41. Home, Sweet Home

"Here we are… home, sweet home," Rod said casually as he parked the Porsche in its parking space, and turned off the ignition.

Since leaving their friends and families at the Greenwich Country Club following a late celebratory dinner, they'd spent most of the drive back to New Haven in comfortable silence, any hunger for food quenched and their emotions still close to the surface. It had been a day like no other, and now technically it was tomorrow.

Before opening the car door he looked at her and said, "Don't move. I'll be right back."

"Rod… what are you up to?" The day had been one surprise after another, and apparently there was more to come. She had no idea where they would be going tomorrow for their formal honeymoon. He refused to give her even enough information to allow her to pack properly. His one concession had been to allow for her desire to spend their first night together at home.

"Nothing," he protested innocently. "Need to take care of a few things before I carry my bride across the threshold."

He didn't wait for a reply but made a brisk exit. He hoped he had a clean set of sheets somewhere. Changing the linens hadn't been on his list of things to do. He'd planned for them to spend tonight in a suite at the Carlyle in New York City. However, he had to admit that he was pleased. No matter how luxurious it may have been, it was only a hotel. This, on the other hand, was home.

Hearing the trunk open, her first thought was that he couldn't possibly be serious about the whole threshold thing. He was a big, strong guy. But she was no petite bride. This could turn ugly real fast.

She was a bride. What a stunning reality! This morning she wasn't in a relationship and tonight she was a wife: Rod's wife. And that made all the difference. She could no longer imagine herself as anything else, or having any other future. She shuddered as she thought about how close she'd come to throwing it all away—how she'd almost let pride and fear keep her from the life (and the relationship) she'd desired for so long.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the return of her husband. She smiled up at him as he opened the door and extended a hand to her. She immediately noticed that he'd shed his suit coat.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Definitely," she answered as she accepted his assistance.

Hand in hand they walked to their home for the first time as husband and wife. When he opened the door, she said skeptically, "You weren't serious about carrying me, were you?"

He was taken back. "Of course, I was. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Rod…"

"Mackenzie… it's tradition," he insisted. Looking at his watch he added teasingly, "We've been married slightly more than three hours and you're already questioning my manhood? Well, never fear, you know how I love a good challenge." He swept her up in his arms and effortlessly carried her into the condo, kicking the door shut behind them.

Once they were well inside, he gently returned her to the floor.

"I can't believe you just…."

"Honey," he told her with a playful grin as he reached for her waist and pulled her up against him, "where do you think I've been spending my free time the past two months? Taking out my frustrations at the gym, that's where."

Mac laughed softly. "Ran a few extra miles recently myself," she replied. "Including about a marathon's worth while I was in Bridgeport over the break, while I… you know."

He sighed. "I missed you," he told her. "Was miserable without you." He tucked his head and sweetly kissed her.

"Me, too," she whispered against his lips. "Me, too."

"Are you sure you want to stay here tonight? We don't have to, I mean."

"I don't want to be someplace else. This is home."

"But it's kind of a mess," he told her. "Didn't exactly have time to clean. Wasn't expecting to be…."

"Honey, I don't care about that," she interrupted. "Besides, let's face it, you're kind of a neat freak."

"Well, I've got a set of sheets in the washer. Are you hungry?"

She smiled. "We just ate, remember?"

"Oh yeah," he said with an embarrassed shrug. "Well, we could start on those strip poker lessons I promised you. But I'd better shave first… and shower. And of course, if you're too tired, I totally understand…."

He was nervous. She couldn't believe it. Her normally calm, cool and confident husband was nervous. She couldn't blame him for being apprehensive—not after the way she'd previously reacted, or the accusation she'd made when they'd fought over Mike. She was touched. He was honestly afraid that he might traumatize her. It was yet one more example of the depth of his love for her. Her mother was right—more right than she had initially understood: This was her test. She fought back against the lingering panic that threatened her and took a deep breath.

"Roderic," she said gently, "I had a nap earlier tonight, remember?"

"Oh yeah. Well…"

"How many times have you showered today?"

"Twice," he admitted.

"And how many times have you shaved?"

