Spiral Of Bliss: Adore Part 3

"Of course I'm sure." She slides her hand up to my neck. "And clearly you figured it out last night. Don't you think you'd be able to tell if I'd done it before?"

Yeah, I think I'd be able to tell, but doesn't every guy?

"You're the one who said I'm a terrible actress," Liv reminds me. "Really, Dean, I promise I've never faked it before. I was just exhausted. Nicholas had been pitching a level ten fit all day, my cake turned into a disaster, and my plans to welcome you home were a wreck. Honestly, I consider it a win that we got as far as we did."

Can't say I agree with that.

"Stop frowning." Liv reaches up to smooth her thumb against the crease between my eyebrows. "You've always rocked my world hard, professor, and you know it."

"Not always," I mutter darkly. Not as recently as last night.

"Dean, I'm sorry," she says again. "I swear upon everything holy that before last night, I have never faked an o.r.g.a.s.m or anything else with you, but honestly, sometimes I can't get into it. I mean, we're so busy raising a toddler and working... Sometimes just snuggling up together in bed is better than the hot s.e.x we used to have."

Again, not agreeing.

Liv slides herself into my arms and hugs me around the waist. The feel of her against me eases my frustration. I guess I'll consider it a win too, for Liv's sake only, but I hate that she can switch gears right in the middle of s.e.x-and then actually lose interest in what we're doing.

It used to be that f.u.c.king was overwhelming enough to block everything else out. Now it takes work for her to even stay focused.

"I promise, things will heat up again," she murmurs, pressing her lips against my neck.

I bite back a retort of "When?" because neither of us knows the answer to that, and being irritated about our s.e.x life when everything else is so good... well, I'm not such an a.s.s that I'll complain about it.

Much.

"Hey." Liv rubs her hand over my cheek. "I know you're getting all hot and bothered. I really think once Nicholas starts sleeping through the night, and I start getting more sleep as a result, we'll get back on track again."

And if we don't?

Again I don't bother asking that question aloud.

"In the meantime, take your wounded male pride into the family room and watch Sesame Street with our son," Liv orders. "As an apology, I'll make you a very manly breakfast of eggs, black coffee, and thick-cut bacon."

"Will you serve it to me naked?" I pull her closer.

She smiles. "Hold that thought for a morning when our son is actually sleeping in."

At the rate we're going, that'll probably be when Nicholas is a teenager.

"Go," Liv commands, gesturing to the family room.

I feel her up a little-squeeze her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, rub her a.s.s-just to make sure she knows who's still calling the shots. Then I obey her order and go to join Nicholas on the sofa.

He's transfixed by the TV, but he edges over to lean against my chest when I sit down beside him. He smells like sleep and Cheerios, his hair rumpled and his st.u.r.dy little body clad in train-patterned pajamas.

My tension eases as my brain makes the shift to Big Bird and Oscar the Grouch.

"Sesame," Nicholas tells me, pointing to the TV.

"Excellent choice." I rumple his hair, feeling a familiar and yet still overwhelming rush of love fill my chest.

It's a different kind of love than the one I have for Liv. My love for my wife is powerfully intense and secure, bone-deep, the essential part of me. It's the solid ground under my feet, a feeling as inevitable as a sunrise.

With Nicholas, my love is almost scary in its fierceness and layered with so many other emotions I can't even define them all. Awe. Wonder. Fear. Amazement. Hope. Every day, every time I see him, the love surges anew, like a tidal wave submerging my heart.

"I make puzzle." Nicholas shoves off the sofa, apparently having lost interest in the cartoon, and waddles over to the puzzle of wooden pieces scattered on the rug.

I sit on the floor with him as he fits the dinosaur picture together, his face set with concentration. Tantrums aside, he's a good kid-smart, curious, funny, creative. Half the time I can't imagine he was ever a tiny newborn, and the other half I can't imagine him ever being older than two.

"Hey, come talk to me," Liv calls. "I want to hear about your trip."

