TWW FIC :: "My Funny Valentine" [Annabeth/Ainsley, PG13]
Title: My Funny Valentine
Author: A. Magiluna Stormwriter
Author’s Email: stormwriter@shatterstorm.net
Pairing: Annabeth Schott/Ainsley Hayes
Rating: PG13 [language]
Date: 26 December 2008 - 22 September 2009
Word Count: 2671
Written for: dogged_by_muses' Fragments of Sappho 2009 Challenge-a-thon
Summary: It's not like Ainsley ever expected to care so much about this stupid holiday before.
Sequel to: racethewind10's trio of stories :: " Vertically Challenged", " Iambic Pentameter", " Present Imperfect"
Warning: Established lesbian couple. Don't like it? Don't read it.
Spoilers (if any): Post-series.
Disclaimer: “The West Wing”, the characters and situations depicted are the property of Warner Bros. Television, John Wells Productions, NBC, etc. They are borrowed without permission, but without the intent of infringement. This site is in no way affiliated with "The West Wing", NBC, or any representatives of the actors. This site contains stories between two mature, consenting adult females.
Sapphic Fragment: in her youth it was a great
ornament if someone had hair
bound with purple-
a very great ornament indeed
But for the one who has hair yellower
than a pinetorch
crowns
of blooming flowers
and just lately a headbinder
Author’s Notes: This was started back in December of 2008, after I'd found this absolutely gorgeous picture of Kristin Chenoweth in her Christmas CD. Then I asked racethewind10 if I could borrow her little Annabeth/Ainsley universe to play in. It was intended to be a Christmas Eve story, then a New Year's Eve story, then got shunted back to Valentine's Day. Because really? There's no way the President and First Lady would be separated on Christmas or New Year's, but Valentine's Day could be swung if necessary. Oh, and if you can find the Wicked reference, you get a virtual brownie...
The title of this story came about while listening to Kristin Chenoweth's rendition of "My Funny Valentine", and then I had to have Annabeth humming that song in the story. It seemed… right somehow.
Annabeth's gift for Ainsley was a last minute decision by my muses. I used this design from Anixi Jewelry for the basis of the gift. And to be honest, I went with amethyst because I like it…and emeralds seemed TOO obvious.
And one last note… Perficio brevis is Latin for "perfectly short". A fitting phrase for this couple, I think…
Beta:
shatterpath, as always
Dedication: This one is for racethewind10, because she started writing the pairing…and I wanted to give her a thank you for doing it. Because this is a brilliant pairing…
"My Funny Valentine"
By A. Magiluna Stormwriter
The knock at my door drags me out of the depression-induced fog I've drifted into. I can't believe it's Valentine's Day and Annabeth had to follow the damned First Lady to some children's hospital at the last minute. Doesn't the First Lady have a family to celebrate with? Couldn't she have gone to the hospital tomorrow? Or a week ago? It's not like I ever expected to care so much about this stupid holiday before. But then, I never had anyone worth sharing it with.
"Ainsley? You in there?"
Josh… Great. Now I get to listen to him whine and wax poetic about Donna. I really don't want to deal with this. I'm exhausted, I'm hungry, and I'm lonely. This is not the way I'm supposed to be spending this day. This horrible, wretched, overly commercialized day.
"I know you're in there, Ainsley!" Josh's voice brings me back to the present. "Open your damned door and answer my phone."
Curiosity gets the better of me and I head over to the door, where I find him holding out his phone toward me. "And why should I answer your phone, Josh?"
"Because Donna told me I had to tell you that?" he replies, making that confused puppy dog face at me.
Rolling my eyes, I take the proffered phone and force more normalcy into my voice than I feel. "Hello, Donna."
"It's Donna's phone," comes a very familiar voice, "but it's not Donna who wants to talk to you."
"Annabeth?" I ask, automatically turning away from Josh. This is all still just too new to share. "Is something wrong? Are you all right?"
"Considering I'm in the middle of Iowa on Valentine's Day, I'm just peachy," she retorts with what I'm sure is a smirk on her face. "But why are you at work and not answering any of your phones?"
"Because you're in the middle of Iowa on V -- this day. And I'd rather be working than confined to an empty apartment."
