7. Micah

Every word Erikand Joseph said to me about love last night, plays on repeat as I sit beside Amy, watching two people pledge their love to one another for life. To make matters worse, they’ve chosen 1 Corinthians 13:4-8 as their Biblical reading. It’s not like I’ve never heard it before. Shit. Those same verses were read at my own wedding as the standard of what love is. But this time, each word is like a stab wound.

Love is patient—something I never showed my ex or any other woman except Amy. The idea of waiting for a woman to get ready for an event, even if it was last minute, drove me crazy. I constantly complained, threatening to leave them behind to either come when they were finally ready or for them not to bother coming at all. My marriage was literally scattered with events where I arrived solo because my wife hadn’t been ready on time. But the words, “Take your time, Amy, I’ll wait for you,” have been said numerous times already even though she wasn’t the one running late. If anything, my impatience ran towards me wanting to rush to get to Amy’s side, to be in her presence.

Love is kind—I was kind to my ex-wife if you only count money and material things. She never wanted for anything… that money could buy. Heck, I even moved to Canada, to her small hometown of Voyageur Bay because that’s what she wanted. But I never really wanted to be there. I only did it because she threatened to leave me after finding out I cheated on her. Not that I would have cared if she left, but I loved my son, and he wanted his mom. I never wanted to take her away from him because I saw how my nephews were being raised by nannies instead of the woman who loved them like a mother.

Love does not envy. It doesn’t boast. It’s not proud—check, check, and check. The number of times I failed on each of those with the woman I supposedly loved are too numerous to count. Well, maybe not the envy part because I would have had to care about the things she did to feel envious of the time she spent doing them. Only the time she was able to spend with our son while I was working could produce that emotion.

Love doesn’t dishonor others is definitely not something I can claim. But with Amy, it’s different. Sure it’s only been two days, but in the years since my divorce, I’ve been know to arrive somewhere with one woman and leave with a better offer. And there’ve been offers here, but I’ve never even entertained them. I haven’t even let another woman touch me beyond the socially accepted air/cheek kiss in greeting. When they’ve tried to linger, to place their hand on my arm, press their breasts against me, I’ve pulled back, keeping a distance between us, or even walking away when the woman didn’t stop. Not that they’d had much of a chance to corner me alone since I rarely left Amy’s side.

Even last night as I walked along the beach, upset over her thoughts about this being a job instead of what it really is, or at least what I thought it is, my mind, my thoughts, my desires never strayed from her. Not even when two former bed partners approached, offering to help relieve my stress and tension. All their actions had done was to send me scurrying back to my—our—room to sit and stare at Amy as she slept. The moonlight shining in through the glass wall, coating her with a silver sparkle that made her seem otherworldly.

Love isn’t self-seeking… isn’t that the kicker? All my actions have always been self-seeking. I ignored our family lore, choosing to marry someone who aided in my rebellion. In my marriage, I chose to put my happiness, my needs, my wants above everyone else for most of the time. Maybe not always with Mason, but I probably didn’t make him the priority he should have been. Yet for Amy, I’ve been on edge, protective, possessive, and not because she’s mine but rather I don’t want to see her get hurt. I don’t want the wealthy men attending this wedding to treat her like they treat other young, beautiful women. She’s not a game or a sport, she’s a person with feelings. Feelings that should be cared for, nourished, and protected.

It”s why her age bothers me so much. If I were to follow through on the way I’m feeling about her, she’d been considered a trophy in our world. Her intelligence, her business sense, her accomplishments would all be explained away as benefits to having slept with me, an older man. When Samuel mentioned being a sugar daddy, I was rightfully upset, but not in the way I would have been before her. Pre-Amy, I would have been upset that he suggested I needed to pay for the company of a beautiful woman. It would have all been about me and how I looked to others. This time, my indignation was based on the slight to Amy. She’s strong in her own right. She doesn’t a wealthy, older man to pave the way for her. So yes, I was upset. Upset for her and what that type of characterization would do to her.

