of the entire discussion--that it was only bad luck if he saw me in the dress. Rick was adamant, citing the last time I'd ignored superstition, which I didn't think was particularly fair, since he'd been just as eager as I to delve into the mysteries of the black book.

We both did quite a bit of shouting after that, drawing on the reserves of energy that would otherwise have been dedicated to... well, to making one another shout, I suppose, but in a very different context. In the end, I decided I didn't particularly want him in my room, and, since Jonathan had taken himself and his cotton batting off to bed, Rick slept on the settee.

I was woken up bright and early by my disgustingly chipper brother, who insisted on dogging my every step. I later found out that he had received strict orders from Rick, to see to it that I didn't do anything that might bring the much ballyhooed bad luck (presumably in the form of frogs, flies, locusts, and so forth) raining down upon us.

Men... honestly.

Upon catching me checking my reflection in the looking-glass, Jonathan tweaked my ear mercilessly, and made me put another pin in my hair without looking to see where it went, saying that it was even bad luck for me to see myself. I was beginning to feel quite the walking plague by this time. He drove me straight to the church as soon as I was dressed, refusing to let me out of his sight for a second. He also took a sixpence from his pocket and made me put it in my shoe, and when I managed to shake it out, he caught me and put it back himself.

It was a very small ceremony: just Jonathan, a few old friends of our parents' who still resided in Cairo, and one or two members of the staff at the Museum. I wore the white dress, after all. Rick wore his newly-tailored suit, and looked wonderful, all golden-skinned and handsome. Jonathan wore... something, I assume, I hardly glanced at him. When the minister asked who gave this woman, I half-expected my exasperated brother to turn round and yell, "Here, you can bloody well take her!" and give me a hearty shove down the aisle. He was very nice about it, though, simply saying, "I will," and giving my hand a squeeze as he placed it into the minister's. I actually think he might have been crying, a little, although he claimed afterward that he was coming down with a cold.

The minister directed Rick to repeat after him: "I, Richard..."

Rick couldn't stop staring at me. "You look fantastic," he blurted.

Jonathan clapped a palm to his forehead.

I smiled, shook my head, and replied, "Thank you. Although you could stand to work on your timing."

He grinned.

The minister's bland brow acquired a subtle crease. "I, Richard..." he said again, louder.

"I, Richard..."

"...take thee, Evelyn..."

"...take thee, Evelyn..."

I wasn't nervous, but Rick seemed a bit rattled; when it came time to place the ring on my finger, he fumbled and dropped it, inserting a couple of words into the ceremony that were definitely not to be found anywhere in the Book of Common Prayer. If it weren't for Jonathan's keen eye for valuables--he boasts that he can spot gold at twenty paces, and on this occasion he certainly proved himself--I don't know that we'd have ever found it again. I think the minister thought we were all a bit cracked by this time, but the rest of the ceremony went off without much trouble. The dreaded bad luck never materialized, and I didn't cry, which I'd worried about--I'd discovered in the course of recent events that I usually tended to cry at the most inappropriate moments.

I also didn't faint, thank heaven, although there was one awful instant when I thought I was going to. When the minister solemnly pronounced us man and wife, and it hit me that we'd really done it, that we were married, my head began to swim, my knees buckling momentarily. It could have been the heat of the day, I suppose, or the stale air of the little chapel, or simply the fact that I hadn't eaten. Whatever it was, it passed without my having to be slapped by anyone, which was a mercy. I had a feeling that my new husband, as gentle as he could be when it suited him, would probably belt me a good deal harder than Jonathan usually did in trying to bring me around.

Rick, rock-steady as ever, was my support, and if he noticed me wobbling when we shared our first kiss as a married couple, he didn't say a word about it.

The reception was even smaller, and consisted of Jonathan and a couple of my father's friends going out and getting thoroughly pie-eyed in our honour. Neither of us had wanted much of a fuss, and we certainly didn't need a party or gifts or anything of the sort, really. One of my father's oldest friends, Mr. Carter, had generously established a small exploration fund through the Museum, in our names--our name, O'Connell, a thought that tickled me to no end--and that was more than enough.

Jonathan let us have the use of his car--something I've never known him to do for anyone. He did, however, refuse to have it decorated or to let anyone tie anything to the back, which was a relief, since I didn't particularly relish driving about Cairo with things clanking and clattering behind us, and people tooting their horns and shouting.

Rick drove quite responsibly--a surprise in itself!--but seemed even more stoic than usual. I didn't notice it at first, since I was busily making plans for the day:

"First we need stop at the hotel so I can get out of this dress before it gets ruined... we must finish packing for the train... and then we've simply got to find somewhere to eat--I'm famished! I couldn't eat a single thing this morning, my stomach was all over butterflies... are you hungry, Rick? Rick...?"

He didn't even look at me. We'd only been married an hour--I had the ring and the dress to prove it--and he was already ignoring me. It was undoubtedly a new world record.

"Rick!"

He swerved and came within inches of running over a perfectly innocent fruit vendor, slamming on the brakes at the last possible instant. "What are you yelling for?" he demanded.

"You didn't hear a word I said, did you?"

The fruit vendor, meanwhile, was fervently giving thanks to Allah and edging away from the front of the car.

"I was thinking about something. Why, what'd you say?"

I could have smacked him. "It's not important what I said! You weren't listening to me!"

Rick looked completely mystified. "If it wasn't important, who cares whether I was listening or not?"

