Chapter 3
A minibus waits at the airport for our small group. I don't know how Sam and Francesca pulled this off, but so far, the travel arrangements for those of us flying are going smoothly.
"Wow! This place is stunning!" Francesca says when the bus pulls up to the hotel.
She's not kidding. It's gorgeous. Worlds nicer than any hotel I’ve ever stayed in. Once inside, I look around open-mouthed and awed. The lobby boasts a marble floor with matching pillars, along with plush, cushioned seats and crystal chandeliers.
I expect to wait in line at the front desk to check in, but to my surprise, our group is ushered to the other side of the lobby. We get our own personal, private check-in.
A hotel employee sits at a large table, ready to check us all in, while bellhops wait, ready to follow us to our rooms. We're encouraged to sit and relax as two men hand the dozen of us tall-stemmed glasses filled with champagne. I recognize some people from our flight, but not everyone.
The bride and groom are waited on first. They're placed in separate rooms for now, with the understanding that they will be moved into a large terrace suite after the wedding and reception.
At first, I didn't like the idea of a destination wedding. I wondered how it could be pulled off. Especially with a control freak like Francesca living in another state. My friend likes to cross the t's and dot the i's even when we have an impromptu lunch. Here, she left all the decision-making, well, almost all of it, to her wedding planner.
"For once in my life, I want to be treated like a princess. I want to be waited on hand and foot and enjoy the most special day of my life," Francesca confessed over a bottle of wine six months ago when she told me about Sam’s proposal.
"Of course, I get to pick the location, the budget, and the type of wedding we want. Plus the planner will spend an entire day with me getting to know my tastes. We'll flip through bridal magazines, visit florists and bridal stores. I can't wait to see the end result."
To my surprise, Francesca didn't freak out. She didn't get crazy over not doing everything herself. The only thing Francesca seemed stressed about was the flight over. She wanted us all together, from the start to the end, but she couldn't control if people were able to get the time off from work. Or the fact that we don’t all live in the same state.
In addition to the champagne, our handlers offer us mini quiches while we wait for our room information, itinerary, and key. After the bride and groom are helped, they leave the area.
I pop a quiche in my mouth as I wait my turn and wash it down with sweet, bubbly champagne. It’s the best champagne I've ever had, maybe too good. I can't help myself; I finish it off and place the plastic flute on the table next to me. Before I know it, the glass is refilled. I could get used to treatment like this.
"What do you say we head to the pool for a drink after we're settled in?" the guy sitting next to me offers. I don't respond at first because I think he must be talking to someone else. I haven't spoken to any of the other guests here for the wedding. No one but Francesca and Sam since I got on the plane.
I chance a glance at him to see who he's talking to, and the mystery man is looking right at me.
"Sorry," I say, taking a long pull of my bubbly drink. "I thought you were talking to someone else."
"And here I thought I forgot to shower or something," he jokes, leaning toward his armpit and giving it a sniff.
I giggle.
"So, does that mean you'll have a drink with me?"
I shake my head. "Why don't we just hang back here and go last? No one's paying attention. We could just keep getting our glasses refilled."
"I like how you think." He reaches over, places his hand on my knee, and gives it a squeeze.
I freeze, and my body stiffens under his touch. His hand moves above my knee to my lower thigh. Back and forth. Up and down. Higher and higher. I jump up as if I just realized I'm sitting next to Jack the Ripper.
"Everything okay?" He asks, standing next to me and placing his hand on the small of my back.
“I thought I saw a mouse," I lie and sit back down.
I want to break away from Mr. Touchy-Feely. I’ve never felt comfortable with guys that over-touch. They make me nervous. Always have. It's one of the things I enjoyed about being with Corey. He'd hold my hand or put his arm around my shoulders when we were out in public, but that's it.
He never made a big to-do about public displays of affection. He never pushed me into scenarios I wasn't comfortable with. I'm struck by a pang of sadness. I never truly appreciated the little things Corey brought to the relationship until now.
My shoulders slump. He was supposed to be here. He should be by my side, not Mr. Hands-all-over-me. If Corey were here, this jerk wouldn't still be invading my personal space.
But Corey’s not here. He dumped me.
"You know, I'm really tired," I say, taking a step back, away from the man and his octopus hands. "I think I'm going to get my room key and get to bed."
"Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you off."
"Don't be silly," I say as I head over to the conference table. "I'll see you around."
"Count on it. After all, we’re going to be in the same social group and hotel."
I know he's trying to be friendly, but his words send an uncomfortable shiver up my spine.
I know I'm overreacting. I'm not used to guys flirting with me anymore. Maybe I should throw caution to the wind and meet up with him in an hour or two. After all, he is cute, and why not make a new friend?
I give him a last glance. Guess Mr. Touch-me wasn't all that interested in me after all. I'm not even out of the room, and he's moved onto Francesca’s friend from work. The smile on Kiara's face makes it look like she's enjoying his company much more than I did.
I shouldn't care. I don't care that some creep I don't even want moved on to another woman seconds after I rejected him. I mean, it would be crazy for me to be upset. That would mean I'm jealous, and I'm sure as shit not jealous. I don't even like him. Not too much, anyway.
What the hell am I thinking? I don't like him at all. It's not like I have any time invested in him, or like we even had a real or meaningful conversation. We didn't even share a genuine laugh. But seeing him so cozy with another woman already, smarts. I’m that easy to move on from.
It stings and burns because, once again, my mind races back to Corey. I couldn't very well hold the attention of a man who supposedly loved me, so how can I expect to hold the attention of a complete stranger? One that I just turned down, no less?
After the bellhop takes my luggage off the rolling cart and leaves, I change into an oversized t-shirt and climb into bed. The down pillows are soft and fluffy. I'm not sure if it's because my body is so tired or because I'm so emotional, but lying in bed feels like Heaven. Like I'm floating on a cloud.
I close my eyes, and images of Kiara and the handsy man downstairs flood my mind. They go from innocent smiles and touches to passionate kisses. Before I know it, the man starring in my imagination isn't the one I just met, it's one I know well. Very well. Corey. Corey and various other women. Touching. Kissing. Fucking.
Tears stream down my face as I turn the television on, hoping to find something, anything to distract me.