I heard her moving behind me. The soft sound of fabric. The wardrobe door closing.
Every sound was extraordinarily loud.
"You can turn around," she said, after a moment.
I turned around.
She had put on a robe. Silk, pale, tied at the waist, which was better than the towel in the technical sense and not better than the towel in any other sense because it was thin and it moved when she moved and her hair was still damp against the collar of it and I was going to develop a medical condition before this honeymoon was over.
I picked up one of the coffees and held it out to her.
She looked at it. Then at me. Something moved in her expression, something small and unguarded, there and then gone.
She took it.
We stood in the bedroom drinking coffee in silence, which was either the most dome
