Not to mention the s.e.x slave.

"You've seriously never thought of that before?" Liv asks.

I must have the imagination of a doormat, because the answer is no.

"Not once in your entire s.e.xual history have you ever acted out your fantasies with a girlfriend?" Liv asks.

"I didn't say that."

"Then what have you done?"

"I can't remember."

"You lie like a rug."

I glance at the door, which is closed but not locked. Because I'm not stupid, I go to lock it before returning to my desk.

"Where are you?" I ask Liv.

"Home and on the sofa," she replies. "Nicholas is napping, and of course he could wake any second so I'd suggest you don't risk anything by stalling."

Okay, I can do this. Ignoring the fact that what goes on in my head are really just stripped-down fantasies about f.u.c.king my wife dirty. I don't have the time-or, apparently, the imagination-to visualize even a tenth of the elaborate scenarios Liv dreams up. I'll admit to a few ideas, but I'm still not willing to share them.

"I imagine making love to you on a deserted island," I remark.

"Go on."

"With you in a little bikini that barely covers your b.r.e.a.s.t.s and a.s.s."

"What color is it?"

"Uh, blue. With white polka dots."

"How did I find a bikini on a deserted island... oh!" Liv's voice warms with enthusiasm. "Unless we're the sole survivors of a shipwreck?"

"Yeah, that's it."

"And we have to live off the land, right? And of course you can't keep your hands off me."

"Of course."

"Do we just wander around naked? No, wait, you said I'm wearing a bikini. What are you wearing?"

"A... uh, a loincloth?"

"How did you get ahold of a loincloth?"

"It was a dishtowel from the ship."

Liv laughs. "No way would a dishtowel cover you up."

"Maybe I made the loincloth out of palm leaves, then."

"So we're on a tropical island."

"Well, it's not an island in Antarctica," I mutter.

"Okay, okay, sorry. It's your fantasy. I'm just going to get comfortable and listen."

An expectant silence follows. Any l.u.s.t I might have had disappears as my brain works to think up a creative scenario.

"So it's a hot, tropical island with white-sand beaches and a cool ocean breeze," I say.

"Mmm."

"And you're... in this blue bikini with white polka dots..."

"Yeah, you mentioned that."

"And I'm... okay, let's just say I'm naked."

"I like it so far," Liv remarks.

I'm trying hard to picture her spread out on the sofa, maybe even with her skirt hitched up and her hand between her legs, but the pressure of this fantasy is seriously killing my desire. I much prefer just telling her all the hot things I want to do to her. Or will do to her. Soon.

"Are you turned on?" I finally ask.

"You mean right now?"

"No, I mean yesterday," I say dryly.

"What?"

"Yeah, I mean now."

"Well, I was getting there a little when you started talking about the loincloth," Liv admits. "But we're off to a rather slow start."

"Considering I was just thinking about medieval guildhalls, I'd say we're not doing too badly here."

"Are you hard?"

"No."

Liv lets out a sigh of exasperation. "Then get back to the fantasy. Are there coconuts?"

"Where?"

"On the tropical island, of course."

"Probably."

"What do you do with them?"

"What?"

"The coconuts."

I try to think of what the h.e.l.l I'm supposed to say.

"Eat them?" I suggest.

"I mean, do you break the coconuts open with your big, strong muscles and then pour the coconut milk over my naked, glistening body... oh, c.r.a.p."

"What?" I ask. "That was starting to get good."

"Yeah, well, your son is awake and screeching," Liv says in resignation. "The Fantasies of Professor West will have to wait."

"Too bad," I remark, while sending up thanks to whatever G.o.d is in charge of overly imaginative wives for getting me out of this.

"Call me later," Liv suggests.

"I have two lectures and a seminar later," I say, trying to sound regretful.

"Okay." Her voice lowers into a husky tone. "But I'll see you tonight."

"Yes, you will."

I put my phone back on my desk. I love Liv even more for trying. But it used to be that we didn't have to try. Other things have been rough over the years, but s.e.x has always been so d.a.m.ned easy. So d.a.m.ned good. At least, until recently.

