He's quiet as we make it back to my place, and I park the sled in front of the house. It looks just as I left it a few hours ago and yet…everything feels different. I head inside, and…then I'm at a loss of what to do with myself. A quick glance out the window shows that it's still early, the bots moving through the field, watering and weeding. There's plenty of day left, and it feels strange to throw myself into chores or clean house.
It's my damn wedding day and I don't know what to do with myself.
I turn and look at Rektar. He's just inside, standing near the door and looking equally as flummoxed as me. I glance around, and when I look at my kitchen, I get an idea. "I'm going to bake a wedding cake for us," I tell Rektar. "Why don't you sit down and make yourself comfortable?"
He heads for the table and seats himself at one of my tiny chairs. "Humans have a cake on their wedding day?"
"Oh yeah." I smile at the thought. "Most of the time they're big, white frosted cakes with lots of layers. I don't think I can do that, but I can put together a little something for us."
"What other human traditions are there for a marriage?"
I dig under the counter and pull out my single round pan that will serve as my cake pan. "Oh, well, there's carrying the bride over the threshold of the house. Jumping a broom. A bouquet—" I let out a squeak of terror as I'm hauled into the air. "Rektar?"
"You should have mentioned the threshold tradition earlier. I would like to honor your views." With his arms locked around my waist, Rektar carries me back out to the front of the house and down the step and then sets me down. "Do I carry you any particular way?"
I pause. I know I'm heavier than a lot of women, but he didn't seem to have trouble carrying me, and I might as well go for the fairy tale. "It's actually called a bridal carry," I say, a little breathless with excitement. "You put one arm behind my knees and the other behind my back and carry me in like that."
He nods and in the next moment, I'm swept off my feet and into his arms. He straightens, looking over at me. "Like so?"
I put my arms around his neck. "Exactly like so." And I beam at him, because this has always been a fantasy of mine. Every girl dreams of being carried over her threshold, even us curvy girls.
Rektar carries me up the step and back into the house. Our gazes meet again, and he gives me another hungry, possessive look. "What next?"
"I'm afraid that's all there is to it." Though now that I've gotten to experience it, I wish there was a hell of a lot more. And when he sets me down gently on the floor again, as if I'm made of fragile glass, I curse myself for not making something up on the fly. That he has to carry me right to bed and make love to me in that moment.
Damn it.
"There is a kiss," I blurt out as he straightens. "We didn't get to do that in town, but it's traditional for the bride and groom to kiss."
Instead of pulling me into his arms and kissing me passionately, my new husband pulls out his data pad. "That is among the list of things I need to ask you about."
"You have a list?" I'd seen him typing while I drove the air-sled back, but I thought he was emailing Khex or something.
"I do." He hesitates, his gaze searching mine. "I thought it would be appropriate to establish the rules of our relationship—that way there is no miscommunication."
"That makes sense." Even if it is a tad disappointing that he's not being swept away by passion right in this moment. Given our circumstances, though, and how many times I've ground my teeth at how impossible he is to read, talking things over before we begin is probably the smartest way to go about things. "You ask your questions, and I'll get started on the cake."
Rektar sits at the small table in the corner of my kitchen as I get to work on the batter. He considers his data pad, typing, and says, "Can you please define for me what a kiss is? I want to be certain I do not misunderstand."
Define a kiss? Lord. I think for a moment, stirring eggs into the flour-like substitute. "It's mouth on mouth. Tongues, too. For pleasure and affection."
I glance over at him and he's making notes, a studious expression on his face. "Is plas-film involved?"
"I hope not." I can't imagine what that would taste or feel like. "Did…you want it to be involved?"