"Go home, draw a bath, have a glass of wine." Her tone is a curious mix of placating and pleading, and I find myself soothed by that. "Don't work anymore. I'll be home tomorrow and I've already got a reservation set for our favorite restaurant."
"You really didn't have to," I reply quickly, but feel the flush of delighted affection warming my cheeks.
"I know, that's why I'm so nice," she tosses back cheekily, and I can't help the nervous giggle escaping my lips. "So you'll go home, right? Or do I need to put FLOTUS on the phone?"
I can hear Donna and Mrs. Santos bickering good naturedly in the background and roll my eyes. "No, you don't need to put the First Lady on the phone. I'll go home."
"Good. Perficio brevis, Ainsley. I'll call you in an hour."
I suppress another giggle at our code for those three very specific words that neither of us can say, and repeat the sentiment before ending the call.
"Can I have my phone back?" Josh's voice cuts into the reverie I've fallen into and I thrust the phone in his direction as if it's a poisonous snake.
"Sorry."
I quickly start closing out my files and tidying up my desk. I certainly don't want to miss Annabeth's call.
"So I’m not gonna get harassed by the President or anything now, right?"
Smirking internally, I stare at him for a long moment. "I would suppose that's between you and Donna, Josh. What do you think?"
As if on cue, his phone starts ringing. This time, I don't bother to hide my amusement as he stares at the device with wide eyes.
<3 <3 <3 <3 <3
It's not until I'm trudging up the stairs to my apartment that I realize just how exhausted I truly am. I can just picture the look on Annabeth's face now: eyes crinkling in amusement as that delighted chortle escapes her lips. She'll tease me about being a workaholic and needing to take more time for myself. Like I don't already know that…
What is that smell? Beeswax and cinnamon. Someone in this building is getting romanced tonight. I hate them already because the person they hold dear is with them. As I near my own door, the scent grows even stronger, and a pang of longing for Annabeth races through me. Shaking my head to clear out the oddly homicidal thoughts toward whomever on my floor is so damned lucky, I step into my apartment…
And am met by a curiosity. That beeswax and cinnamon scent is almost overwhelming, a physical presence as I open my door. Part of me wants to back slowly out into the hall and call 911. And part of me wants to believe the insane hope that she's home, waiting for me in the bedroom. There's no way that's humanly possible if she just called less than an hour ago from Iowa, but it's better than accepting that I'm alone tonight.
Briefcase and overcoat go in their customary places by the front door, which is locked automatically. Forehead resting against the solid wood, I let the heady scents surround me in a cocoon of desire and denial. She can't possibly be here, but what other explanation is there for the comforting, teasing smells tickling at my nose. No, I'm simply overly exhausted and deeply in need of the relaxing bath and wine that Annabeth suggested. A few beeswax tapers, a bottle of Chardonnay, and one of the cinnamon and clove bath bombs she got me for Christmas.
But first something to eat or that wine will go straight to my head and I'll be useless tomorrow when Annabeth does finally come home. The kitchen is just as sparse as I left it this morning, and a sigh bubbles up past my lips before it can be stopped. When in the hell did I become so caught up in her that a couple of days alone brings on a bout of depression?
You're pathetic, Ainsley Hayes, my brain supplies far too readily. A pathetic romantic who's too scared to actually do anything about what she's feeling.
I wish I could prove my brain wrong, but that's just not an option. There are things that my poor heart isn't ready to admit yet, and may never be. Grabbing a handful of grapes, I can't help the wry chuckle at the thought of eating the non-alcoholic version before imbibing in the definitely alcoholic version during and after Annabeth's phone call. It's not until the bathroom door is opened that I realize just how used to the scent of beeswax and cinnamon I've become in such a short amount of time. Once the water has begun to fill the tub, my body turns by memory toward the bedroom.
A lump settles in my throat at the sight that greets me upon opening the door, nostrils assailed by an even headier dose of the lovely aroma permeating my apartment. There, awash in the warm glow of a sea of candles of all shapes and sizes, wearing an incredible white gown covered in pearls, sits my Annabeth.
My Annabeth.
I never thought I could hear something that sounded quite so… right.
"Happy Valentine's Day, Ainsley," she says softly, almost hesitantly, and I can just make out the tendrils of fear in her eyes.
"What? How? When?" Why can I not finish a single question coherently? And why am I not moving to pull her close in a desperate embrace?