"Come on, Nicholas." I grab another puzzle and push to my feet. "Let's go hang out with Mommy."

He follows me into the sunroom, where the kitchen table sits beside the windows. After settling Nicholas on the rug with the new puzzle, I pour a cup of coffee and join Liv at the table.

As we eat breakfast, I tell her more about my trip to Altopascio-the process of damage a.s.sessment after the earthquake, the cataloging of archeological finds, the details of my proposal to get the site on the World Heritage list of protected monuments.

"Brought you some things too," I say, going to the travel bag still sitting beside the door. "I found Nicholas a set of Italian blocks and a pop-up book, which I'm sure he'll destroy in about five seconds."

I bring the packages back to the table, handing two to Nicholas and the rest to Liv. I'd gotten her Italian chocolate and coffee, a culinary travelogue, and a print of a Tuscan village.

"This will look perfect on that wall." Liv gestures to the opposite wall and leans in to press her lips against mine. "Thank you."

"Here's one more." I push a wrapped package across the table to her.

She opens it and takes out a leather journal with hand-cut pages. I'd had it specially made at a printer's in Tuscany and embossed with Liv's name on the cover. For a few years, she's kept what she calls her "manifesto" of thoughts and ideas, and I've noticed her journal is getting a little ragged.

"Dean, it's beautiful." She runs her hand admiringly over the cover. "Thank you so much. Did you get one for yourself?"

She eyes me pointedly, as always unimpressed with my own habit of scrawling things on the pages of a loose-leaf notebook.

I'm saved from having to answer by the buzz of my cell phone. I smile at Liv and get up to answer the call.

"Dean West."

"Dean, it's Hans Klasen," an accented male voice announces over some crackly static. "Did you arrive home safely?"

"Last night, yes. Thanks."

"Good. I'll be in Mirror Lake next week," Hans continues. "I was hoping you'd have a chance to meet, perhaps for lunch? We need to talk about the Altopascio proposal and your role with the World Heritage Center."

"Sure." I pick up my notebook, which I'd left on the desk. "Where are you staying?"

Hans gives me his hotel info. "Have you thought more about interviewing for the job?" he asks.

s.h.i.t. Not a conversation I want to have right when I just got home.

"No," I reply carefully. "You know my priorities are the site and my work at King's."

"I understand," Hans says. "But we continue to believe you'd be an excellent candidate for the position. Look over the doc.u.ments I sent you, and we can discuss it more when we meet. I'd also like your opinion about the Novgorodian dig and the ma.n.u.scripts."

"Happy to provide it," I tell him. "Do you need a ride from the airport?"

"No, I'm driving. I'll let you know when I arrive."

We exchange goodbyes. I toss my cell back on the counter and pick up my empty breakfast plate.

"Who was that?" Liv asks, coming into the kitchen.

"Hans Klasen, director of the World Heritage Center." I load my plate with scrambled eggs. "He's planning a visit to King's next week. We've known each other for years, but haven't had a chance to work together until recently. He stepped in to help with the aftermath of the quake, and I'm hoping he can push the proposal through to the UN a.s.sembly."

"Is that what he was calling about?"

"Partly. He's also working on an archeological dig in Novgorod and wants my opinion on some things."

"Please don't tell me you're going to Russia now." Liv slips her arms around my waist from behind.

"Nyet, lyubimaya moya."

She chuckles. "What does he want your opinion on?"

"Birch bark scrolls preserved by the unique chemical qualities of the Novgorodian mud."

"Mmm. s.e.xy." Liv reaches up to kiss the back of my neck.

I put my plate down and turn to face her. Liv's perspective has always made me see things from a different angle. She was the one who told me I had to go work on the Altopascio dig almost three years ago-and though I'd refused at first, the work has turned out to be one of the most rewarding projects of my career. And because it's expanded my professional reputation into areas beyond academia, it's also bringing up new challenges I haven't yet figured out how to handle.

