When I was a little girl and dreamed about romance, I thought about where my lover would put his hands. I imagined one hand holding my neck while his other hand was at the small of my back. I imagined being eased onto the bed that way. His knees would gently part mine as he bent over me and kissed me.

I didn’t give a thought as to where I’d put my hands or what I would do. I just assumed he’d know everything, like a man leading a woman on the dance floor. He’d know where we should go and how we should move.

When Fletch and I were finally alone in a new room, I had been about to dive into the bathroom to get myself ready, when I suddenly realized I was wrong. I’d never get out of another wedding dress as long as I lived, despite his reassurance that there would be many dresses and many nights where we undid each other in the dark... This was my wedding night.

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I heard him lock the door behind us.

“Aren’t you going to go change?” he asked, his voice husky as he waited.

“No. I thought you could help me undo my zipper.”

His lips and breath were on the back of my neck and I felt his fingers on the zipper.

And suddenly, I was that girl again, who didn’t know that sex could be terrible and cruel. Instead, I could be handled carefully. Fletch was going to handle me carefully. I could relax and the heat of his mouth and hands on the hard knots in my neck helped ease me to a place in my mind where I could let go of everything.

The satin fell and I let go of something indelible that I had been holding onto so tightly.