"FLOTUS managed to wrap up her commitments in Iowa earlier today, specifically so she could spend the holiday with POTUS." Annabeth still hasn't moved from her position on the floor. Then again, my own body can't seem to move to join her either. "Who were Donna and I to question her motives if it brought us home to be with our…" Her voice trails off as she breaks eye contact to stare at the candles between us. "Well, with the people close to us," she finally finishes the thought.
"With the people we love?"
As Annabeth's head snaps up to meet my gaze, I'm not sure which of us is more startled at my softly uttered question. It certainly breaks the paralysis my body has been stricken with since entering the room. Carefully threading my way through the candles to sink down next to her, I won't take no for an answer as I pull her close to bestow feather soft kisses to her lips. The very familiar scent of her vanilla body wash combines with the cinnamon of the candles, sending a thrill down my spine.
"Shit!" I mutter, struggling to stand. "The tub!" Heading toward the door, I pause long enough to flash her a sheepish grimace. "Don't you dare go anywhere, I'll be right back." In more time than I care to be away from her, the water is shut off, but not drained. We'll make use of that bath, I think. And then, I'm back in the bedroom -- our bedroom -- and kneeling next to her again. "Told you I'd be back," I tease softly, unsure of what else to say suddenly.
She smiles, but it doesn't quite meet her eyes, and I'm transported back to the awkward aftermath of those first few fumbling forays into sex as grief therapy after Leo's death. My fingers card through her hair, cup her cheek, as my lips once again seek out hers.
"Did you mean it?" When she finally speaks, her voice is so soft, I almost miss it. "It's okay if you didn't."
My hand shifts to grip her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze. "Please don't do that, Annabeth," I murmur huskily, chest tightening at the hint of tears in her eyes. "Don't give me that stupidly easy out. I don't want the temptation to take it."
"I don't understand."
The smile brightening my face is just beginning to be reflected on hers. "I think you do understand all too well. Why didn't you tell me you were home on the phone earlier?"
A frown of confusion mars her beauty momentarily at my question. "I wasn't sure how you felt about V-- this day. I didn't want you to be pressured into having to come home."
"And yet you had this elaborate surprise laying in wait for me?"
She shrugs her shoulders and tries to hide the flush of embarrassment. "A girl can dream, can't she?"
"And maybe dreams really can come true," I reply, internally cringing at the cliché, no matter how true it might be. Pressing another kiss to her lips, I shift to stand up and pull her up with me. "Come on. There's a tub full of water calling our names, Annabeth."
Her face breaks into a broad, affectionate smile, and in no time at all, we've transported all of the candles from the bedroom to the bathroom. Another handful of grapes are shared while the wine and glasses are added to the ambience in the bathroom. Annabeth takes her time undressing me, removing each layer of White House Republican armor until my body is laid bare before her. She deftly twists my hair up into a bun secured with a silk flower-covered clip.
"Get in the tub. I'll be right back," she murmurs, leaning up on her tiptoes to rub noses with me.
Without hesitation, I do as she asks and groan softly as the still hot water caresses my skin. Eyes closed, I inhale the scent that is rapidly imprinting itself on my psyche as ours. At the soft sound from the door, my gaze lands on Annabeth standing there, hair up like mine. Her eyes are fixed on mine as she reaches behind her to unzip the dress, letting it pool at her feet.
"You are so beautiful," I whisper roughly.
She smiles in response, hanging the dress on the back of the door and sets a small box on the floor next to the tub before joining me. "So are you, you know."
Annabeth snuggles back against me, head resting on my shoulder with a happy sigh. My fingers move slowly, caressing her skin, reveling in her nearness. Her hands rest on my forearms, stroking gently, and her lips press lightly to my throat as she hums softly for a moment or two.
"I'm glad you were able to come home," I finally say, breaking the easy silence.
"Me, too." She shifts then, reaching for the package. "I bought you something while I was in Iowa."
Taking the box, I stare at it for a long moment and panic. "I don't--"
"You came home when I asked you to, Ainsley," she replies, resting a finger against my lips. "That is gift enough for me."
Blinking at the sincerity in her words, I pull the purple ribbon from the box and open it to find a pair of amethyst and silver earrings nestled in crushed velvet with a beautiful pendant necklace of the same materials. "Oh, Annabeth," I breathe. "These are beautiful."