I drag my hands over my face. Even taking s.e.x out of the equation, we don't spend much time alone together. I've tried making the romantic part easy again. We've had date nights and nice dinners out, though more often than not Liv has ended up falling asleep on the way home. I write her love notes, cook dinner regularly, help take care of Nicholas, do everything I should be doing. And still it feels like we're not getting it right.

But if we were in Paris...

We could live in an apartment like the one we had on Avalon Street. Take Nicholas to parks and gardens, boat rides, carousels. Liv and I could visit all the museums again, sit at corner tables in cafes, take the train to visit London, Venice, Berlin. In the summer, we could get a little farmhouse in the south of France and...

I shake the ridiculous thoughts out of my head. Even if I were offered the job, we'd never be able to create a life like that. I'd be required to travel more than I do now, and to remote places where it would be difficult for Liv and Nicholas to come along. And no way could I stand leaving them for weeks on end. The travel I already do now is too much as it is.

My phone rings. I refocus on the fact that I'm in my office and should be working. I reach for the phone.

"Dean West."

"Dean, it's Simon Fletcher," announces the booming voice of my friend and director of the Altopascio dig. "Did you hear the news yet?"

"What news?"

"The UN a.s.sembly agreed to vote on the Altopascio site, if we get the proposal to them by the fifteenth."

"Really?" A combination of surprise and disbelief fills me. "But the deadline was three weeks ago."

"I'm guessing Hans Klasen had something to do with the extension," Simon remarks. "We need you back over here to finish work on the proposal."

I flip through the calendar on my desk, trying to ignore the sinking of my heart at the thought of leaving my family again so soon. "I'll try to catch a flight early next week."

"I know you just got home, man. How's Liv and your boy?"

"Both great, thanks."

"Bring them with you," Simon suggests. "I haven't seen Liv in ages, and you guys could go to Rome or Paris for a few days when we're done. Take a vacation."

I've lost track of how many times I've suggested exactly that to Liv. I haven't yet been able to convince her to come to Italy with me-despite promises of leisurely strolls through medieval towns and lunches on terraces overlooking vineyard-covered hills.

"I'll ask her," I tell Simon. "Figure ten days or so?"

"At least. Mateo Rinaldi is getting the Italian team on board, but you're the guy who has to put it all together."

"Okay." I turn to my computer and pull up an airline website. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

After making the arrangements, I walk down the corridor to Frances Hunter's office. A formidable, gray-haired woman, Frances has been one of my staunchest supporters and friends since she hired me to start the Medieval Studies program at King's.

She's sitting at the desk in her office. I stop at the open door.

"You want me to bring you back some grappa?" I ask.

Frances stops typing and turns to peer at me over her gla.s.ses.

"It's a good thing you're not teaching this semester," she remarks dryly.

I move to sit in the chair in front of her desk. "The UN agreed to vote on the Altopascio proposal. That has to mean they understand how urgent it is."

Frances sits back in her chair and studies me. "I have a question for you, Dean."

"Sure."

She takes off her gla.s.ses. "I don't think I've ever told you this, but I was surprised when you accepted the job offer from King's."

"You were?"

"Yes. I knew you'd have multiple offers from universities with much bigger names. So why did you accept our offer?"

I lean my elbows on my knees, linking my hands together. I remember the day Frances had called offering me the job. Liv and I had been living in a two-bedroom apartment in Los Angeles, and my postdoc fellowship with the Getty Inst.i.tute was almost completed. I'd had professorship offers from Cambridge, Princeton, UCLA, Cornell, and the University of Toronto, as well as two other postdoc offers in Germany and Italy.

Through months of interviews and travel, Liv had only said she wanted me to take whatever job would make me the happiest. "Whatever job you really want, Dean. It doesn't matter to me where we live."

She'd come with me to Mirror Lake for my interview at King's. We stayed a few nights at the Wildwood Inn, walked along Avalon Street, and went hiking on one of the mountain trails.

When we stopped on a rocky outcropping surrounded by trees, Liv looked out at the glistening expanse of the lake and said in an offhand way, "I've always dreamed of living in a place like this."

So taking the job at King's University, and making my wife's dream come true, was what made me the happiest.