Sandra woke the next morning and frowned, the room was still very dark, and she had no idea what time it was. Having no windows in the room certainly did make it easy to sleep. The soft sounds of her husband beside her made her smile, then cringe a little as she stretched her sore legs and arms. Being this man’s lover certainly made her realize how much she needed to strengthen her muscles, especially for encounters like their wedding night.

She glanced up at the clock on the bedside table. It was ten after seven and she realized the reason she had woken so early. She moved the covers aside as carefully as she could, so not to wake Creighton, then padded barefoot and naked into the bathroom, feeling her way through the darkness. She closed the door quietly behind her and flipped on the switch, blinking her eyes to adjust to the light. After using the loo and brushing her teeth, Sandra realized she was now wide awake. Going back to bed would only cause her to toss and turn waiting for Creighton to wake up. Instead, she decided to go downstairs and familiarize herself with her new surroundings and allow her husband to sleep. A rare occurrence for him.

Stepping to the walk-in wardrobe between the bathroom and bedroom, she found her burgundy leather luggage she had brought to France with her. The same ones that had been ransacked at the hotel in Cote d’Azur. Creighton had managed to get her belongings back from the police, just as he had promised he would. She lifted the larger of the two and sat it on a small chair inside the closet. She searched through all of the clothes she thought she had lost, even the ones Creighton bought her their first day together.

Sandra found the soft dark blue pants that she liked so well from the hotel’s shop and slipped into them, smiling wickedly when she pulled them up across her naked bottom. Going without panties was becoming a habit, but one she was happy to experience, if for no other reason than the reaction of her new husband.

Sandra looked in the pockets of the case and found her brush, hair ties, and her kindle with the charger. She lifted the small black device up and frowned. She had completely forgotten about having it. Cathy had given it to her as a present the day before she left for her trip. Sandra spent an entire day downloading all her favorite books to it. She read it the entire trip to France and the first two days at the beach. How could she have so easily forgotten about it?

She took the kindle, converter, and charger and found her favorite yellow tee-shirt and slipped it across her bare breasts before closing the bag and setting it back down. Sandra pulled her hair into a ponytail at the back of her head and padded quietly back into the bedroom, leaving the light on in the bathroom so she wouldn’t kill herself walking around in the dark. Creighton was still asleep, lying on his stomach, his hands beneath the thick pillow above his head. He looked so comfortable and relaxed and the desire to wake him was strong, but she needed time to herself as much as he needed the sleep.

The main floor of the large flat had a homey feeling to it. It was very warm and inviting and Sandra found herself smiling as she went into the kitchen and fixed a cup of tea. The tranquility embraced her like a warm blanket and she quickly began to settle in. Taking a cheese Danish from a dish on the countertop, she made her way back into the living room, sitting on the sofa where she had made love with her husband the previous evening. She plugged her kindle into the adapter before finding the wall outlet and pulled the small brown throw from the foot of the sofa, across her legs, then settled in to catch up on her first love…reading.

Sandra shuffled through her downloaded books until she decided on her well-read favorite, Pride, and Prejudice. She flipped to her favorite section of the book when Elizabeth was advised that Lydia had eloped and with a few sips of her hot tea, she began to read.

Nearly forty minutes later, the sounds of the bedroom door closing brought Sandra out of her trance of Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet in time to see the bare-chested, barefooted image of her husband emerge, a pair of worn blue jeans hanging at just the right angle across his firm hips. He smiled as he descended the stairs and walked to where she sat, looking rugged and sexy with his messy hair and the dark shadow of a morning beard across his handsome face.

“This is a sight I could get used to,” he teased, leaning over her and kissing her lips gently. He tasted of minty toothpaste and Creighton. A combination she found hard to resist.

“What’s that?” she asked trying to distract her current train of thought.

“My wife. Relaxed and comfortable, alone on my old sofa as though she’s enjoying herself. You look beautiful in the morning by the way.”

