2.18 The Abyss of WonderLand

There,” Chris said, suddenly stopping, although the music had not. “Was that painful?”

I glanced over at Timothy. A moment before we’d discussed my oatmeal churning indecision, but I saw that the porridge mess had clearly jumped to his face. Shades of jealousy, a touch of indignation, crossness, and stern self-control; his face was drawn so tight, he looked like he’d just had Botox injections.

Chris was still holding my hand. He walked me over to Timothy and handed me over to Timothy, like he was a father passing a bride to her new husband. Timothy didn’t object. He swung me up against me and nuzzled his lips on my neck.

“That was agony,” he said. “Sometimes my old-world mores fail to adapt to modern times. I did not like seeing you in the arms of another.”

“It was just a lesson. Or maybe, an advertisement?”

We were holding each other, once more lost in our own world. The stranger, Chris, cleared his voice again.

“Now, if you are ready,” he said. “I will begin my instruction with both of you.”

Chris turned to adjust his music system, then added, “Do you know how to position your lady, Mr. Caldwell?”

Our dance posture was the same configuration that I’d been in with Chris, but Timothy’s touch seemed completely different. I felt fused with Timothy, like we were somehow a unit. The way he was holding me felt like a caress that seemed not only right, but natural.

“Excellent. We have chemistry. That will make this lesson as easy as breathing,” Chris crooned.

I didn’t know about that. With his words, I stiffened.

“You are my soul, darling,” Timothy said. “Relax. I would no sooner hurt you than plunge a knife into my thigh.”

The gentle softness of Timothy’s words did allow me to relax. I was suddenly aware of the trust I felt for him. His words were a promise, an affirmation, and my body corresponded, giving into his touch.