I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. My breath catches as I watch the look of awe, of longing on her face. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, making me want to reach out and comfort her… so I do. I wrap my fingers around her, threading them together. She glances up at me, giving me a hesitant smile. One that’s a little more real than the fake one she gave me earlier when she walked out of the bathroom all decked out and ready to attend the wedding. Instead of the soft blush, she usually sported when I gave her compliments, she’d bestowed on me the same sort of smile she gave to the likes of Samuel, and it hurt. It fucking did.

Wanting closer contact, I release her hand, but not until I’d wrapped my other hand around hers, never wanting her to go without my touch. With one hand now free, I wrap it around her shoulders, not caring that it’s probably a little too warm to be cuddling, and draw her into my side, allowing her to rest her head against my chest. Initially she’s stiff, but withing the span of two inhalations, she melts into me and my body rejoices, having been worried that she’d never relax with me again after last night.

Between her scent wrapping around me and the feel of her against me, happiness and a feeling of wholeness fills me which is why I place a soft kiss on the top of her head, not caring if anyone sees me being so romantic. A trait I’ve never been known for.

Throughout the rest of the ceremony and the reception, I never leave her side. I hold her hand, her waist, wherever she’ll let me touch. It’s our last night together and a battle wages within me. Do I act selfishly one more time, spending the night in her arms if she’ll let me or do I let her go now, knowing that leaving her, despite what I feel towards her, is the best thing for her. I may be a catch, the perfect rich husband for a trophy wife who knows the score—ex-wife, adult child, rich, etc.—but that’s not what Amy needs. She’s going places, has an incredible future before her and for me to make a play for her, I’d taint it all.

“Micah.” She looks up at me with glassy eyes. If I hadn’t been watching her so carefully, I might have thought she was drunk, but I know her eyes are filled with unshed tears. The sheer volume of love between the groom and his bride is overwhelming. Even more so when you consider who the groom’s father is. And Amy is overdosing on it, but then again, so am I. Or maybe it’s because, for the first time in my almost fifty years, I know and understanding the emotion behind the groom’s gaze when he stares at his wife with utter devotion.

“Yes.” I lean down into her until our noses nearly touch. My breath hitches as she licks her lips. That single taste from the plane haunts me, teases me, makes it almost impossible not to give in and take what I want, but I hold steady. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but for her, I’d do anything.

“Is it okay if we head back to the room now?”

My breath fans over her face as I release it with a whoosh. The speed matches the racing of my heart. We, she said we. Not “can I go back”, but we. “Of course.”

And then I give in… bending a little more until my lips brush against hers softly, unlike the first kiss we shared. A perfect butterfly kiss.

I pull back before I can deepen it, wanting our touch, our kiss to linger, allowing us to savor the moment.

“Let’s go.” I release my hold on her to entwine our fingers together and without stopping to say goodnight to anyone, I lead her from the room. The sounds of the waves rolling in, the frogs singing, and the wind rustling through the palm trees makes the perfect background soundtrack to the beat of my heart. Not even the earlier debate in my mind about what I should be doing intrudes. The feel of her skin brushing against mine, the scent of her perfume, her breathy sighs, they’re what I’m thinking about. They’re what’s filling me.

Inside our room, she glides over to the glass wall and looks out. The moonlight paints her in silver, making her look like the precious jewel she is. A jewel I can’t resist. Tomorrow will be another day. A day to prove my love to her by backing away, but for this moment, I need her. I need a memory to look back upon when things get tough and my fight to stay away wavers.

I step behind her, letting my front brush against her back as I place my hands on her shoulders, allowing my fingers to toy with the straps on her dress. “Amy-girl, will you give me this night?” I kiss the side of her neck, raising goosebumps. “Allow me to worship you like you deserve?”

She stares at my reflection in the glass and swallows. “A night like as if we were in Vegas?”

“Yes,” I answer even though I don’t mean it. What happens tonight will not be left behind. At least not for me. I’ll treasure it and remember it always.

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