As it turned out, Carl's pajamas were in no danger of being seen that night. After a few awkward moments of clinging to the opposite sides of the mattress, facing away from each other, Fanny and Carl laughed at their nervousness and relaxed into the love that linked them. After Carl turned off the bedside lamp, Fanny nestled herself into his embrace and told him that she was content to let this part of their life evolve as it would. With undeniable relief, Carl told her that he loved and desired her, but, with the momentous day they just had, perhaps simply sleeping now would be best. Before they fell asleep, Fanny half-murmured, half-sang to Carl, "What a difference a day makes…."
Three nights later, after they enjoyed wine with their dinner at the Inn and danced to the music of the Guy Lombardo orchestra, Fanny and Carl retired to their honeymoon suite and, with no nervousness, consummated their marriage. Carl did what he thought Cary Grant would do, and Fanny's fears of pain and failure receded under Carl's gentle and patient caresses. By the time their honeymoon ended, they were enjoying real passion in their lovemaking, with Carl becoming more confident and Fanny more relaxed. They still dressed and undressed separately, in privacy, and Fanny was too shy and inhibited to have the lights on when they made love, or to look at Carl's nakedness, but she blissfully surrendered to his explorations of her body. The ecstasy that they both felt was, perhaps, the biggest surprise for each of them – a kind of bonus to their love that found them smiling at each other, frequently and bashfully, as if they now had a secret that no one else could ever know.