Even when I force myself to think about it, the answer remains unchanged.
“You don’t even want to think on it? I mean, we’re eloping…on our own. Do you want that? Are you sure you want this?”
I smile brightly, enamored by his vulnerabilities. “I don’t care where or when we do it, Benjamin. I’ll marry you anywhere, any day, under any circumstance. Now kiss me.”
“God, I love you,” he whispers, closing the short space between us. I can’t stop smiling even immersed in his kiss, not surprised that my speech has suddenly failed me.
***
The steam clears my skin, the water draining over my body as I stand beneath the nozzle, letting the warmth relax my tense muscles. Last night was sleepless, and for a good part of the morning my eyes remained locked on the ceiling.
I’m getting married. Today.
My inkling is that this trip was premeditated and for this one purpose. Benjamin’s phone call on the porch makes complete sense now, when he was demanding for someone to have things ready by today.
He knew I’d say yes. I’m not sure whether to be flattered or embarrassed, wondering how enamored I must be of my love to give him so much assurance. I’m going to marry him today, in some dress I packed and devoid of guests. We’ve stuck to only one tradition: last night Benjamin slept in a separate room, despite my complaints, not wishing to tempt luck.
I’ve known this man for nearly two years, and for most of that, his idea of love was a prison sentence, a mistake to all parties. His role models for love were traumatically poor, his mother and father having ruined the concept with their distaste for one another’s presence, and Benjamin felt it all. The fact that he even wants to marry me now is a shock. Maybe it’s the reason I’m so fearful, now that the initial high has settled, and part of me is expecting him to change his mind.
I try my hardest not to nick myself with the razor as I roughly go over my necessary body parts. My hands won’t stop shaking. By the time I’m done grooming, it’s been over an hour. I wrap the towel around my body, tucking it into the top to secure it, and walk back into the room.
Lying on the mattress are a clear clothing bag and a floral bouquet.
He didn’t…
I unzip the bag, revealing a white wedding dress. I pull it out and hold it up. It drapes to the ground in soft satin, a flowing material that will ripple against the wind off the ocean. I admire the design, the low dip in the back, and my pre-wedding jitters reach an all-time high. I’m reminded that Benjamin dropped this off and is here somewhere, also getting ready, likely overthinking like I am.
Refusing to spend my entire morning in reflection, I apply a shimmer to my eyes and a minimal layer of lipstick, deciding natural is the best way to go. My hair will remain down and, God willing, will not become a knot on the ocean breeze. Standing in only a pair of white lace panties, I stare down at the dress and swallow hard.
Doris is going to kill me.
I slide the dress over my head, letting the material glide over my skin, caressing my curves until it hangs, ending just above my ankles. The straps are delicately thin, the v-cut neckline descending down onto my breasts tastefully. The moment it’s on, my mouth feels like cotton. Blood is speeding through my veins.
This is all real.
Distracted by a distant noise from outside the room, and recognizing it instantly, I’m unable to sustain control. The noise is Benjamin, and I can’t stay away. Knowing I shouldn’t, I peek through the light curtains, needing the glimpse of him.
He’s pacing barefoot on the new walkway that has been added for the ceremony, his phone to his ear. He’s dressed in cream-colored slacks, a white dress shirt tucked into them that hugs his defined physique. The material of the shirt waves against the wind. His arm sports the watch I gave him, gold and black onyx, and his hair is wild and untamed in the wind, but he isn’t focused on it.
“Enrique, stop. A pre-nup isn’t happening.”
The sentence stuns me, although it shouldn’t.
Benjamin shakes his head at whatever Enrique is saying, his hand clenched into a fist at his side.
A pre-nuptial agreement is desired for a man of his standing. He owns most of New York and various other pieces of the world. His fortune must be protected. The only reason my mood shifts at the word is the implication that I’ll be marrying him for money.
The thought of a contract being laid out before me, obscene numbers granted to me in case this marriage should fail, as if I wanted any of that from him, ignites a sour taste in my mouth.
“She isn’t like that. For heaven’s sake, you spent time with her! You know she isn’t capable of being that cruel…I know, of course I know money changes people. It’s not like that with her.”
He listens for a long time, clearly frustrated, dragging his hand through his hair and tugging on the ends. “I don’t want to ask that of her. You don’t understand. It will ruin everything.”
I can imagine Enrique’s response.You have to protect yourself, Benjamin.
“Fine, send it to me.” He hangs up and remains completely still, consumed in his own thoughts while the company sets up the altar by the ocean.
My cheeks are aflame. I’m not sure if it’s embarrassment, for him or for me.