He winked at her before turning and padding across the floor to the kitchen, leaving her to watch his departing derriere with a tingle of excitement.

“Are you hungry?” he asked opening the fridge and retrieving the carton of organic orange juice. Sandra closed the case of her kindle and set it on the coffee table before joining him in the kitchen.

“I thought your mom was making brunch?”

“She is, but we still have a couple of hours. I don’t want you starving to death before we get there.”

“I think I can survive for two hours. Besides I had a pastry.”

Creighton laughed handing her a glass of juice and leaned his hip against the edge of the granite counter.

“Since you aren’t hungry for food, maybe I could convince you into coming back to bed? Or are you too sore this morning?”

“I am very sore, thank you, but that was your goal if I recall,” she smiled at the feigned expression of hurt from her accusation, causing her to laugh.

“Well, if you want to rest a bit, we can discuss some business,” he suggested, swallowing the bittersweet juice.

“Like what?”

“Michelle sent us a list of gifts that have arrived, and we need to sort through what we want and decide on what to do with the rest.”

“We need to write out thank you cards as well.”

“I have a staff to do that,” he groaned. Spending the next week penning responses wasn’t his idea of fun.

“But it’s something we need to do ourselves,” she insisted. “Those people took the time to send the presents, the least we can do is thank them.”

“You don’t even like presents, so there’s no real need in thanking anyone for them.”

“I’m not immune to the idea of receiving gifts. I like them as well as the next woman.”

“Just not from me?”

His hurt look was genuine as he turned his gaze to her, making her feel guilty for the direction their conversation was steering.

“I don’t like you spending thousands of dollars…or pounds, or euros…whatever, on me in a single day. We can do the shopping together and choose what to buy as a couple, but I won’t object to presents on my birthday, Christmas or anniversary.”

“Agreed,” he said with a nod. “But remember, you said so.”

Creighton sat his glass aside and pulled her into a warm embrace, kissing her softly before taking her by the hand and leading her back to the sofa, where he took her kindle and logged onto it, pulling up his personal email.

They spent the next hour discussing the presents and deciding what to keep and what to donate. So far, they had received two toasters, a blender, three sets of fine china, a set of twelve crystal goblets, four sets of towels, three sets of bedsheets, an assortment of picture frames, knick-knacks and kitchen utensils as well as matching bathrobes and slippers, a set of luggage and a gourmet set of pots and pans. These along with over fifteen thousand pounds in gift cards, gift certificates, and money, made Sandra feel overwhelmed.

“Still want to send those cards ourselves?” he asked with a knowing smile. Sandra felt the color tint her cheeks as she shook her head.

“It would take us a year to get through all of them.”

“And that’s just the tip of the iceberg,” he sighed. “Michelle said they are still receiving gifts, that the office hasn’t had a chance to inspect yet.”

“Is there any way of putting a stop to it? I mean, can’t we just say no more presents. Maybe ask that people make a donation to a good cause or something?”

“We can do that. I can have my publicity department send out a press update. We just need to decide on which organization you’d like the donations to go to.” Sandra thought for a moment as Creighton logged out of his email and shut the small device off, before setting it back on the table in front of them.

“What about Save The Whales or something eco-friendly,” she suggested. “It would go with your company design.”

“We could do that, but it may be best to suggest a second organization as well. Just in case someone doesn’t like whales.”

“I read an article a few months ago about a children’s hospital in London. Could we suggest that?”

“Yes, I think that would be a great idea.”

Sandra sighed as she laid her head against his shoulder. She loved the ordinary, simple feeling of sitting on the sofa beside her husband just talking. It gave her a tingle of excitement as she thought about their future.

“Are you too sore for a little diversion before we have to leave?” he asked, kissing the top of her head and causing her to laugh.

“That all depends on what you have in mind, but I do have a secret to tell you.”

“Yeah, what’s that?” he asked standing and pulling her to her feet.