"Ooooooh!"

He backed the car into the street and we zipped onward, passing through an intersection without even slowing.

"It isn't a race, you know," I reminded him.

He slowed down until we were practically at a crawl.

I sighed. "Don't be juvenile."

He pulled up sharply in front of the hotel and hopped out of the car without troubling to open the door. I told him quite plainly that he was going to ruin that suit if this sort of thing went on. He turned, planted his feet, and opened his mouth to start bawling in his inimitable fashion--when he suddenly got a sort of startled look, and then burst out laughing.

I got out of the car on my side, slammed the door shut, and began to walk away in dignified silence. I refused to make a scene in the street. Unfortunately, as I discovered a few steps later, I'd been in such a hurry that I'd trapped the back of my dress in the car door. I tried to reach around and free myself, but found I'd been most effectively pinned. Short of ripping my dress in two, I didn't seem able to manage it.

Rick laughed doubly hard when he realized what I'd done.

I glared at him over my shoulder. If this sort of thing continued, he'd be spending his wedding night on the settee.

He finally had the courtesy to stop enjoying my humiliation and come round to help me. Of course, he flung the door open with such force that I tumbled over onto the sidewalk. As he reached down to pull me up, he was still chuckling.

"I don't see what's so amusing." I folded my arms, tacitly refusing his help.

"I--you--it just hit me, Evie. While we were arguing. We sound... married."

"We do?"

"Yeah. I like it," he admitted. He flashed me such a warm smile that all my irritation melted away and evaporated, and all that was left was a lovely misty feeling.

"So do I," I told him, and raised my hands for him to help me to my feet. Instead, though, he swept me up into his arms and carried me into the hotel, through the lobby, and past several staring patrons.

"Rick, put me down!" I whispered frantically. "Everyone's watching us!"

"So? Let 'em." For someone who claims not to be romantic, Rick is quite fond of grand gestures, especially when there happens to be an appreciative audience present. The men we passed seemed rather alarmed--but the women, I noticed, looked either amused or envious. "You only do this once," he added.

I grinned. "Speak for yourself."

"Don't make me drop you..."

I slid both arms around his neck and kissed him soundly, and everything around us faded away. He was right, after all. We were only going to do this once. We might as well enjoy ourselves.

I don't remember the flight of stairs that he must have carried me up to get to the suite; I also don't recall how we managed to get the door open, since all four of our collective hands were otherwise occupied. But I do remember that later--it was a good while later, as I recall--he remarked, "Well, I got you out of the dress before it got wrecked, just like you wanted."

"You were listening, after all," I murmured. I wondered at what point clothing had become entirely superfluous to our relationship, decided I didn't care, and snuggled happily against his broad back, hugging him round the waist.

"Guess so. Still hungry?"

I nipped affectionately at the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

"Guess so!" he repeated, laughing. "Okay, Mrs. O'Connell, better get dressed before you start knawing on my leg."

I debated whether to rise to the implicit challenge, but I really was quite ravenous with hunger. Rick, on the other hand, didn't seem in any great hurry: I was fully clothed in the time it took him to put socks and underpants on. I climbed up on the bed and shoved him off it with both feet, then waited there impatiently while he wandered about looking for clothes. He was doing it deliberately, of course, reasoning that if he took long enough to dress, I'd forget about all about food and pounce on him. I was getting to know his little tricks, just as he was beginning to catch on to mine. I opened my mouth, intending to tell him that this was not on, that we were going out to eat whether he wanted to or not, but what came out when I started to speak was something else entirely.

"Say it again," I urged.

He glanced over at me, amused. "Say what, honey?"

"What you just called me."

"Honey?" He stepped into his trousers and did them up.

"No, before that."

He frowned, and then confusion gave way to recognition. "Get used to it, Mrs. O'Connell," he remarked, smiling.

Hearing it gave me tingles all over. "Again."

"Again?" He shot me a look.

"Oooh, go on. Please?"

He was in the process of buckling his belt. "Mrs. O'Connell..." he repeated. Then, after a moment, "That really does it for you, huh?"

"Mmmm, absolutely."

"Should I even bother?" he asked, indicating his shirt.

"Darling, if I try to go on without anything to eat--" I threw myself across the bed melodramatically, the violence of the action making my head spin. "I'm going to faint dead away." I opened my eyes to find him leaning over me. "This," I informed him, indicating my supine posture, "is not an invitation."

"Could've fooled me."

He captured my mouth with his own before I could reply. I didn't respond immediately, but he was very assiduous, and before long I began to waver. Another hour or so wouldn't kill me, after all... My stomach growled loudly in protest, and Rick left off kissing me, laughing.

"Okay, okay, I get it." He ran his hand over my midsection. "No food, no nookie."

I smacked his arm. "Don't be vulgar."

"So it's okay to do it, but not to talk about it?"

I made a face. "You could use nicer terms..."

"That's the nicest one I can think of," he admitted. I had no doubts about his honesty; over the past week, I'd heard him refer to the activity in question as 'fooling around', 'going again', 'hitting the sheets', 'practicing', and the ever-popular, '...you know'.

"Why not just call it what it is, Rick?"

He regarded me dubiously. "Sex?"

"Lovemaking." I smiled.

He made a face. "That just sounds corny. Who do you think I am, anyway, Rudolph Valentino?"

"Oooooh." I pushed him off me. He'd had his chance, and he'd missed it. "Not even close."