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"It was meant to be, you know," she announces with complete confidence.
He rolls over to face her with a lazy, indulgent smile. She is half propped up in their bed, not even making a pretense at modesty by pinning the sheet to her chest with one hand, as many women would. The sunlight is filtering in through the window, catching the highlights in her hair and making it shine like the gold she's so fond of. It also makes her bare skin gleam like the surface of a perfect, golden-white pearl.
"Is that so?"
Her answering nod is given with the same fresh enthusiasm she applies to so many pursuits, making her breasts bob tantalizingly above him. She is gloriously unashamed in his arms, for he was never the one who tried to teach her shame. And he loves her all the more for it, loves her in all her unabashed, brutal, honest splendor.
"We go together," she explains patiently, almost as if to a child: the child he may as well be beside her, for all her eternally youthful spirit. "Wit and wisdom--you always see them together in books. Like, 'The Wit and Wisdom of Abraham Lincoln,' or 'The Wit and Wisdom of Bugs Bunny,' although how a bunny could be either witty or wise or anything other than terrifying is beyond me, particularly one named after a bug--"
Laughing, he interrupts her diatribe-in-the-making by pulling her down for a kiss. "Dear, dear Anya..." he whispers against her open, demanding mouth as they entwine themselves together once again, driven by a passion and need for each other that are never quite sated. "I never doubted it."