"I was planning something else for you, but I saw these in a jewelry store in Des Moines when Helen dragged me out to find something for her husband. I couldn't resist. I thought they'd look lovely against your skin."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome," she replies and brushes her lips against mine again. "Happy Valentine's Day, Ainsley. Perficio brevis."
How strange that it shoots a pang through my heart to hear the code phrase that just hours ago made me happier than I'd thought I could be. I shift to let her clasp the necklace and capture her lips in a tender kiss, putting everything I feel for her into it. Pulling back, I cup her face in my hands and just look at her for a long moment.
"I don't think I've ever had a better Valentine's Day in my life," I say softly, thumb brushing across her lips. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." There's a faint flush to her cheeks again that is adorable and endearing. Her shiver spurs me into action again.
"We're going to prune up if we stay in here much longer."
Annabeth's eyes crinkle in amusement and she pulls the stopper in the tub. We take our time toweling off each other's bodies and moving the candles back into the bedroom. She returns her dress to the closet and slips under the covers as I bring the wine in and join her. Filling the glasses, I raise mine to her in toast.
"To a better Valentine's Day than either of us expected to have," she says with a grin.
"And to many more to come," I add before taking a sip. Our eyes meet over the rims of our glasses, and once again that tendril of fear makes a brief appearance. Taking her glass, I set both on the nightstand and reach for her hands. "I do have a gift for you. I wasn't sure if it was the right gift, and I've been fighting whether to give it to you or to save it. But I've decided that this is the perfect time to give it to you."
She tilts her head to the side, studying my face when I don't say anything for a long moment. "Ainsley?" she finally asks, curiosity winning out in the end.
"I love you, Annabeth," I say softly.
Her gasp is accompanied by a sparkling of tears in her eyes, and she repeats my name questioningly again. I can hear the incredulity in her voice, as if she doesn't quite believe what I've said.
"No more code words, no more hiding behind a wall that you breached a long time ago. I love you and I don't want to hide it anymore."
Annabeth pulls me close for a tearful kiss, holding me tightly to her. "I love you, too, Ainsley," she whispers raggedly.
And we celebrate in fine fashion as truly lovers for the very first time.
Author: A. Magiluna Stormwriter
Author’s Email: stormwriter@shatterstorm.net
Pairing: Annabeth Schott/Ainsley Hayes
Rating: PG13 [language]
Date: 26 December 2008 - 22 September 2009
Word Count: 2671
Written for: dogged_by_muses' Fragments of Sappho 2009 Challenge-a-thon
Summary: It's not like Ainsley ever expected to care so much about this stupid holiday before.
Sequel to: racethewind10's trio of stories :: " Vertically Challenged", " Iambic Pentameter", " Present Imperfect"
Warning: Established lesbian couple. Don't like it? Don't read it.
Spoilers (if any): Post-series.
Disclaimer: “The West Wing”, the characters and situations depicted are the property of Warner Bros. Television, John Wells Productions, NBC, etc. They are borrowed without permission, but without the intent of infringement. This site is in no way affiliated with "The West Wing", NBC, or any representatives of the actors. This site contains stories between two mature, consenting adult females.
Sapphic Fragment: in her youth it was a great
ornament if someone had hair
bound with purple-
a very great ornament indeed
But for the one who has hair yellower
than a pinetorch
crowns
of blooming flowers
and just lately a headbinder
Author’s Notes: This was started back in December of 2008, after I'd found this absolutely gorgeous picture of Kristin Chenoweth in her Christmas CD. Then I asked racethewind10 if I could borrow her little Annabeth/Ainsley universe to play in. It was intended to be a Christmas Eve story, then a New Year's Eve story, then got shunted back to Valentine's Day. Because really? There's no way the President and First Lady would be separated on Christmas or New Year's, but Valentine's Day could be swung if necessary. Oh, and if you can find the Wicked reference, you get a virtual brownie...
The title of this story came about while listening to Kristin Chenoweth's rendition of "My Funny Valentine", and then I had to have Annabeth humming that song in the story. It seemed… right somehow.
Annabeth's gift for Ainsley was a last minute decision by my muses. I used this design from Anixi Jewelry for the basis of the gift. And to be honest, I went with amethyst because I like it…and emeralds seemed TOO obvious.
