He shrugged, inasmuch as you could shrug your shoulders while lying in grass with your hands behind your head. “A friend, that’s all.”
“A girlfriend?”
Sasha squinted one eye at her. “A friend who happens to be a woman, yes.”
“Was she your lover?”
“Why all the questions? Christ. Yes, we were lovers once. Are you satisfied?”
Iris rolled herself on top of his chest and set her chin on her linked fingers, just below the hollow of his neck. “Is she the same woman you met outside the Borghese, the day of the accident?”
“How—”
“I saw you from the window.”
Sasha untucked his hands from behind his head and slid them under her dress. “Ah.”
“Ah what?”
“Somebody’s jealous.”
“Of course I am. Aren’t you?”
“No. I don’t believe you can possess exclusive sexual rights to another human being. I believe we are all free agents, men and women.”
“Oh, is that so?”
“Don’t be grumpy.”
“Grumpy? Me?”
“You’re grumpy because you think I’m telling you I’m not going to be loyal. But that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about my parents. What I saw as a little kid, how what started out as a little jealousy turned into something monstrous. How it turned my father into a monster. And the more monstrous he became, the more she turned away, until whatever love they had for each other at the beginning was just a pile of spent ashes.”
“How awful.”
“But loyalty, that’s different. That’s voluntary. That’s free will. I choose to sleep with you. Every time I kiss you, every time I go to bed with you, I do it because I want you, because you’re the woman I want to sleep with. That doesn’t take away your freedom.”
“Do you mean I can take another lover, if I want to?”
“If you like.”
“What if I don’t want to? What if I only want to sleep with you?”
He turned them both over on the grass and unbuttoned his trousers. “I see what you’re getting at. You want me to make some kind of proclamation.”
“I don’t care. Any man can say whatever he wants, I guess.”
“What if I proclaim, Iris Macallister, in front of God and this goddamn grass under your back, that I happen to be crazy for you? Is that enough?”
“Not nearly enough. You don’t even believe in God. Anyway, how do I know you’re not crazy about that other woman, too?”
“Well, I’m not. I’m in love with only one woman in the world.”
“You don’t say! Which one is that?”
Sasha reached down and yanked up her dress. The sun made a halo of his hair. Iris settled her hips and lifted her knees—sucked in her breath—ah God—what a wallop!—all right, fair play, a bit of revenge, a bit of primeval possession, whatever he said about that. She dug her fingernails into his furious buttocks—he yelled out—but didn’t miss a beat.
“I want you to say it, Iris. Who am I in love with?”
“Me!” she gasped.
“And who are you in love with—madly—badly—as you have never loved anyone in your life?”
She released her claws from his skin. “You!”
Sasha growled out some filthy, triumphant word and lifted himself on his palms to hammer her in earnest. Iris grabbed fistfuls of grass. She shut her eyes against the jealous fury of the sun in Sasha’s hair. She thought of random things, like flashes from another life—bacon frying, a fiery October maple, racehorses—oh, Sasha’s father, not random at all—it’s too much, too hard, too much, too deep, too much—sweat dropped on her face—too much—how does he do it, how does he keep going—she couldn’t stand another second—the world went tiny and gigantic, both at once—short, desperate strokes, almost there—almost—then smash—finally—and Iris hollered her rapture as loud as she wanted because only the sun and stones and Sasha could hear her—how divine.
A few more beats, and Sasha shuddered and arched his back and let out a soft howl. The crisis died woozily away and Iris’s bones went slack. She heard the stream again, giggling at them. She wanted to giggle, too. Sasha swore and rolled off, panting.
“What’s wrong? I thought that was wonderful.”
“I meant to pull out, that’s all. I don’t have a rubber on.”