149 - Emotional Rescue

Ariana laid propped up against the myriad of pillows, her body limp and loose as a rag doll. Meatball was snuggled close with his head in her lap. She was utterly and completely relaxed, more than she had been in the last few months. If she had known floating around in a pool could make her feel this way, she would have asked Jon to make their room in every hotel pool. 

 

Maybe it wasn’t just the pool making her feel this way. That man played her body like he played his black Telecaster. Long and hard. Quivering with every touch. Sweet Pete, what was she thinking these past weeks not letting him touch her? She would bet her last tootsie pop she wouldn’t be making that mistake any time soon.

 

“Scram, Meathead.” Exiting the room's bathroom, Jon walked across the room to his side of the bed. Tossing the towel onto the floor he was using to dry off his damp hair, he shooed the pup off of the bed.

 

“Jon.”  

 

“Don’t, ‘Jon’ me. That mutt ain’t sleeping in my bed.”  

 

Pouting, Ariana huffed. “Meanie.”

 

“Call me what you will. This is our bed. You and me. No one else.”

 

The bed dipped, then rocked as he fell onto the mattress and shifted closer to her. Propping on his elbow, he rested his head in the palm of his hand. He should be tired, considering it was just before the crack of dawn and they had very little sleep. Surprisingly, he wasn’t, and who cared. It was an off day today. He already told Matt not to bother them. He also put a call into the front desk to put a do not disturb on the phone. Then he sent Jeanie a message that he forwarded his cell phone to her and to only interrupt him if his kids needed him. Tonight, rather today, would be just for them — to sleep in, order room service. Something they both needed.

 

Smiling, Ariana traced her finger along the bridge of his nose. “With all this craziness, I forgot to give you the gifts I bought you today.”

 

“More than one?”

 

“May-be there's six.”  

 

Jon’s brow peaked with curiosity as he watched Ariana retrieve six little black leather boxes from the bag. The last one had a little gold bow wrapped around it. Taking a deep breath, she handed him the first box and watched as he opened it.

 

“Now, before you say anything, I didn’t plan on getting six.”

 

Jon just smiled, admired the box's content before setting it down and extending his hand for the next one. With each box she handed him, he said nothing as he opened and admired his gifts. Watches, some regal and exquisite, some sporty and casual. Without a doubt, each one thought out specifically for him. Setting aside the latest one she had given him, he reached for the wrapped one she gripped in her delicate hands.

 

“Gimme.”

 

Ariana hesitated for a moment, then placed it in his waiting hand. He studied the wrapped gold box before tracing the pad of his finger over the monogrammed gold silk ribbon. Montblanc, he knew them well. Slowly pulling, the ribbon came undone and fell between them on the sheets. Carefully, as to not ruin the perfect wrapping, he undid the matching gold paper and let it join the ribbon.

 

Nervously, she nibbled on her thumb. Her eyes never leaving his face as he pushed opened the hinged box. A small hiss of air escaped his lips when its contents were revealed. Having owned a few already, he’d never seen a Montblanc quite like this one. Its face was cased in gold had three rotating discs. One each for the elapsed seconds, minutes, and one for the hour. Luminous and skeletonizer hands were used to keep the two different time zones. From what he could see, it had a self-winding mechanism and an automatic. Its band, chestnut, and made from Italy’s finest leather. As sophisticated as it looked, it had a classical appearance that would allow him to wear it every day. Carefully, he removed it from the box to have a closer look at it. Like he expected, the leather was smooth, well-worn to the touch. Turning the watch over, he read the inscription.

 

Mi Amore, time after time, pour toujours

 

“My love, time after time, forever.”  

 

His palm lightly caressed her cheek as he slid his fingers into her hair and drew her close. “Always.” he whispered against her lips before kissing them.

 

“Do you like them?” she pressed her forehead against his.

 

“I love them.” he clasped the watch around his wrist. “One would have sufficed, though.” 

 

Crumpling the wrapping in his hand, Jon rolled to the edge of the bed and swung his feet over the side, scooped the watch boxes in his arms, and carried them over to the desk.  

 

“I couldn’t help it. Everyone reminded me of you.”  

 

Padding across the room, he dimmed the lights, tugged on the curtains to hide the thin shimmer of light that was showing, and climbed back under the covers. Once he was comfortably situated, he curled her into his arms, her head nestled softly against his chest. As her fingers played with the soft patch of chest hair, he curled his fingers around her soft tendrils. “Does this mean shop-a-rama replaces blow-job-palozza?”

 

“Not by a long shot.” Sleepily, she mumbled through her yawn. 

 

♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱

 

“Mrs. Bongiovi. Mrs. Bongiovi.” The blonde-haired woman in heels and a three-piece linen suit called out as she jogged out in front of her intended subject. “Can you tell us how you feel about your ex-husband’s recent marriage and the soon to be birth of his new child?”

 

The microphone being shoved in her face and the woman holding it dumfounded her. Removing the sunglasses from atop of her head, she placed them precisely on the bridge of her nose. "Excuse me?"

 

“Your ex-husband and his new family? What are your thoughts?”

 

“No comment.” Dorothea tried to step around the annoying reporter, but she mirrored her steps and stopped her.

 

“Is it true they’ve carried on a relationship for nineteen years?” Dorothea was thankful for the sunglasses which hid her dagger like eyes but couldn’t be sure the hitch of her breath went unheard. “You must have known her since she worked for your husband? Were you aware of their relationship this whole time?”

 

Firm and steady, she replied, “NO comment.”

 

This time Dorothea was quick enough and could sidestep the woman and her pesky microphone and continued her way down Mercer Street. She had made it all but a few steps away when she heard the annoying voice call out from behind her.

 

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

 

Dorothea’s spine stiffened as she turned and took three confident steps towards the ballsy reporter. Removing her sunglasses, she glowered at her with burning brown eyes.  

 

“WHAT did you just say to me?”

 

“I said, I’d take that as a yes.”

 

Bitch switch flipped, her brow arched, her nose scrunched with defensiveness and an accusing finger jolted in her face. 

 

“Listen here, sweetie. I don’t know where you get your information from, but you have been greatly misinformed. What happens in my private personal life is just that.  Now why don’t you do us all a favor and take your knock-off Prada wearing Savannah Guthrie wanna be ass outta here.”

 

“Retract your claws, cat woman. My sources are solid. And whether or not you care to comment is irrelevant. This story will come out.”  

 

“My husband will….”

 

“You mean your ex-husband.”

 

Dorothea waved a flagrant hand in her face. “Try and make something out of this and my lawyers will chew you up and spit you out like yesterday’s trash.”

 

“Apparently, you’re the only trash here. It’s no wonder your husband carried on an affair for all those years. But what I haven’t quite figured out is why he waited so long to dump your nasty ass. It’s obvious how in love he is with his new wife. You don’t have that look after meeting someone shortly after divorcing your so-called high school sweetheart.”

 

As fury rapidly crept from Dorothea’s toes to the top of her head. She hauled back her hand with intent to strike, but stopped. As much as she would love nothing more than to hit this woman, she was not willing to face the ramifications if she did.