And one last note… Perficio brevis is Latin for "perfectly short". A fitting phrase for this couple, I think…
Beta:
shatterpath, as always
Dedication: This one is for racethewind10, because she started writing the pairing…and I wanted to give her a thank you for doing it. Because this is a brilliant pairing…
"My Funny Valentine"
By A. Magiluna Stormwriter
The knock at my door drags me out of the depression-induced fog I've drifted into. I can't believe it's Valentine's Day and Annabeth had to follow the damned First Lady to some children's hospital at the last minute. Doesn't the First Lady have a family to celebrate with? Couldn't she have gone to the hospital tomorrow? Or a week ago? It's not like I ever expected to care so much about this stupid holiday before. But then, I never had anyone worth sharing it with.
"Ainsley? You in there?"
Josh… Great. Now I get to listen to him whine and wax poetic about Donna. I really don't want to deal with this. I'm exhausted, I'm hungry, and I'm lonely. This is not the way I'm supposed to be spending this day. This horrible, wretched, overly commercialized day.
"I know you're in there, Ainsley!" Josh's voice brings me back to the present. "Open your damned door and answer my phone."
Curiosity gets the better of me and I head over to the door, where I find him holding out his phone toward me. "And why should I answer your phone, Josh?"
"Because Donna told me I had to tell you that?" he replies, making that confused puppy dog face at me.
Rolling my eyes, I take the proffered phone and force more normalcy into my voice than I feel. "Hello, Donna."
"It's Donna's phone," comes a very familiar voice, "but it's not Donna who wants to talk to you."
"Annabeth?" I ask, automatically turning away from Josh. This is all still just too new to share. "Is something wrong? Are you all right?"
"Considering I'm in the middle of Iowa on Valentine's Day, I'm just peachy," she retorts with what I'm sure is a smirk on her face. "But why are you at work and not answering any of your phones?"
"Because you're in the middle of Iowa on V -- this day. And I'd rather be working than confined to an empty apartment."
"Go home, draw a bath, have a glass of wine." Her tone is a curious mix of placating and pleading, and I find myself soothed by that. "Don't work anymore. I'll be home tomorrow and I've already got a reservation set for our favorite restaurant."
"You really didn't have to," I reply quickly, but feel the flush of delighted affection warming my cheeks.
"I know, that's why I'm so nice," she tosses back cheekily, and I can't help the nervous giggle escaping my lips. "So you'll go home, right? Or do I need to put FLOTUS on the phone?"
I can hear Donna and Mrs. Santos bickering good naturedly in the background and roll my eyes. "No, you don't need to put the First Lady on the phone. I'll go home."
"Good. Perficio brevis, Ainsley. I'll call you in an hour."
I suppress another giggle at our code for those three very specific words that neither of us can say, and repeat the sentiment before ending the call.
"Can I have my phone back?" Josh's voice cuts into the reverie I've fallen into and I thrust the phone in his direction as if it's a poisonous snake.
"Sorry."
I quickly start closing out my files and tidying up my desk. I certainly don't want to miss Annabeth's call.
"So I’m not gonna get harassed by the President or anything now, right?"
Smirking internally, I stare at him for a long moment. "I would suppose that's between you and Donna, Josh. What do you think?"
As if on cue, his phone starts ringing. This time, I don't bother to hide my amusement as he stares at the device with wide eyes.
<3 <3 <3 <3 <3
It's not until I'm trudging up the stairs to my apartment that I realize just how exhausted I truly am. I can just picture the look on Annabeth's face now: eyes crinkling in amusement as that delighted chortle escapes her lips. She'll tease me about being a workaholic and needing to take more time for myself. Like I don't already know that…
What is that smell? Beeswax and cinnamon. Someone in this building is getting romanced tonight. I hate them already because the person they hold dear is with them. As I near my own door, the scent grows even stronger, and a pang of longing for Annabeth races through me. Shaking my head to clear out the oddly homicidal thoughts toward whomever on my floor is so damned lucky, I step into my apartment…
And am met by a curiosity. That beeswax and cinnamon scent is almost overwhelming, a physical presence as I open my door. Part of me wants to back slowly out into the hall and call 911. And part of me wants to believe the insane hope that she's home, waiting for me in the bedroom. There's no way that's humanly possible if she just called less than an hour ago from Iowa, but it's better than accepting that I'm alone tonight.
