She picked up the glass of wine and walked back to her bedroom, placed the wine on the bedside table next to their wedding photo in its silver frame. In her closet, she pulled both dresses from the rack and laid them on the bed and stared at them, decided instantly that the silver dress was the more appropriate: sexier in its simplicity.

She sat on the bed and untied her robe, looked down at her flattened stomach. She really had lost a lot of weight these past few weeks; food held little appeal. Sleep was what she craved, yet she couldn’t find much of that either.

Phil came into the room and stood in front of her. “Whatcha thinkin’?”

She looked up at her husband. “Can’t decide what to wear.”

“Well, I know how to take your mind off it.”

“Oh, you do?”

He looked down at her; she grasped her opened robe. He smiled, and pushed the robe off her shoulders. It fell to the bed, covering the black dress. He pushed her, gently, onto her back. She rested on top of the robe and whispered, “Will you put that silver dress over my vanity chair?”

Phil reached for the dress without ever looking away from her. He placed the dress on the chair behind him and bent to kiss her. She closed her eyes and tasted the familiar kiss of her husband, of comfort. She reached behind his neck and pulled him closer. She mumbled, “Did you lock the door?”

“Yes.” He slid his hand down to open the robe at the bottom, then pulled it away from her body.

“Hmm,” she whispered into his neck. She buried her head in his shoulder, let him transport her where he wanted to go. She was the willing and pliable one underneath. No effort on her part was needed this time, and she floated in their lovemaking, letting his hands and mouth wander where they pleased while she basked in the comfort of familiar intimacy.

He snapped at her white silk underwear and she lifted her hips, the most motion she’d made since he touched her, then let him slip them off, let them slide to the floor. She wrapped her legs around him, let his feet, still on the floor, steady both of them.

She reached in her wandering mind, far below, for some sort of reaction, something beyond comfort, something that moved toward strength and desire, but found only an odd wondering if she’d laid out all the silver for Celia to polish, or if she could return the black dress she was now lying on top of, or if the red roses would open before the guests arrived.

As Phil shuddered, she unwrapped her legs and he rolled, then collapsed next to her.