Dancing with Time

Love's Enemy is Absence

"If I could give you one thing in life, I would give you the ability to see yourself through my eyes. Only then would you realize how special you are to me."—Anonymous. 

Juliet pried open her green eyes, bleary and heavy-lidded, unfamiliar shapes blurring in the morning light. Fragments of the previous night flickered back – the vows, stolen kisses amidst the flickering fairy lights, the forced merriment of the reception, the clumsy dance with Keith that ended in stepped-on toes. Then came the memory that sent a frown creasing her brow – the argument. Sharing a room? Absurd! The image of Keith, a barbarian king in a rumpled suit, hurling the couch down the stairs like a discarded javelin played in her mind. The pillows, hastily erected as a defensive barrier, had somehow ended up scattered across the room.

The pillows she'd so meticulously stacked now lay scattered across the room like discarded soldiers. A frown creased Juliet's brow as she noticed a muscular arm. This kind could probably lift a small car, possessively draped around her waist. Hot breath tickled her neck, sending shivers down her spine that did little to quell the simmering embers of her anger.

Slowly, as if underwater, she turned to face the man who held her captive in his sleep. A scathing retort for his outrageous behavior hung on the tip of her tongue. But the words died in her throat as her gaze landed on his slumbering face. It was peaceful and handsome in a way that sent a swarm of butterflies into a joyous ballet in her stomach. This wasn't the arrogant, infuriating man she'd just married. This was unfair! How dare he look this good? There was an unexpected vulnerability etched on his features, a boyish cuteness that defied his imposing physique. His hair was a delightful mess, and a contented smile played on his lips - the first genuine one she'd seen, and it made her heart skip a beat. Each breath hitched as she felt his sculpted chest muscles rise and fall with every inhale, a subtle movement that seemed to pull her closer even in sleep.

Juliet shook her head, ready to wake up from this bizarre dream. "You are mad at him! Stop ogling him like a lovesick teenager!" she silently scolded herself. With a determined glint in her moss-green eyes, she reached out and peeled his arm off her body. Then, with a surprising surge of strength fueled by righteous indignation, she shoved him. He tumbled unceremoniously off the bed with a pained groan that echoed through the master room. A triumphant smile stretched across Juliet's face. "That's what you get for playing Barbarian with the furniture!" she declared as Keith, sporting a disgruntled frown, clambered back onto the bed.

"That's hardly a gentle wake-up call for a husband," Keith countered, a slow, wicked smile spreading across his face. His eyes, usually a stormy grey, darkened to a charcoal that sent a shiver down Juliet's spine. He leaned closer, his gaze predatory, like a lion stalking its prey. She felt a blush creep up her neck, both from his intensity and the ridiculousness of the situation. "Keith..." she started, her voice barely a whisper, more from surprise than fear.

Before she could react, Keith's hand shot out, wrapping around her arm and sending her tumbling onto the plush duvet. He landed on top of her, his weight a welcome warmth despite the sudden turn of events. Keith's strong arms caged her in, the heat of his body radiating against hers. Juliet's breath hitched as she met his gaze, Keith's eyes burning with an emotion she couldn't decipher.

"Keith, please," she pleaded, her voice a trembling whisper. Not out of fear, but a strange mix of nervousness and something else, the air crackled with tension that made the room feel stiflingly hot.

"I love the way you say my name," he murmured, his voice a husky rumble that sent shivers cascading down her body. Before she could process his words, his lips were on hers, the touch feather-light at first, deepening into a soft, possessive kiss. Juliet's eyes flew open in shock, her heart thundering in her chest. A flush crept up her cheeks, warming them to a feverish crimson.