Chapter 22 Caroline
TWENTY-TWO
Caroline
I did it. I flew that stupid plane all the way to the private airport outside of Manhattan.
Tahoe kept a straight face, trying to hide his phobia of flying in small planes.
I was grateful if only for having one less thing to deal with.
I was on alert the entire time, using more caution than I’ve used since I was a flight student.
It was a smooth ride, and everything went as planned.
I spent all of Wednesday and Thursday tracking weather patterns and studying air traffic patterns outside of the area.
“Wear the green one, Caroline,” Malena hollers from the other side of the suite.
“I’m going to wear the lilac one. Britt is wearing the champagne-colored skirt and black blouse,” she adds.
I do have my own room here at this beautiful hotel, but everyone is getting ready here because there’s more space.
Tahoe is one floor down and seven doors to the right. On the corner.
I’ve seen New York in movies, but I never expected it to be so busy.
In real life, it is so grand. There’s no grass save for squares here and there and in Central Park.
The buildings take up all the space where sky should be.
The city has a way of making you feel small and insignificant, but it’s an experience I’m happy to be having. An outlook I never considered.
Tahoe took me to breakfast, and then after a make-out session in his room, he took me to lunch, and now we’re in our separate quarters getting ready for the festivities tonight.
His friends have promised debauchery and the finest strip clubs money can buy, and my friends, or rather Malena, by herself, have lined up the best restaurants and bars.
She did it all on the crazy time crunch of a week that we gave her, and she did it happily, without asking me too many questions.
Though, I have a sneaking suspicion she probably pestered Tahoe with most of her concerns in an effort to keep me from freaking out and calling the whole thing off.
I finger the green dress in my hands and shake my head.
This is going to make for an interesting evening.
Britt, who only came because Malena begged, has been in full-on jealous mode because not only am I getting married before her, we’re also in a big city celebrating my union.
Not in a dirty bar sipping old, foamy beer while feeding a jukebox.
She didn’t cancel her wedding to Whit, but they did pause it.
I’m not even sure what that means, or how it’s any different, but that’s what she’s been saying to anyone who asks.
Shirley hangs up her cell behind me with a curt goodbye.
“Caroline, it’s going to look amazing. Put the damn dress on, and let’s get this party started.
” I sip the champagne, my third glass since I started getting ready.
Someone came to the room and did our makeup and hair, and I’ve never felt so fancy in my entire life.
“I won’t even look like this on my wedding day, Shirley.
Isn’t it,” I say, slurring a bit. “All too much?”
She laughs and lays her hands on my shoulders. “All women need to feel like a princess once in their life. Put it on,” she orders. I do, and she zips me up, moving my cascade of curls to one shoulder. “You look like a blonde Princess Kate,” Shirley drawls. “He knew what he was doing.”
“What do you mean he knew? He chose this?” I run my hands down the sleek fabric as I stare in the mirror.
“Of course he did.” I knew he was footing the bill for this weekend, and I was hesitant to let him, but I never would have imagined his duties involved selecting fashion for his bride.
“I love it,” I say.
“Now you love it,” Shirley says, rolling her eyes. She’s wearing a black number complemented with thick, dark eye makeup. “A ’90s grunge dream come to life,” she proclaimed after the makeup artist completed her look.
I turn to view the back of the dress, eyeing the detail more thoroughly. “Of course I love it more now that I know he likes it. Take a photo and send it to Mama,” I say. I pose with my hands on my hips, and it feels awkward. “Wait, wait. Take another one. How should I pose?” I ask my friend.
She tilts her head, surveying me. “Cross your ankles. One hand on your hip. Turn to the side a little. Hair over that shoulder,” she orders, as I try my best to follow along. “A little bit more twist. Yes. Like that.”
Her cell phone camera flashes, and she squints her eyes as she appraises the image. “Perfect.”
“Let me see,” I say, teetering on my heels to stand next to her. It is a good photo. I look like a totally different person. Everything polished and preened to a city shine. Shirley presses a few buttons and proclaims it’s been sent. To both my mama and to Tahoe.
My cell phone, the new one that has a touch screen front and more features than I know what to do with, rings on the nightstand. Tahoe’s text reads,
You look beautiful. I can’t wait until you’re my wife.
