lysistrategic

Joan's mind wheels over her conversation of the morning, even though it's not a topic she's raised with Arthur yet. No, at the moment, she and her husband are acting quite the opposite of their ages, having an early afternoon picnic on a blanket the grass by the reflecting pool. She sips the chilled fruit wine they drink in the afternoons rather than wasting the branded alcohol the island saw fit to provide her and when Arthur slips his hand into her hair to try to drag her in for a kiss, she raises her bare foot up to toe him in the thigh.

"Behave, Arthur," she says mildly, but her eyes are lit with a smile that promises a very good night for them later. "There's no name for the color Emily will turn if she catches us making out like teenagers."