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The euphoria of the night, still. Spencer drove, window cracked despite the cold. Trina leaned her head against the passenger window, taking in the biting air, the sight of her handsome boyfriend steering them towards the Metro Court. A place where they could be assured time alone.
The fireworks show, the countdown to midnight on the pier, and him. There couldn’t be a more perfect start to a new year. Trina landed her hand on top of Spencer’s, which was holding the gear shift. It lingered there before spidering up his arm, down again. Spencer smiled—an autonomic reaction to her touch.
He glanced at her, the interval of street lamps illuminating her angelic face in soft blue.
“You tired?” he asked.
Trina closed her eyes and widened her smile. “No,” she whispered. Liar. Her body had been comforted to rest by the relative smooth–if short–ride from the pier to the hotel.
“Well, we’re here.”
Spencer put the car in park as the valet opened his door. He, in turn, got out, opened Trina’s door and offered his hand to escort her into the lobby.
January 1st was in full swing with dozens of partygoers spilling out of the event rooms, laughing, falling over themselves and slow-dancing to the rather nondescript music wafting through the speakers. Amused, Trina and Spencer waded through the circus of it all, pressed the button to summon the elevator and rode it all the way to the top floor.
If Trina had been tired, the view from the Metro Court penthouse suite reinvigorated her. Her best friend’s mom had once owned the place, but she had never been inside such an opulent suite as this one. She wouldn’t have thought it existed in a place like Port Charles. The room itself was massive—the size of half of her dorm floor. There were floor to ceiling windows that looked out on the city and the harbor. Somewhere in the distance, fireworks were still erupting in the sky, and in the center of the darkness, lights that Trina thought for sure triggered something familiar. She turned to Spencer, pointing to them. “Wyndemere ?”
Spencer nodded, approaching slowly from behind and slipping his arms around Trina’s waist. She nuzzled against his chest—a home if she had ever known one.
He smelled so delicious, and even through his overcoat, she could feel the muscles of his arms tense and relax around her.
“Are you hungry? There’s a nice charcuterie board and some wine.”
Trina spun around in his arms so that she was facing him. Her eyes were all adoration, all…comfort. “You take such good care of me,” she said, placing a soft kiss on his lips. “I’m good.”
How many minutes passed? They stood there in full view of the window overlooking Port Charles, in each other’s embrace. A dance without song. None was needed.
“I love you, Spencer Cassadine. So very much” Trina whispered with a sly grin. She had been staring into Spencer’s eyes, trying hard not to lose herself thinking about the fact that this year began the way the last one ended: with her in his arms. And that moment sandwiched between the surety of his voice as he sat on her bed and told her that he would go with her to Paris and its sultriness on the pier when he whispered in her hair that he would follow her anywhere. How does one come down from a heaven that high and why would anyone want to?
And surely, there were questions to be answered. Parental concerns to address, objections to overcome. But those were issues for a tomorrow different from this one.
Spencer kissed her. “And, I love you, Trina Robinson. Here’s to a very happy new year.”
“Happy new year…Tell me,” Trina stepped back from his embrace, the mood of the moment suddenly shifting from one of jubilance to one that was wholly….
Trina slid off her coat. “Now that it’s a new year,” she said, tilting her head to one side, eyeing him the whole way as she unzipped, slipped the straps of her dress from her shoulders and let the pink silk and lace dress fall to her feet. “What are some things that you’re hopeful for?”
In that moment, Spencer noticed the heat of the room. He took off his jacket. Took a visible breath. An audible breath, as he traced, with his eyes, the silhouette of her body cast by the moonlight shining through the window. He marveled to himself how it was that, in weeks, Trina would cross an ocean to study the world’s great works of art when he himself beheld its greatest work right here, right now.
He swallowed, clenched his jaw, cleared his throat. Anything. Everything to be a gentleman. To not let his mind go there, even though she was clearly inviting it to. “Paris, with you, for starters…finding my purpose while you’re living yours.” He stepped to her, gripping her waist and lowering his lips to the space just below her ear. Whispered, “More nights that end like this…” Pecked at her. Lapped at her, sucking her earlobe, the fold of her neck, her shoulder blade.
Trina clawed at the knot of Spencer’s necktie, loosening it and ripping it over his head. The buttons of his shirt she hoped the cleaning crew might be able to find when they turned the room over. The urge for him was that crucial.