He ends it with a smirking smiley face.
I fire back.
So you can take the dress off?
His reply is swift.
No, I’ll be taking it off tonight regardless of your marital status.
My stomach flutters with excitement. As hard as it’s been to stave off the sexual act that has caused so much strife in our lives, the anticipation is something that should seriously be written down in history books.
We have done every non-penetrating act of foreplay you can possibly do in every position that is humanly possible.
He’s frustrated. I cannot wait. There is a tension that crackles in the air when we’re together.
Those around us feel it, and despite our best efforts, a lot of the time, the elephant in the room is the topic of conversation.
Another text pings.
I can’t stop staring at the photo.
I blush.
“Oh my gosh, would you guys get it over with already? What does it matter if you do it tonight or next weekend? It’s obvious to anyone in a seven-hundred-mile radius how mad in love you are with each other,” Shirley exclaims as I smile at my phone.
I’ve explained the reasons a dozen times, but no one seems to understand.
Sometimes, when having sex feels like the natural next step when we’re messing around and we’re both so fucking mad with lust, I think it doesn’t matter, but our definition is written in ink, and we both are holding strong to that belief.
We’re together in this. In the decision.
“I don’t expect you to understand,” I say.
“Why? Because I’m a whore?” she jokes.
Sighing, I say, “No, because I’ve already tried to explain it to you still continue to ask me. It’s important to us.”
She shakes her head, tells everyone we’re ready and we set off, a tribe of champagne-drunk girls as we ride down the elevator.
I refused all of the typical bachelorette party fanfare, the mere thought of a penis hat causing me actual stomach cramps.
Malena rolled her eyes, Britt got offended, and Shirley changed the subject to dinner.
Something we all agreed would be the best experience of our lives.
When the elevator doors ping open in the lobby, he’s there.
Standing against a column, wearing a white button-up shirt, gray fitted slacks, and dress shoes.
Pinching my lips together, I try not to scream like a fangirl seeing her favorite celebrity.
He looks delicious in every way. His hair is done, and he’s wearing that smile, with that dimple, and if I wasn’t wearing heels, I would sprint at him like a cheetah.
One hand is in his pocket like he doesn’t give a shit and the other hangs by his side so he can be ready at the drop of a hat.
When I finally reach him, he grabs at me. “Come here, you.” His growl is a rough timbre that rolls over me, ending between my legs. “It’s almost a crime other men get to see you look like this when I want you all for myself.”
I turn my head to whisper, “I am all yours. And you’re all mine. You look like a movie star.”
“An action star, I hope?” he replies, leaning his head onto mine. “One with a big cock and the stamina of Rambo?”
I giggle. A noise that surprises even me. I feel his dick harden against my stomach even further. “Of course, Rambo. The hottest, most alpha movie star in the history of Hollywood. One more week,” I remind him. He kisses my head and steps out of my embrace.
“These two. Ugh,” Britt whines. “You can’t do that all night long, you know?”
Malena clacks up to our group, and Leif eyes her like she’s dinner.
And dessert. “I asked if you guys would be into a Killing Kittens Party, and everyone said no,” she says, raising her brows like we’re petulant children.
“They could have shagged all night there. I bet her virginity would make for the main attraction.”
“Killing Kittens was on the table,” Aidan barks. “How come no one told me?”
“Killing Kittens was never on the table,” Tahoe growls. “This isn’t about that. This is about having a good night out with our friends in a beautiful city.”
Aidan sighs. “It would have been fun.”
“I know, right?” Malena says, folding her arms across her chest. “No one wants to listen to me. I know how to have a good time.”
Leif looks completely pissed that Malena and Aidan are discussing a sex party. His eyes narrow at his friend, and Aidan gets the message quickly, excusing himself to grab a quick drink from the lobby bar.
Dinner is fabulous, and the alcohol flows copiously around us.
I try to stick to champagne until someone buys shots at the second bar, and I’m told it is bad luck to turn it down.
Tahoe sips water in between his drinks, mindful of every aspect of the dynamic happening tonight.
The last time I was with him and he drank too much, everything went to hell.
Aidan and a few of the other SEALs left the first bar to head to the strip club instead of sticking to Malena’s schedule.