“I’m not wearing any panties again and I don’t plan on putting them on the rest of the day.” Creighton laughed as he bent over, taking her chin in his forefinger and thumb and lifting her face to look into his.

“You are definitely getting braver,” he whispered.

“I thought you liked clothing that was accessible?”

“I do, very much and the thought of your bare bottom rubbing against that soft material all morning makes me hot as hell.” He slapped her backside and turned her toward the stairs, walking them with his arm around her waist.

“We don’t have time to play like you want,” she told him with a wide smile as they stepped into the bedroom. Creighton flipped on the switch near the door, bathing the room in a soft glow.

“There’s enough time for one dance and a quick romp.” Sandra giggled, watching him unfasten his pants and pull his legs out as she sat on the edge of the bed.

“So, you’re going to dance for me?” she teased, leaning back on her elbows. “I approve, sir.” Creighton kicked his pants and undershorts across the room, smiling seductively to her.

“I could do that, but it wouldn’t have the same effect.”

“It would for me,” she said with raised eyebrows. “If we are going to have a marriage of mutual respect, I think we should share in all things, including erotic dancing.”

Creighton narrowed his eyes and walked over to the bedside table, pressing the button to turn on the small clock stereo. The soft sounds of a piano echoed from the hidden speaker then he turned and grinned at her, stepping back into the middle of the room as she started to stand up. Sandra froze on the edge of the bed, watching as her new husband suddenly burst into an imitation of a ballet dancer.

He stood on his tiptoes and pranced around the room in front of her, completely naked, his arms above his head. Sandra had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing as he attempted a Pirouette, nearly stumbling into the bookcase behind him. He looked at her and smiled, trying a haphazard plié, squatting completely down to the floor. He frowned and glanced down, his hand wrapping around the end of his penis as it bounced off the carpet when his squat deepened. The sight of this incredible agile man trying to dance for her, his penis brushing the floor, was enough to break the dam and she exploded in a burst of abrupt laughter. Thankfully, the song ended a few seconds later, but not before she fell to the bed holding her sides, panting, tears running down her cheeks. He leaned across her smiling, his hands wrapping around her waist as he pulled her to lay flat on her back.

“How was that?” he asked, unfastening her pants and quickly tugging them down, smiling at her naked body beneath the fabric. Sandra wiped the tears away with the back of her hand as she looked into his dark eyes.

“Wonderful,” she smiled. “You can do that again anytime you’d like.” Creighton lifted her into a sitting position, pulling the tee-shirt over her head, eying her naked breasts like a hungry man at a feast.

“You owe me for that,” he told her, pushing her back down on the bed and stretching his long muscular body out across her, pinning her to the cool sheets. Sandra giggled, wrapping her arms around his strong neck while his lips caressed her cheek, nipping and sucking the tender flesh of her ear.

He reached down and lifted her legs, encircling them around his waist as he positioned the tip of his engorged penis against her moist vagina. Rising on his elbows, he stared down at her, watching her expression while he thrust into her quick and hard, smiling to himself when she drew a sharp breath in surprise.

The movements were fast and fluent with one long thrust after another until she was panting, her hips rising off the bed to meet him, taking him into her deeper. He lay down across her, his movements increasing to a frantic rate, harder, faster until they were hot, sweaty and gasping for air. She felt the familiar welcoming dizziness overtake her, arching her back and taking him in, crying out his name as the waves of passion washed over her.

Creighton groaned when the muscles of her vagina clamped around his thick penis, caressing him as his thrusts became urgent, demanding, and he quickly spilled his hot release into her, growling like a wounded beast.

A few long moments passed as the two clung to each other, their hearts pounding a joint rhythm within their chests. It didn’t matter what the rest of the day held in store for them, right now, at this exact moment, life was perfect.

“It’s not going to be the typical reception,” Nana said as the women all gathered around the kitchen table, peeling potatoes, scrambling eggs, and mixing together all sorts of salads, custards, and ingredients for brunch.

