By Leslie Lindsay

Here’s an excerpt from my novel-in-progress.  We meet a guy who is moving into a new home, custom-built with his wife.  Let me know what you think–good, bad, in-between. 

[Also, remember this is an original work.  Any characters and descriptions are the product of the author’s imagination and are not intended to be contrued as real.  Please to do not borrow or steal this work.  Thanks!]

“Hey, uh…love of my life?” I was struggling with the box marked, “bathroom.”  It’s much heavier than it appears.  I can only imagine what she has shoved in it.   

         “What?”  Her voice wass distant, a bit irritated. 

         “Where are you?”  I call out after sliding the box across the marble counter in our new master bath.

           “Over here,” Beth responds, “In the den.” 

           I roll my eyes and survey the room.  She used to tell me that she couldn’t wait until she got married so she could share a bedroom with her “prince charming and live like a princess.”  It was her dream.  She wanted an expansive room with frills and a large bathroom. I never really understood the allure myself, having grown up in my older sister’s vacated bedroom. 

          My sister, Val had gone off to Duke on a full scholarship, eight years my senior and dad’s pet.  Since her room was the biggest in the house and she was gone, it was handed down to me, as many things were that had once been my sister’s.  The walls were covered with some ugly flowered wallpaper, that may have been fashionable at one time—but now, they screamed 1976.  Yellow backing and huge green and orange flowers swirled about my guy-cave.  I didn’t really care.  I was just glad to have the “big room” on a floor all to myself.  The adjoining bathroom was nothing to write home about, either.  A shower stall and simple vanity occupied the space, and a small secret-compartment over the toilet where I stashed a few condoms—just in case. 

           I glanced at the box on the counter.  This room made my wife proud.  Me, too.  No more yellowed-flowered wallpaper.   Proud, too because I was able to provide her what she really wanted.  I puffed up my shoulders and looked at myself in the mirror, squinting my eyes in that sexy bedroom way and pursing my lips so they rolled into a perfect bow.  I flexed my biceps just for the fun of it and turned to view my profile.  Alone.  Yeah, I’m the man. 

         I adjusted myself and took a good look around.  After hours of looking at faucets and lighting in the “design showroom,” I had to admit, it did look good.  Scrolling Tuscan this, and etched glass that.   She got everything she wanted, and more. 

          Last night we made love, her back pressed to the Italian ceramic in the double-shower.  She hesitated doing something so naughty in the new bathroom.  It was though she didn’t want the room to be tainted with evidence of something dirty.  Instead of the double shower, Beth thought the money would have been better spent on a sit-down vanity in which to apply her make-up.  I surprised her and got both. 

          This room—the master bedroom and the luxury bath was hers.  I had given it to her.  I wanted her to be happy.  I wanted us to be happy.  I should’ve know it would take more than that.