Spencer lifted Trina’s chin until her lips met his lips. Walked her back until her bare body crashed against the cold pane of the window, while she fumbled with his belt. But, before she could slip it from the loops, he was on his knees, raising her one leg over his shoulder, then the other and diving in. Her hands made their way through his hair, pulling him closer and pushing him away in time with the movement of her hips and ass wedged against the window.
He calligraphied his name with his tongue, filled his mouth with more and more of her until she cried out, until those cries softened into whimpers and those whimpers calmed into deliberate, measured breaths.
He smiled, the bottom half of his face awash with her. He let her down, gently and Trina steadied herself on her feet, leaning her head against the glass, fanning herself and watching as Spencer removed every stitch of clothing. Every inch of skin laid bare to her. To the night. The stars, the birds, whoever, through the misted window watched the tale being told. Unabashedly. Repeatedly. Their bodies fused together. Their limbs entangled. The heat drawing from them, the syncopated cadence of their breath. In. Held. Out.
Thrust. Pulse. Retreat.
Palms full of her hair as leverage, Trina clinging to his neck, her calves grafted to his ass for dear life. She, choking on air, choking on him.
Afterward, Spencer clad in boxers, lounged on the sofa. Trina, in his shirt, cozied in front of him while an I Love Lucy marathon played silently on the TV.
“I’m sorry about your shirt,” Trina said, fingering the space where a button had been.
Spencer chuckled, eyeing the valley of brown skin peeking from between the two sides of his still crisp, white shirt. “It looks so much better this way, anyway,” he said.
She looked up at him. His face was illuminated only by the glare of the television. Trina had studied him as he watched, enjoyed the sound of his muted laughter, his general ease which, after the many months of his recent experiences, was refreshing to see. Then, his face fell. He looked sullen.
“Spencer,” Trina prodded.
“Hmmm?”
“What are you thinking about?”
There was a pause. A welling up of tears in his eyes that he refused to let fall. He sniffed them back, rubbed at them with his thumb and index finger before clearing his throat and answering. “Britt…yesterday was her birthday. And today…”
With everything going on, Spencer had managed to let the anniversary of Britt’s death slip his mind. He felt guilt and shame over that fact—over the idea that he could ever forget her. But then there was a moment of remembrance that had spread through him in the silence of laughing at Lucy’s antics, which made him think of his most unlikely friend.
“I was just wondering how she’s doing right now. What she’s doing right now. She was so much fun to be around. She made me laugh, and I—well, I hope I made her feel even the tiniest bit loved and accepted and celebrated…”
“I know you did. I know you do, still.” Trina raked her fingers through Spencer’s unruly mane. “I have an idea.”
Trina popped up abruptly and disappeared before reappearing moments later with the charcuterie board and two glasses of champagne. She handed the glasses and bottle to Spencer and set the board on the coffee table. Inside one of the cubes of cheese, Trina had stuck a toothpick, which she lit.
“Oh, shoot,” she said, cupping the flame. “This might be a total disaster. Hurry up and make a wish before I set this hotel on fire.
Spencer laughed, bending over the candle. He closed his eyes, hurriedly made a wish, and blew on the already fading flame.
“What did you wish for?” Trina asked.
“If I tell you, it won’t come true.” Spencer answered.
“I didn’t take you for the superstitious type, Spencer,” Trina teased.
He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “I just want to take no chances.”
“Understood,” Trina responded, shifting gears. She picked up the champagne and began peeling the foil.
“Let’s toast.” Trina popped the cork and shrieked as champagne spilled into the glasses. She handed a glass to Spencer before picking the other up and holding it in the air. “To Britt,” she started, “who I’ll always remember as the woman who made you feel safe and counted and completely understood.”
Spencer dropped his head, a huge smile crossing his lips. An apt description. Britt wasn’t loved by many and for many valid reasons, but she was loved by him and that was a big reason why.
“To Britt. Happy birthday!” Spencer clinked his glass to Trina’s.
“I’m so glad I got to meet her.” Trina added.
“Yeah, me too.” Spencer took a sip and swallowed hard. “I’m glad my last memory of her is of her laughing and dancing and just having the best time…it just reinforces how short life is. How you never know what will happen, so it’s best to just live your life, you know? Without fear. Without worry…”
Spencer looked at Trina. “Which is why I say I have zero reservations about going to Paris with you. It’ll be an adventure of a lifetime, and I can’t wait.”