“Your Nana and I thought it would be more fun to have a party with music, dancing, food, just a very relaxed atmosphere where you can visit with your friends and family and not have to worry about getting your gown dirty,” Emma continued as she strained the jug of fresh milk at the counter.

“That sounds wonderful,” Sandra said slicing oranges for juice. “But I didn’t bring any other clothes with me.”

“I have an outfit for you to wear,” Sabrina said with a wide smile. “Mum and Nana helped me work on it yesterday.”

“A new design?”

“Yes, we’ll go upstairs, and you can try it on after brunch.”

“Thank you,” she said with a warm smile.

The room fell silent for a few moments as everyone considered the events of the afternoon that lay ahead of them. Unlike yesterday, the only thing they knew was that there would be about five hundred guests. Family, friends, business associates, neighbors, and very close personal acquaintances. They were winging it according to Nana.

“You seem a little solemn,” Cathy said to her sister, pushing the bowl of balled cantaloupe aside and wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. “Are you alright?”

“I’m just afraid that all of this has been a dream and I’ll wake up and find I’m late for work.”

“Not a chance,” Creighton interrupted when he joined the women, followed close behind by his father and brothers. “If it’s a dream, then we’re both having it, and I hope we never wake up.” Sandra smiled at the wink he offered her then stood from the table and carried the bowl of oranges to the counter.

“Can you spare a few minutes?” he asked her, his eyes shining like a child at Christmas. “I need to speak with the contractor and thought you might like to see where you’ll be living.”

“Absolutely,” she answered excitedly. He reached out and took her hand in his before stepping toward the back door.

“We’ll be back,” he told those watching them. “Sandra and I have to discuss some minor details for our new bedroom. It shouldn’t take more than a few hours…I mean minutes.”

The room erupted in laughter and Sandra blushed, walking beside Creighton out the door and across the yard to the wooden fence that separated the two properties.

“Rochelle will be here around three to do your hair and makeup,” Creighton said as they neared the house next door. “Irena is going to be thrilled. She loves Rochelle and has been begging me to take her to Paris to have her hair done.”

“So, our getting married will be a blessing to everyone?” Sandra teased watching the smile on his face widen.

“That’s one way to look at it.”

They continued talking as they walked up the new driveway to the front of the house, the excitement of seeing so much improvement in such a short time shone in his dark eyes.

“Will we still be able to move in when we get back from our honeymoon?” she asked.

“Everything will be ready when we are. At least the major repairs are completed. There are still a few minor details left to finish though.”

“Like what?”

“Like paint, wallpaper, window covering, that sort of thing,” he answered.

“I suppose we should find something to go with our two toasters.”

“Maxine has a few ideas,” he said with a grin. “I’m sure she can find something to coordinate with the china and bath towels.”

“Who is Maxine and why can’t we choose our own? We have some things from our trip to Paris and I’m sure even England has shops we can look at. If not, we can go back to Kansas, I have a full apartment worth of stuff in storage.”

“Maxine is the designer who did my flat in Chelsea and in Versailles, but yes we can do our own shopping. We’ll need to make some decisions soon though, or the only thing we’ll have is a living room and bed when we move in, not that I’m complaining. We can make use of both. I just don’t want to spend our honeymoon shopping for dining tables, unless I can have my favorite dessert on it.”

“Spotted dicke?” she asked with a frown. “I’ll have to ask your mom to show me how to make it.”

“No,” he said with a wicked grin. “I mean, Peinture corporelle.’’ Sandra gasped, a deep magenta blush tinting her cheeks again.

“You are a deviant,” she assured him, causing his laughter to ring out, echoing in the still morning air.

“You should know baby. You married me.” She smiled as they neared a group of three men next to the front porch.