"Twice." He felt his face. "But it's kind of scratchy and I don't want…. How about that game of cards? Or a movie? Or we could relax in front of the fire? Whatever you want."

With a smile, she took him by the hand and led him into what was now their bedroom.

"Mac," he protested, "the sheets aren't clean, the bathroom's not clean. Are you sure you wouldn't be more comfortable at a hotel? You know, a small glass of celebratory champagne? Chocolates? Roses? We don't have any of that…."

She could no longer choke back a chuckle. He was adorable. "We don't need any of that—or anything else." She walked him over to the side of their bed and gently pushed him down onto it. "Sit here," she told him, "and don't move a muscle." She picked up her bag that he had brought in earlier and proceeded into the bathroom.

XXXXXXXXXX

A few minutes later she reemerged with her hair down and wearing his robe.

He stood to greet her. "You look beautiful," he said. "I'll just shower and shave."

She shook her head. "You've showered enough for one day. But we can do the shave…." She grabbed him again by the hand and this time directed him into the bathroom. She took off his tie, belt, and cufflinks, and then un-tucked his shirt. "Sit on the counter."

He did as he was told and she removed his shoes and socks. She'd already set his razor and shaving gel out.

"Mac, you don't have to…."

"Honey, be quiet," she said as she kissed him. "I've missed this."

"Yes, ma'am," he said with an audible intake of breath, as she began to unbutton his shirt, her lips following her fingers as together they traced a path down the center of his chest and abdomen.

She took off his shirt and eagerly gazed at his bare torso. He was rock hard and had obviously lost weight. "You have been working out," she whispered in his ear and felt him shudder in response. "Not yet," she whispered into his other ear. "Not yet."

She wet a towel with warm water and gently caressed his face.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He'd forgotten exactly how erotic the act of shaving could be when performed by the woman he loved. He wanted her so much. He just didn't want to hurt her—not again.

Mac found that his robe, which was slightly long in the sleeves, was getting in her way. She quickly unbelted it and slipped it off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

Rod opened his eyes to be greeted by the sight of his wife wearing only her Yale baseball jersey along with her pearl and diamond necklace. No piece of lingerie could ever look sexier on her. As he looked her over, head to toe, the physical effect her appearance had on him was immediate.

She saw him tense and smiled. She lathered some shaving gel in her hands and covered his face and neck. With a soft touch she stroked his face with his razor. He'd shaved twice already today. This act was more ritualistic than anything else. But it brought back memories of a special time between them—their first moments of true intimacy together, a rich foundation they would build upon tonight.

When she finished, she gently dried his face and softly applied his aftershave lotion. Then she kissed his lips, his face, and his neck. She could tell he was on the edge. She knew exactly what would send him past the point of no return. "You kept my message on the mirror," she whispered against his cheek before pulling back a little to watch his expression and to look in his eyes. She was pleased when she saw his face flush.

"See how deeply you were burrowed under my skin and in my heart?" he said hoarsely.

With a feather light touch she trailed her fingers down the center of his chest to the top of his trousers, which she deftly unfastened. Thrilled to feel him stiffen at her touch, she straightened up and wrapped her arms around his neck. Looking into his beautiful soul, she said softly, "Roderic… it's time. No more sitting on the bench, or watching the game from the stands."

"Are you sure?" he asked hoarsely.

"I want to make love with my husband."

As she hoped, that was all the encouragement he needed. In a split second, he was standing and had her pressed fully against the length of him. He bent his head, and vigorously parting her lips, he delved into the deepest recesses of her mouth and then eagerly allowed her the same privilege.

It was a kiss that left them each naked and lying intertwined together on their bed, with nothing between them, and an uncontrollable, insatiable need to touch and kiss each other everywhere. Without saying a word, very quickly they came together in one immediate climax that left them physically spent and emotionally fulfilled.

XXXXXXXXXX

Afterwards as they lay side by side, trying to regain their breath, Mac began to laugh.

Rod turned over on his right side and looked at her. "What?"

She pulled up the sheet and rolled over to face him. "All those months of foreplay—all those months I was petrified of being with you. And it was all over nothing."

