"I'm so glad you liked it. Do you want to sit around the fire and talk, dear?" She flavored the term of endearment once more. "Dear."
The robot server had begun to remove the dishes from the table. Simon stood up and was followed by Jane-Marie into the sunken living room, where he began to pile wood and kindling on the andirons in the raised-hearth fireplace. As she bent to watch him, the décolleté hostess gown revealed a breathless amount of lovely white skin. "Maybe we'll retire after that," Simon said, trying not to sound the way he felt, which was more than mildly lecherous.
Jane-Marie smiled a secret, small-girl smile and pulled him down on the cushion in front of the hearth, on which a bright fire was now crackling. "It's so good to have you home, darling, all to myself. Will your work keep you away much? I hope not."
"To tell you the truth, I'm on vacation."
"That is nice," Jane-Marie murmured dreamily. "And flattering, too, because you selected me to share your vacation."
"Could it be anyone but you?" Simon said. "As if it could be anyone but you." Which was perfectly, beautifully, delightfully true—for three weeks. "You married rather young, I see."
Jane-Marie stroked his temples with long fingers. "Oh, now, don't be so sure," she smiled. "Maybe I'm older than I look."
"No. You're about twenty. I guess you like marriage."
"I love it. It's too early to tell, but—well, it agrees with me."
"I'm glad."