45Lance“Getting tired, Mrs. Lance?” I laugh, as Felicia pants beside me.
“Mrs. Lance.” Felicia grins, blowing air from red cheeks.
It’s been one month since the shooting, since Mr. Black died, and in that time Felicia and I have barely been apart. We stayed in the States for around a week, in an apartment I rented just for privacy. We did nothing but make love and order in food and watch movies. It was only a week, but it felt like a year compressed down into seven days. We made love five times a day until we were both tired and spent. Felicia tended to my wounds and we fell deeper in love until the bloodshed seemed like a distant memory.
Now, we’re back in France, finishing the backpacking holiday for our honeymoon.
“You need to get a second name,” she says.
“Never had need of one be