"Nothing? Nothing?" he repeated, pretending to be offended. "You mean to tell me that wasn't the most mind-bending, utterly fantastic sexual experience of your life?"

"Rod," she told him, "we weren't having sex. We were making love. There's a difference, remember?"

"Oh yeah…. Definitely making love," he said with a husky tone as he leaned in and kissed her on the lips. He brushed some hair off her face, and continuing to look at her, said, "Do you know why it was that way? Why it wasn't a big deal?"

"No."

"Because the past is now irrelevant. You're stuck with me, Mackenzie Spencer Allen Calloway. Till' death do us part. And even then, I'm not going to let you go."

Knowing he was yet again right, she smiled. "About the past…."

"Yeah?" he questioned with a tender, indulgent look as he shifted positions to face her more directly. "Are you finally ready to tell me why you put us through such hell? Why you freaked out on me?"

Her parents had been right. He did know and understand her. But it was a knowledge and understanding that was thankfully tempered and blinded by his love for her. With him, she had nothing to fear. "I thought I was engaged once before… in Jerusalem."

He listened intently as she told him about David—their initial meeting, his background, how she'd been a virgin when they'd made love after three months together, about their marriage plans, her willingness to give up her dreams, and his subsequent act of cowardice; and most of all, the emptiness she'd felt afterwards and how much she loathed—could not tolerate—being made the object of anyone's pity.

Rod struggled to fight back the anger he was feeling. He wanted to kill the bastard! And strangle his wife at the same time, albeit to a much lesser degree.

When she finished, he took a deep breath. Trying, tonight of all nights, to respond in a reasoned, mature and understanding manner, he asked, "And you thought I was like David? That I would hurt you like he did?"

"The surface similarities emotionally paralyzed me at first," she quietly conceded.

"But I would never…." He felt the anger rise again, so he shut up.

She saw him tense. He was fighting hard against giving her the reaction, which as a matter of right, she so richly deserved. She reached out and brushed back the thick hair from his forehead. Tenderly she told him, "Rod, you are nothing like him. I know that—have known it for a long time. On your worst day you are a far better man—a better person—than he could ever hope to be."

"Then why?" he pleaded. "I don't understand."

"Because what he did nearly destroyed me," she said with a sigh. "However, what I felt with him is a single drop in a bucket compared to what I feel with you. I was terrified that if something were to happen between us—if you were to choose something else, I wouldn't survive."

"But…"

"I know," she acknowledged, cutting him off. "Self-fulfilling prophecy?"

He nodded.

"I told you this morning I was glad that you appeared to be happy and with someone else last Thursday night. The reason is that I hadn't come to grips with my past even then. I didn't understand how much it was affecting my present and dictating our futures. I needed to… before we could have the relationship we both want and deserve," she said fingering her pearl and diamond necklace, and quoting from language he'd written in his note to her mother. With an unsteady voice, and while wiping away a tear from her eye, she told him, "I'm profoundly grateful that it wasn't too late for us—too late for you. You are my life: my present and my future."

He, too, had to brush away a tear or two, as all his lingering anger and frustration faded away to its proper place: behind them. "There is one thing we have to resolve," he said finally.

"What?" she asked in almost a panic upon hearing the soberness in his voice.

"You're lying on my side of the bed… and I want it back."

She threw back her head and laughed at his never ending ability to surprise, amuse, and exasperate her all at the same time. "Are you serious?"

He nodded. "Completely."

"But before when you were sick, you slept on that side."

He grinned. "That was only so I could look at you. My cast forced me over here."

She shook her head. "You are crazy."

"Crazy about you," he threw back with a smile. "But I want my side of the bed back."

She considered his request for a moment. "Okay," she told him, "on two conditions."

"What conditions?" he asked with a tilt of his head.

"Well, first that I get to keep the last name 'Allen' for work."

"Only at work?" he asked. "Not at home and not with our children?"

"Only at work," she assured him.

He shrugged. Recognizing how important it was for her after David to maintain a sense of independence, he told her, "I guess I can live with it. And the second condition?"

"That you tell me where we're going tomorrow."

"No can do," he replied. "It's a secret."

"Please," she begged. "I'm dying to know. You know how I hate surprises."

