So that was the end of our getting reacquainted (intimately at least.) Timothy growled at Bob, then unfastened his arms from around my cracked vertebra.
“Are you okay, darling?” my husband asked, and of course, I nodded, grateful for breath again. (Really, we do ignore respiration’s advantages. Breathing is such a luxury that we normally just take for granted.)
Sweeping me to the side, away from Bob, Timothy turned his attention to the queens. “Your Majesties,” he said bowing politely, although he didn’t bother to mask his silent rage.(I assume the queens could see how his facial muscles had pulled tight, his mouth veered downward, and his eyes had taken on the dark flare that turned them scary.)
“But I just wanted Penelope to know how much we missed her and love her,” Bob whined.
This time, Terry growled, drawing my eyes. Terry’s whiskers and facial hair were shadowing in with his aggravation with Bob, displaying more clearly his werewolf heritage.
Sometimes I believed that the males were best friends. At other times, like at that moment, I wondered if Terry even liked his co-guard who he was constantly shepherding through life.
Daniel and Ben were standing back, not participating in either greetings or confrontations, but they were there for me (or for Timothy,) so I waved to them and mouthed a silent thank you.
Bob, being Bob, was not constrained by the look Timothy sent his way, nor at Terry’s growl. “You love her, too,” Bob said, staring at Terry. “Why don’t you just admit it?”
“Enough,” Timothy roared. “Bob, remember your place. Penelope is grateful for your greeting, I suppose, knowing her habitual sweetness concerning your strangeness, but cease this discussion. Admire my wife from a distance, a distance that does not involve hugging her. Terry, deal with him, if you can. I have other matters to contend with.”
A slightly subdued Bob stepped further away, but he gave me a quick wink as he did so. I hoped Timothy didn’t observe that. He was already close to his breaking point with the Bob situation. If I didn’t keep pleading for Timothy not to fire the guy, I was sure that Bob would already be gone.
As if that matter had been sufficiently dealt with, and taking my hand in his, with a gentle kiss to let me know that he loved me, Timothy turned to face the queens.
“I thank you profoundly, Queen Moragana for coming to my wife’s rescue,” Timothy said. “I see that my young bride is uninjured and was seemingly not ill-treated outside of being kidnapped and stolen from my arms, although I do wonder at the gown she’s wearing.”
I looked down at the dress and noticed once more that it was smeared with dirt, grease, and food stains. It was also torn in several places, probably from sliding across the floor and or tripping over the excess material of it while trying to creep/crawl under the table. Of course, Timothy probably didn’t take note of its insipid color and styling. But the whole dirty gown (and me) made it clear why Timothy’s nose had wrinkled in distaste when he looked down to examine my costume.