Briefcase and overcoat go in their customary places by the front door, which is locked automatically. Forehead resting against the solid wood, I let the heady scents surround me in a cocoon of desire and denial. She can't possibly be here, but what other explanation is there for the comforting, teasing smells tickling at my nose. No, I'm simply overly exhausted and deeply in need of the relaxing bath and wine that Annabeth suggested. A few beeswax tapers, a bottle of Chardonnay, and one of the cinnamon and clove bath bombs she got me for Christmas.
But first something to eat or that wine will go straight to my head and I'll be useless tomorrow when Annabeth does finally come home. The kitchen is just as sparse as I left it this morning, and a sigh bubbles up past my lips before it can be stopped. When in the hell did I become so caught up in her that a couple of days alone brings on a bout of depression?
You're pathetic, Ainsley Hayes, my brain supplies far too readily. A pathetic romantic who's too scared to actually do anything about what she's feeling.
I wish I could prove my brain wrong, but that's just not an option. There are things that my poor heart isn't ready to admit yet, and may never be. Grabbing a handful of grapes, I can't help the wry chuckle at the thought of eating the non-alcoholic version before imbibing in the definitely alcoholic version during and after Annabeth's phone call. It's not until the bathroom door is opened that I realize just how used to the scent of beeswax and cinnamon I've become in such a short amount of time. Once the water has begun to fill the tub, my body turns by memory toward the bedroom.
A lump settles in my throat at the sight that greets me upon opening the door, nostrils assailed by an even headier dose of the lovely aroma permeating my apartment. There, awash in the warm glow of a sea of candles of all shapes and sizes, wearing an incredible white gown covered in pearls, sits my Annabeth.
My Annabeth.
I never thought I could hear something that sounded quite so… right.
"Happy Valentine's Day, Ainsley," she says softly, almost hesitantly, and I can just make out the tendrils of fear in her eyes.
"What? How? When?" Why can I not finish a single question coherently? And why am I not moving to pull her close in a desperate embrace?
"FLOTUS managed to wrap up her commitments in Iowa earlier today, specifically so she could spend the holiday with POTUS." Annabeth still hasn't moved from her position on the floor. Then again, my own body can't seem to move to join her either. "Who were Donna and I to question her motives if it brought us home to be with our…" Her voice trails off as she breaks eye contact to stare at the candles between us. "Well, with the people close to us," she finally finishes the thought.
"With the people we love?"
As Annabeth's head snaps up to meet my gaze, I'm not sure which of us is more startled at my softly uttered question. It certainly breaks the paralysis my body has been stricken with since entering the room. Carefully threading my way through the candles to sink down next to her, I won't take no for an answer as I pull her close to bestow feather soft kisses to her lips. The very familiar scent of her vanilla body wash combines with the cinnamon of the candles, sending a thrill down my spine.
"Shit!" I mutter, struggling to stand. "The tub!" Heading toward the door, I pause long enough to flash her a sheepish grimace. "Don't you dare go anywhere, I'll be right back." In more time than I care to be away from her, the water is shut off, but not drained. We'll make use of that bath, I think. And then, I'm back in the bedroom -- our bedroom -- and kneeling next to her again. "Told you I'd be back," I tease softly, unsure of what else to say suddenly.
She smiles, but it doesn't quite meet her eyes, and I'm transported back to the awkward aftermath of those first few fumbling forays into sex as grief therapy after Leo's death. My fingers card through her hair, cup her cheek, as my lips once again seek out hers.
"Did you mean it?" When she finally speaks, her voice is so soft, I almost miss it. "It's okay if you didn't."
My hand shifts to grip her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze. "Please don't do that, Annabeth," I murmur huskily, chest tightening at the hint of tears in her eyes. "Don't give me that stupidly easy out. I don't want the temptation to take it."
"I don't understand."
The smile brightening my face is just beginning to be reflected on hers. "I think you do understand all too well. Why didn't you tell me you were home on the phone earlier?"
A frown of confusion mars her beauty momentarily at my question. "I wasn't sure how you felt about V-- this day. I didn't want you to be pressured into having to come home."
"And yet you had this elaborate surprise laying in wait for me?"