"I'll give you a few hints."

"Okay," she conceded.

"It's warm, tropical and very secluded, Señora," he disclosed. "It might even include additional time out on the water—but only if you promise to curl up next to me."

"You mean like this?" she asked as she scooted up next to him.

"Exactly like that," he replied wrapping his arms around her from behind and pulling her up flesh against him. "What do you think?"

"Sounds perfect," she said with a sigh as once again she found a haven in his arms. "So long as you promise we won't be joined by any eels."

He laughed. "The eels can stay home."

She turned to face him. "Honey?"

"Yeah?"

"As wonderful as our first time together was, I think there's room for improvement."

"You do, huh?"

"Well, I'd hate to think we reached the pinnacle on our first try."

"Are you issuing a challenge, Mrs. Calloway? Daring me to get in the game again?" he teased as he bent his head and began playfully to nip at her neck and throat. "You know I play to win."

"Yes, I do," she answered, stroking his flanks in return. "I'd say that's something we have in common, Mr. Calloway. So enough talk, I want action."

"Action?" he repeated with a grin. "Why that happens to be my specialty. Only this time," he told her, "it's going to be exquisitely slow."

XXXXXXXXXX

Much later they lay wrapped up in each other's arms and in their individual thoughts, except that he was now on his side of the bed. Their legs were entangled and he cradled her head on his chest, gently rubbing her back. So much had happened over the course of the day. When he had awakened this morning the wound in his heart from her absence was still gaping. Now miraculously, when he woke tomorrow, she would be in his arms to stay—as his wife. His beautiful, proud, brilliant, stubborn, and incredible wife.

She thought on the last time they'd lain in his bed like this… after they'd talked about love, and he'd told her it had to be given freely or it wasn't love. Their relationship had changed drastically since that day—for the worse and now for the better. But almost all of the changes were in, or because of, her. Like the North Star, he had always been constant: in his love for her, and in his commitment to her and to their relationship.

After some time, she looked up at him as she continued to play with the fine hairs on his taut, sculpted chest. "You're unusually quiet," she told him. "You're not having second thoughts are you?"

He looked down at her lazily. "About our marriage?"

"Yeah. We were a little hasty."

"Never," he said definitively as he intertwined the fingers of his right hand with hers. "I was wondering... if Coop hadn't intervened, would you ever have swallowed your pride and come back to me?"

"Thank God we'll never know!" Seizing the initiative, she rolled on top of him and began to express her feelings in the manner she best communicated intimacy.

When her lips descended on his, he sighed and fell deeper in love with his wife. How he loved saying those words! He closed his arms around her and held her tight while enjoying the fire her touch always kindled deep in his body and soul.

Some time later she pulled back and acknowledged with a gleam in her eyes, "We do owe Cooper a lot, don't we?"

"Yes, we do," he solemnly agreed.

Without warning, he reversed their positions and with their faces inches apart, and a hint of mischief in his eyes, he looked down at her and suggested, "Perhaps we should name our first son Horace Cooper in his honor."

"I love you, Roderic," she told him, her voice full of emotion.

"It's about time, Mackenzie," he replied with a cocky grin. "It's about time."

She smiled at him knowingly and together they made love again.

However, they would remember the day's events as the true beginning of their life-long affair. A partnership, which through joy and sorrow, failure and success, war and peace, would be built on abiding love and a willingness—when absolutely necessary—to throw an elbow at anyone, or anything, that might stand in the way of their being together... even occasionally each other.

THE END

Author's Note: This story has been quite the journey for me. I may be overly optimistic, but I'd like to believe that somewhere during these forty-one chapters, I became a writer. There are many people to thank for aiding my education. You know who you are. Know this, too. I sincerely appreciate all the advice, support, and suggestions each of you has given me. More important, I am grateful for your individual and collective friendship. And to everyone who has ever taken the time, and made the effort, to submit a review, thank you. Before sitting down to write this story, I came up with a timeline for the Calloway family from the day Rod and Mackenzie met up to the day she becomes President. "Beginnings" details the first part of that journey. The rest of the story will hopefully be told in a modified and updated, "Turning Point."

Mac