“Oh, yes. Very much. The mask is aromatherapeutic.”
“Aroma…?” Brent exhaled sharply. “Okay. Whatever helps you feel better.” He peered at her, wanting to make sure that was really his wife in that disguise. Apart from her bright, beautiful eyes, her face was nearly unrecognizable, and her extremely baggy clothing hid her nice figure. Why was she wearing so much of it? It was actually a little warm in here. “Did you get a chill or something?”
“Chill? Right. Yes.” She twisted up her lips, and he wondered when the long red tongue was going to flick out and zap up a fly. Which was a really disgusting image for a wedding night. He rubbed the side of his neck, ashamed of himself.
“That sometimes happens with these headaches.” She gave an exaggerated frown. “I’m totally freezing.” She threw back the duvet on the four-poster queen-size bed. “I think I’ll get under the covers and warm up.”
Under most circumstances, a groom would view this as an invitation to climb into bed with his bride and help things get toasty. At this point in time, Brent didn’t expect that was the right move. Displaying his “Hot Groom” boxers might not go so great right now, either. “Uh…all right. I’ll just sit here and watch, then.”
“Watch?” She gaped at him like he’d said something creepy.
“Watch out—for you. To be sure you…don’t need anything. I won’t be watching watching, naturally.” Brent dropped his gaze to his computer. “I’ll just check up on Albright Enterprises company stock or something.”
She climbed under the covers, and Brent marveled at the fact she wasn’t broiling. “Aren’t you tired yet?”
“Nope. Not yet.” Brent took another swallow of wine. He pantomimed scrubbing a hand over his face. “Do you…have to wear that thing all night?”
“The mask?” She sat up, resting on her elbows. “No. I’ll wash it off later.”
Inwardly, he cheered. “I’ll just wait until then.”
Her eyebrows arched, and Brent worried that he’d hurt her feelings.
“Not that it’s any kind of problem, but I was just wondering… Do you go through this routine every night?”
“Oh no, this is definitely a one-off.”
Brent let out a relieved breath. “Great. I mean, that’s fine. Just…just checking.”
She settled into the pillows. “It doesn’t bother you?”
“Not if it helps you,” he said, refilling his wineglass. “Can I get you anything?”
She lifted her head to beam at him, and portions of the mask cracked, giving Brent the impression of a very old woman, like the one who rode the broom in The Wizard of Oz.
Brent jumped in his seat in spite of himself.
“Maybe a goodnight kiss?”
“Wait. You’re not getting up till morning? I thought you had to wash off the mask?”
“Oh. Right,” she said all frowny-faced. “I guess it depends on how I feel.” In the next second she perked up. “I’m sure I’ll feel better tomorrow.”
“That…that’s good, because we’re leaving early.”
“I’ll be ready,” she promised.
In his wildest dreams, Brent couldn’t have predicted a wedding night as bizarre as this. “All right.” He stood and cautiously approached the bedside, leaning over her. Then he shut his eyes and gave her a very quick peck on the lips. “Good night, sweetheart.”
“Good night, Brent. It really was a marvelous wedding. So memorable.”
He stared at her askance and hobbled back to his chair. “Yeah.”
“Do you mind if I turn off this light?” she asked, indicating the one beside the bed.
“No, by all means. Go right ahead.”
As she did, she shot him a sympathetic look. “Don’t worry, baby. Everything’s gonna be all right.”
He couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah. Bermuda’s going to be fantastic,” he replied, extremely anxious to get there.
…
Brent woke up six hours later to his phone alarm’s beeping. He must have hit snooze twice, because it was already five thirty and he and Jackie had to leave in fifteen minutes. His back ached, and his neck was stiff. He massaged the side of it, noting he’d slept in the armchair by the table. At some point during the night, his laptop had slid off his lap, and it now stood closed on the floor beside his feet.
He still wore his tuxedo slacks and the pleated shirt, although he’d apparently yanked off his bow tie, since that rested besides his empty wineglass on the table.
The bottle of red wine was half gone.
“Jackie,” he said in a whisper. “Jackie, you’ve got to get up.”
She sat up and yelped like a surprised zombie in a B-rated horror flick. “Brent. What are you…?” She glanced quickly around the darkened room, then brought her palms to her face, which was caked in now-fully-dried green mud. “No way,” she said, gaping at the clock. “It’s morning?”
“Yeah, and we’re going to miss our plane if we don’t hurry.”
She studied his outfit with remorse and glanced at the chair. “Were you up all night?”
“Only part of it,” he said. “How about I go downstairs and brew some coffee while you grab a shower?”
“A shower sounds great,” she said, scrambling out of bed. “Coffee, too.”
“How’s your headache?” he asked.
For an instant she looked like she’d totally forgotten about being ill, which was a good sign. She had to be feeling better.
“Great. I mean, gone. Completely.” She blew out a breath. “I’m as good as new.”
“I’m so glad.” He smiled, thinking that their honeymoon might be salvageable after all. If they didn’t have to run out the door, he’d seriously consider tempting her into a romantic morning. But no. “I’ll be back with our coffees in a flash.” He cracked open the door to the hall. “Wheels on the road at six.”
“Wheels on the road! Thanks, Brent.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Brent had always believed that Jackie was a morning person, but he’d apparently been wrong. Maybe it was just the stress of this last week—and their wedding—taking its toll on her. She’d barely said two words to him during their drive from Blue Hill to Boston, and he’d done all the driving.