34 Kate & Anthony
34. Washing the other’s body
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It’s strange, she thinks, her breath catching when Anthony’s fingers tentatively brush the scar at the base of her head, the things that simply do not cross a mind until they happen.
“Surely you have seen it before,” she says, craning her neck behind her in the hopes she might be able to see him, but it’s hard like this – sitting between his legs in the lush, claw-footed bathtub, her back to his chest, or - - no. He would not have seen it if she hadn’t leant forward to catch one of the lilies, its petals dipping beneath the water’s surface, catching fine trails of soap and oils in the process.
They are still new to this, their wedding mere weeks ago, and this particular event – bathing together – is a first entirely. Kate had been unsure at the prospect – used to the womanly intimacy of bathing in tandem with her mother and sister, rather than the vulnerability of doing so with a lover – but Anthony had seemed tender in the suggestion, and so she had agreed. The pale length of his body had seemed different somehow in this room, the day breaking at his broad shoulders, light curving around his hips as he’d sunk himself into the water, and she’d had to remind herself she was allowed to stare now.
Had to remind herself he was too, as she slunk out of her robe and crossed the tiles towards him.
There was reverence in his look then, and somehow, despite the tentativeness of his hand, reverence in his touch now too.