"Hey." Liv puts her hand on my chest, her forehead creasing. "What's going on?"

"Nothing." I slide my hands down to her hips. "Just office politics. What time are you working today?"

"Morning shift. Do you need to go to campus?"

"No. I'll spend the morning with Nicholas and go back to campus on Monday." I kiss her nose, then pick up my plate and join our son at the table. "Are Archer and Kelsey back from California? I need to drop off Archer's financial portfolio this afternoon."

"They got back a few days ago, but I haven't seen either one of them yet." Liv puts the milk back in the refrigerator. "Kelsey emailed me that they're getting the Spiral Project ready, so they're both busy. I can take Nicholas for the afternoon, if you two want to stop by the cafe."

"Sure. Call me if you need me."

"I always need you," she replies with a smile.

She heads upstairs to get ready for work. I leaf through some mail that acc.u.mulated in my absence, picking up a worn postcard with a photo of the Bronze Horseman statue in St. Petersburg. In scrawled handwriting on the back is the message: Liv, Candy-colored onion domes, painted nesting dolls, sour cream so thick you can stand a spoon in it. Serpentine ca.n.a.ls, wedding-cake palaces, the Bronze Horseman caught in a moment of impossible glory. History both grim and beautiful embedded everywhere.

My adventure continues.

North Northern Star Richmond-Liv's old friend from the California commune where she once stayed with her mother and later found refuge when she had nowhere else to go.

I look up at the sound of her entering the kitchen. She spots the postcard and smiles.

"Once upon a time, I thought North would never leave Twelve Oaks," she says. "Last month, he was in China, now Russia. No telling where he'll end up next. Hey, I need to get going. You okay with the tornado over there?"

"Sure."

She reaches up to kiss me, the air around her fragrant with the sweet smell of cherries, before she gathers her things and leaves. I turn my attention to Nicholas. He and I spend the morning racing cars, watching a wildlife program, constructing tall buildings with blocks and pretending we're monsters knocking them down.

We break for apples and peanut b.u.t.ter, then head to the park for an hour to practice on the monkey bars before stopping at the Wonderland Cafe to see Liv as her shift ends.

"Hey, cute stuff." Allie Lyons, Liv's partner and close friend, emerges through the swinging doors of the kitchen.

"You've never called me cute before," I tell her. "I like it."

She laughs and holds out her arms for Nicholas. "Cute is not a word I'd use to describe you, Dean, and I mean that in the nicest possible way. You guys here for lunch?"

"Scarecrow Straws," Nicholas says.

"Your wish is my command, captain." Allie ruffles Nicholas's hair.

"Liv around?" I ask.

"Yeah, she's in the office working on the plans for the festival."

"What festival?"

"The Mirror Lake Bicentennial Festival," Allie says.

"Mirror Lake is having a bicentennial festival?"

Allie nods. "Liv is in charge of it. Didn't she tell you?"

"No."

"She took over the planning committee to celebrate Mirror Lake's two-hundredth year," Allie explains, shifting Nicholas to her other arm. "I'm helping organize the entertainment. It's going to be held in Wizard's Park. There'll be concerts, an art fair, a children's stage, tons of food, and a fireworks show at night. Liv is also planning a charity auction to benefit the Historical Society."

I take in that barrage of information. "When did she start all this?"

"A few weeks ago." Allie shrugs. "Maybe she told you, and you forgot."

I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have forgotten hearing that my already overworked wife is now planning a town festival and charity auction.

"I need to talk to her," I say, gesturing toward the kitchen. "Can you deal with Nicholas for a few minutes?"

"Sure. I'll get him set up in a booster seat." Allie sets Nicholas on the floor and leads him over to an empty table by the window.

I go through the bustling kitchen to the offices in the back. Liv is sitting at the cluttered desk, working at a computer whose edges are decorated with scrawled Post-it notes.

"Oh, hi." She looks up at me, her face blooming with a smile, and for a second my resolve falters.

I manage to frown at her. "Hi."