She shrugs her shoulders and tries to hide the flush of embarrassment. "A girl can dream, can't she?"
"And maybe dreams really can come true," I reply, internally cringing at the cliché, no matter how true it might be. Pressing another kiss to her lips, I shift to stand up and pull her up with me. "Come on. There's a tub full of water calling our names, Annabeth."
Her face breaks into a broad, affectionate smile, and in no time at all, we've transported all of the candles from the bedroom to the bathroom. Another handful of grapes are shared while the wine and glasses are added to the ambience in the bathroom. Annabeth takes her time undressing me, removing each layer of White House Republican armor until my body is laid bare before her. She deftly twists my hair up into a bun secured with a silk flower-covered clip.
"Get in the tub. I'll be right back," she murmurs, leaning up on her tiptoes to rub noses with me.
Without hesitation, I do as she asks and groan softly as the still hot water caresses my skin. Eyes closed, I inhale the scent that is rapidly imprinting itself on my psyche as ours. At the soft sound from the door, my gaze lands on Annabeth standing there, hair up like mine. Her eyes are fixed on mine as she reaches behind her to unzip the dress, letting it pool at her feet.
"You are so beautiful," I whisper roughly.
She smiles in response, hanging the dress on the back of the door and sets a small box on the floor next to the tub before joining me. "So are you, you know."
Annabeth snuggles back against me, head resting on my shoulder with a happy sigh. My fingers move slowly, caressing her skin, reveling in her nearness. Her hands rest on my forearms, stroking gently, and her lips press lightly to my throat as she hums softly for a moment or two.
"I'm glad you were able to come home," I finally say, breaking the easy silence.
"Me, too." She shifts then, reaching for the package. "I bought you something while I was in Iowa."
Taking the box, I stare at it for a long moment and panic. "I don't--"
"You came home when I asked you to, Ainsley," she replies, resting a finger against my lips. "That is gift enough for me."
Blinking at the sincerity in her words, I pull the purple ribbon from the box and open it to find a pair of amethyst and silver earrings nestled in crushed velvet with a beautiful pendant necklace of the same materials. "Oh, Annabeth," I breathe. "These are beautiful."
"I was planning something else for you, but I saw these in a jewelry store in Des Moines when Helen dragged me out to find something for her husband. I couldn't resist. I thought they'd look lovely against your skin."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome," she replies and brushes her lips against mine again. "Happy Valentine's Day, Ainsley. Perficio brevis."
How strange that it shoots a pang through my heart to hear the code phrase that just hours ago made me happier than I'd thought I could be. I shift to let her clasp the necklace and capture her lips in a tender kiss, putting everything I feel for her into it. Pulling back, I cup her face in my hands and just look at her for a long moment.
"I don't think I've ever had a better Valentine's Day in my life," I say softly, thumb brushing across her lips. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." There's a faint flush to her cheeks again that is adorable and endearing. Her shiver spurs me into action again.
"We're going to prune up if we stay in here much longer."
Annabeth's eyes crinkle in amusement and she pulls the stopper in the tub. We take our time toweling off each other's bodies and moving the candles back into the bedroom. She returns her dress to the closet and slips under the covers as I bring the wine in and join her. Filling the glasses, I raise mine to her in toast.
"To a better Valentine's Day than either of us expected to have," she says with a grin.
"And to many more to come," I add before taking a sip. Our eyes meet over the rims of our glasses, and once again that tendril of fear makes a brief appearance. Taking her glass, I set both on the nightstand and reach for her hands. "I do have a gift for you. I wasn't sure if it was the right gift, and I've been fighting whether to give it to you or to save it. But I've decided that this is the perfect time to give it to you."
She tilts her head to the side, studying my face when I don't say anything for a long moment. "Ainsley?" she finally asks, curiosity winning out in the end.
"I love you, Annabeth," I say softly.
Her gasp is accompanied by a sparkling of tears in her eyes, and she repeats my name questioningly again. I can hear the incredulity in her voice, as if she doesn't quite believe what I've said.
"No more code words, no more hiding behind a wall that you breached a long time ago. I love you and I don't want to hide it anymore."
Annabeth pulls me close for a tearful kiss, holding me tightly to her. "I love you, too, Ainsley," she whispers raggedly.
And we celebrate in fine fashion as truly lovers for the very first time.