“Matthew is the contractor,” Creighton began, identifying the men they were approaching. “He did the remodel on my flat as well as two of the company branches. He’s very talented and very thorough. I trust his work immensely. The young man in the purple shirt is Stefan. He’s Maxine’s brother. He’s good, but not as detail-oriented as his sister. The older man is Wayne Johnston. He owns a ranch about three miles from here. He married the great-granddaughter to the Marstons’, the original owners.”

“Why would he be here?”

“He has always felt it was his duty to his wife’s family to oversee the place. He’s actually a nosy sod who likes to keep abreast of what’s going on in the community. He’s harmless, just a braggart and a pain in the arse.”

“You mean he's pretty much the neighborhood Mrs. Kravits?” Creighton frowned, looking at her as if she was speaking another language. “You know, Bewitched, the TV show? She had a nosy neighbor who watched everything that happened from behind her curtains.” Creighton raised an eyebrow at her, shaking his head in amusement.

“Never heard of her.”

“Oh, come on, you must have, it’s an old television series from the 60s or 70s.”

“Nope, sorry.”

“You’ve led a very sheltered life, Mr. Ashford,” she teased him as they came within earshot of the small group.

They spent the next forty-five minutes looking over the house, talking about the repairs, and discussing ideas with Stefan for the designs and color schemes of each room. The house was very similar to that of William and Emma’s, only larger. A fact that was deliberate according to Creighton. The original owners had only two sons and the properties that his parents and Derek now owned were once one large piece of land. It had been divided up and the houses built for the sons when they started their own families. The three homes were built in the Victorian style of the era they grew up in, leaving the home Creighton and Sandra now owned as the largest of the three. A place where the children and grandchildren would come for parties, suppers, and holidays. Each design was similar, the layout identical and the property of the latter two equal in size to each other, so there would never be a complaint about one son having more than the other.

Over the years, the Marstons all passed away, and eventually, the properties were sold. While many of their descendants remained in the area, they no longer held the arrogant attitude or social standing that the Marstons’ once had. Or at least, most of them had fallen from the eyes of grace, which brought them back to their uninvited guest.

Wayne Johnston was an older man, late sixties Sandra estimated and very proud of his wife’s heritage. He had snow-white hair and a clean-shaven, weather-worn face. He had a yellow smile from years of chewing tobacco and wore a pair of mud crusted boots over old brown pants, a faded blue shirt, and an older style button-up jacket of brown suede. He followed close behind them adding his own bits and pieces to the conversation, commenting on everything they said. Creighton had been right though. He was a large pain in the arse, she thought

Johnston insisted it would be best to have the kitchen window on the sidewall rather than the front of the house, where it had been for nearly a hundred and fifty years. The stairs should be carpeted instead of left bare and he argued that the wood had been stained too dark. A particular light switch should have been put on the opposite side of the door, the windows were too modern for the style of the house, and the exterior brick should have been covered with stucco, rather than left as it had been since the day they were placed in mortar. He did, however, like the front lawn and the porch, but very little else met with his approval.

“You still want the garage where the old barn used to be?” Matthew asked, ignoring the snorted disapproval from Johnston.

“Yes, I don’t want to wake up and have sheep and cows wandering around the front lawn or down the street,” Creighton insisted.

“We’ll have the ground leveled and the footing poured by tomorrow, the foundation can go in midweek and then we can work on the structure,” Matthew commented. “It should be ready once you’re back. Where are you two lovebirds going for your honeymoon?”

“It’s a secret, but we’ll be gone for at least a month, maybe two, depending on a particular project at the office. If Michelle can fine-tune the contract, we won’t be back ‘til the end of August or the first of September.”

“Sounds good,” Matthew said. “That will give us more than enough time to finish everything, so you can carry your bride ‘cross the threshold.”

Creighton grinned as he glanced to Sandra, his hand holding tight to hers as they walked together, moving farther away from Johnston.

“I can’t wait. Would it be possible to put a flat above the garage? I’d like a place for my security team to live without having them underfoot.”

