"So..."
It’s habit, to him -- common politeness, really -- to treat a woman well. The expensive restaurants and the pricey champagne and the seductive luxury of opulent hotel rooms, it’s all just part of his charm. It’s also, somehow, a signal that this is it, one time only, a shadow of a dream that’s gone upon waking, leaving one side of the bed with the barest breath of warmth where he’d been. They always know he’ll be gone in the morning; all the dressing of the night before a heady compensation for it.
Except she’d been so happy, the last time. Something under her skin, a bittersweet glow at the lavish attention he’d heaped upon her -- first at dinner, and then in the bedroom -- that he’d found himself thinking about her. Wanting to see that smile again.
And so here they are. And this time, when she makes to leave the bed, he traps her with an arm over her waist and a kiss on her neck.
“You know,” he murmurs against her skin, “We don’t actually have to check out for another --”
(he checks the clock by the bed, the numbers glowing bright in the semi-darkness)
“ -- four hours. And I’m not entirely sure I’ve made up for that umbrella yet. After all, it was a very nice umbrella.”
