I’ve since met those goals, and now…my future will consist of more of the same, and it’s blindsiding.
“Jerrryyy,” I drag out his name, a clear solicitation for a pinch more of the numbing juice.
“No,” he belts in reply without so much as a glance my way, the hospitality portion of his demeanor long gone.
“Fine,” I slouch into my stool and close my eyes, listening to the sounds around me—the fountain gurgling in the nearby pool, and just beyond, the faint but distinct lapping of ocean waves which lulls me into a happier place.
“I, Elliot Easton Crowne…Take you, Natalie Renee Butler…To be my lawfully wedded wife…” he declares reverently, a glimmer of love resting on his lash line as he takes the ring from Joel and turns back to me. His warmth engulfs me wholly as he pushes the promise onto my finger.
“Love is patient,” I recite. “Love is kind.”
“Love is not boastful,” he murmurs, “nor does it insist on its own way.”
“Love is not self-seeking,” I say, voice shaking with the love I feel as I push the band on his finger.
“Or easily angered,” he squeezes my fingers, and I feel the implication of it—a second promise.
“Love keeps no records of wrongdoings,” I recite back when prompted. Just as we’re pronounced, he whispers my name in awe.
“Natalie…”
“Ha!” I exclaim at the faint sound of my name, an echo of the most defining moment of my life by the velvet voice that continually haunts me. Jerry glances over at me, brows lifting to his hairline to let me know I’m still cut off. Feeling the impact of that whisper, I briefly wonder how I managed such a clear audible memory and giggle maniacally as I squint at my empty margarita schooner. It’s apparent I need to steer clear of tequila…and maybe Jerry until the end of my Mexication.
When I feel the prickling sensation of a presence behind me, I begin to rattle on my barstool and realize both sets of Jerry’s eyes are still on me as the silky voice repeats my name.
“Humor me, okay, Jerry?” I straighten on my stool as much as possible as the hairs on the back of my neck start to rise at an alarming rate. “Just for shits and giggles. Is it the tequila, or is there someone behind me? Say…yea tall,” I position my hand well above my head, “resembling a criminally good-looking, but very broody rock star?”
“It’s Jerod,” he says, “and yes.”
“Yes, it’s the tequila?”
“Yes, there’s a rock star behind you.”
Turning sideways on my stool, I’m met with widening hazel eyes and get lost in them as easily as I did when I first became acquainted with them so many moons ago. Easton Crowne gapes back at me, sporting a deep tan, wearing board shorts and a form-fitting V-neck. Wayfarers rest on top of his thick, black hair, which now hangs a few inches from his shoulders. He’s grown even more into his impressive physique than the last time I saw him. Looking impossibly fit, he stands before me every bit the rock god he’s become.
In my tequila haze, I reach out and poke his chest as he gawks back at me, seemingly just as confused as I am before I finally speak up.
“Easton,” I croak out, vision blurring as elation slams into me. “You’re in…M-Mex…you’re really here?” I reach out to cup his jaw, and his eyes close at the contact before he utters a low curse.
“Jesus, Natalie. You’re fucking wasted.”
“Meixcation,” I start to tequila-splain. “Dad sent me here for the paper.”
“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” He snaps, shaking his head while simultaneously freeing himself of my touch.
“No. I mean, yes. He gave me the paper and sent me here to celebrate! Been here a few, t-two days… Doyouwanna m-margarita?” I stumble over my words. “Jerry makes them so good you can conjure a daydream into reality poolside.”
“Jerod,” Jerry corrects behind me.
“You overserved a little, didn’t you, man?” Easton scolds Jerry as I greedily take him in, hands moving on their own accord, palming his chest.
“She was cut off an hour ago,” Jerry explains, “I’ve been trying to get her to eat or call someone. I even offered to have a bellman escort her to her room, but she says it’s haunted by Prince Phillip.”
“The fuck?” Easton frowns. “Natalie, what—”
“Damon will come,” I tell the apparition I’m pawing.