She wasn’t complaining.
The light of the mid-morning sun covered them like a blanket. He was still dozing, Penelope curled into his side. As she listened to the steady rise and fall of his breath, she gently ran her fingers through the soft hairs on his chest.
“Wife,” he murmured, voice hoarse with sleep. His arms instinctively folded around her frame, pulling her closer. Odysseus shifted slightly, eyes locking onto hers. “Could this be how I will greet each day? With a goddess in my arms?” He nuzzled his nose behind her ear, pressing a kiss to her neck. She felt her face heat under his adoration.
His hand found her cheek, the pad of his thumb ghosting over her lips. “Tell me, wife,” he spoke softly still, keeping themoment contained to them, to this. “What do you have planned for this day?”
Penelope let out a breathless laugh. They had done nothing but this since they had exchanged vows. She had been hiding him away from his kingdom, keeping him from his duties. And yet - right now, she couldn’t find it in herself to feel ashamed.
“Husband,” she answered him, placing a light kiss to the curve of his jaw. “You know I am at your beck and call. I go where you go.”
“Why don’t we take a walk today? There’s someone I want you to meet.” He brushed her hair off of her face, leaning forward to press his lips to hers.
Penelope hummed contently against his mouth, her hands tousling his hair as he deepened the kiss. She pulled back, only slightly, “Anywhere,” she replied, her lips skimming his, “anyone.”
She felt his lips curl up into a smile, felt his breath against her face. “Good, my father will be delighted to meet you.”
She blinked, praying that she had misheard, misunderstood. She withdrew from his hold, sitting up fully in their bed. His… father?
“Penelope…” he reached to her, laying his hand gently over hers.
How could she have been so naïve? She had been so certain that Odysseus took the throne because his father had crossed over into the underworld.
She was gripping the sheets in her hands, her pulse hammering in her ears. “Your father?” She asked, her voice much quieter than she intended.
Had she been so wrapped up in the touch of him, the feeling of utter devotion, that she had… failed to ask about his family?
Her cheeks flushed furiously, her hands now wringing the blankets she clung to. “Penelope,” he spoke again. She felt himmoving beside her, sitting up. He kissed her bare shoulder, rubbing her arm in a way that was meant to be reassuring. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“Nothing to worry about?” She said roughly. She shook her head, trying desperately to put her thoughts in order. “Odysseus…” she turned, meeting his gaze. His eyes held so much softness, so much adoration, that her anxieties started to melt.
Most of it, anyway.
“Odysseus,” she repeated, dragging in a steadying breath. “He knows about us, right? You’ve told him?”
An impish smile crossed his features. “He will soon enough.”
Her stomach plummeted, eyes widening. Her heart skipped several beats as she sat there, looking at this man, her husband, and trying to decide if she wanted to hide from his devious grin, or smack some sense into him.
“Husband,” she tried to keep the reprehension out of her voice, but knew she was failing. “We have been back in Ithaca for over a week. Married for three days. And you’re telling me you haven’t found the time to tell your father about your new wife?”
Odysseus shrugged. It was the deciding factor before Penelope swatted him on the arm. “I’ve been a little busy, wife,” he growled, his mouth nearer to her ear. “We’ve been a little busy.”
Her face burned at the memories, at the way he was smirking. Looking at her as if he could read her mind, as if he could tell exactly what she’s thinking.
She squared her shoulders, leveling him with the best disapproving look she could muster. “Oh, I’m sorry, husband,” she hissed, shoving his shoulder. “Should I apologize for distracting you from your royal obligations?”
Odysseus laughed, catching her hand before she could shove him again. He gently kissed her knuckles, the look in his eyes downright wicked. “I’m not complaining, wife.”
With a groan, Penelope removed herself from the warmth of the bed. Her husband followed shortly after, clambering about the entire time.
“You’re an oaf of a man,” she shot over her shoulder as she righted her curls.
He gasped, hand flying to his chest in mock offense. “An oaf? Wife, I am wounded.”
She rolled her eyes, reaching for her dress, but before she could pull it over her shoulders, Odysseus was behind her, smoothing the fabric into place himself. His fingers ghosted along her arms, his lips finding the curve of her shoulder.
“Would an oaf know exactly how to make his wife writhe beneath him?” he murmured against her skin, utterly shameless. “How to make her cries echo across their bedroom?”