“It would be quite possible, may take a bit longer though. I’ll work on the blueprints and send them to you to approve, in the meantime I’ll have my men get started clearing the ground.”

“Take all the time you need. Stay in contact with Clark, he’ll let you know how much room he needs for the surveillance equipment, as well as living space.” Creighton smiled. “I doubt we will need the security right away. This area is very secluded and private. Speaking of which,” he glanced behind them to see Johnston lingering behind with Stefan, filling him in on how the house should be set up and decorated.

“Have there been any more problems?”

Sandra knew he was talking about the intruder that appeared at the bathroom door yesterday morning. It was a particular memory she would like to forget.

“Not since your people called you,” Matthew commented in a low tone. “I think your security system scared him off.”

“Good. Let’s hope it scared him back to whatever gutter the bastard crawled out of.”

Creighton shook Matthew’s hand and bid him goodbye then turned and walked with Sandra back to his parents’ house.

“What did he mean, not since your people called you?” she asked him once they were on their own.

“About two o’clock this morning the alarm system detected an intruder. We don’t know who it was because the cameras haven’t been installed yet, but the alarm scared them off. Between that and my mum accidentally setting off the alarm at their house, the security team had their hands full.”

“You think it was Miriam’s cousin, don’t you?” she asked softly.

“I don’t know,” he said, wrapping his arm around her waist. “If it was, he knows we’re on to him and watching. I doubt we’ll have much to worry about from here on out.”

“Why does he think you owe him? He shot you, not the other way around.”

“Konrad Bachmeier was always a sick kid,” Creighton said quietly. “Miriam told me he had been hiding in her wardrobe watching her undress. That’s just before her father sent him back to Germany and told him not to return. When he showed up on my door stoop that day, a voice warned me to send him packing, but I felt sorry for him. I honestly thought if I gave him a chance, he’d turn his life around. Then my shipping foreman caught him stealing cameras, cellphones, speakers, the works. After he shot me, the police found a shitload of cocaine and methamphetamine in the hole he was living in. It looked like he was selling the electronics to support his habit.”

“So, he blames you for firing him? But why did he shoot you?”

“That’s a question that has yet to be answered. He blamed me for his losing his job, which was rightly so since I approved his dismissal, but he was so stoned when the police caught him, he barely knew his own name. I guess he thinks I owe him for sending him to prison, but that too was the result of his own stupidity.”

“Well, I can’t wait until your team catches him. A creep like that shouldn’t be on the streets.”

“I don’t want you to worry about this,” he insisted. “We’ll find him and put him back where he belongs.”

“I’m not worried. I trust you and I trust your people. Besides, my grandfather taught me to fight and to fire a gun, so I’m pretty sure I can defend myself.”

“I have no doubt of that,” Creighton laughed, stepping up to the front porch of his parents’ house, holding the door open for her. “You have a lot of bottle.”

“Irena,” Emma was saying as they entered the kitchen. “Go to the cellar and collect some preserves. Sabrina, you and Cathy go set the table. Derek, Andrew start taking the food into the dining room please.”

Everyone snapped to attention and quickly begun bustling around the kitchen, carrying plates of food and drinks into the dining room as they had been ordered.

“I hate going into that cellar,” Irena grumbled when she came back into the kitchen, closing the door behind her. “I always feel like I’m being watched.”

“It’s all the spiders and mice,” Andrew teased, stepping up behind his little sister and tickling her waist, causing her to scream.

“That’s not bloody funny,” she snapped.

“Enough,” Emma interjected. “Take the bangers to the table and the rest of you find your seats.”

Creighton grinned as he and Sandra stepped into the dining room behind his mother. The room was alive with noise and Sandra had no choice but to smile as her husband held the chair out for her. This was what family was all about; fun, laughter, and maybe a little mental diversion, and it was a family Sandra was quite happy to be a part of.