Tired.

‘God, I’m so tired.’

My new husband – listen to that word, husband – my new husband pushed the car seat back from the wheel he’d been holding for the past three hours and rubbed both eyes with the heels of his hands. I purred slightly in the back of my throat.

            ‘I know. Right?’

The phrase ‘the cat who got the cream’ had been bandied about at the reception. My mother had been the first to say it in my hearing.

            ‘Darling, you just look so…so…satisfied’ she’d chirped.

            ‘Not yet, Mum!’ I didn’t say that out loud but that was definitely what fuelled my day-long, ear-to-ear grin. The Aunties pinched my cheeks and sighed for the passions of their youth while the Uncles resisted the urge to pinch anything and just sighed.

I pushed open the door of the car and stepped into the cool blue of the fading day. My dress, hitched up for comfort on the motorway, slithered sensually down my plucked and tanned, well-moistured thighs. The sparkles on my diamond (well, diamante) encrusted slippers peeped out below the hem. My elaborate, sprayed rigid coiffure ached for a damned good scratch and toss about. We were so close. So close.

Fifteen minutes later we sat on the edge of the bed, giggling like a pair of schoolgirls. The quick transition from desk to room was courtesy of our lateness. The clinks and murmurs from the dining room told of earlier arrivals. We’d eaten our fill at the buffet before we left in a hail of confetti, saucy suggestions and good wishes hours before. I was definitely hungry now but not for dinner. We would order from room service later. Hopefully much later.

            ‘Shall I get ready first?’

            ‘Mmmmmm’ my husband (husband!) toed off his shoes. ‘Don’t be too long. I’m really looking forward to getting into bed.’ He patted the mattress suggestively and winked.

I looked into the mirror, leaning on the marble counter to examine my face closely. First job – remove the make-up painstakingly applied so early this morning. It had lasted well but, close-up, showed traces of each proffered cheek, each kiss, each tear and innumerable glasses of sparkling wine. Second job – reapply enough to make me look fresh and appealing. He’d never seen me yet without my make-up and although the theme for tonight was naked, there were limits. Plenty of time for jaded and haggard in the years to come. 

Next job – remove all pins from nest of curls and give it a damned good shake. I bent forward from the waist and let my head hang down, fingers tousling through my hair. A flick back of the head as I stood up and there! Come-to-bed hair. So finally, and finally,  the lingerie. I’d spent so long on this. Online, in catalogues, at parties. Black, white, hint of red, lacy, racy, pants, no pants, short and tantalising or long and promising? I slithered the whisper of a thing over my head and felt it float around my skin; my skin which tingled in the slight chill of the evening and at the thought of the effect of my imminent grand entrance. 

One last look in the mirror. One last look at this girl who I’d never see again. This girl who chose to wait and paid the price. The boys who’d called her names and dropped her when they realised she meant what she said, but told their friends she did. The girls who’d laughed at her and called her frigid or a liar. It had been a long, long year of self-denial, self-discipline, yearning and whispered promises to one another and finally, finally they would do what she had wanted for so long. Her hand slipped slightly on the knob. She took a deep breath, girded her loins and opened the door. 

And there he was. Her husband. Her dream. Her hope for the future. Deeply, soundly, unrousably and snoringly asleep.