“You’ll have a subscription to every bridal blog in your inbox before you return from Florida,” she shrieked. “And I literally just planned your bachelorette party while you were flushing the toilet.”
I laughed so hard; I almost snorted. “God, I fucking love you.”
Thirty-Four
Lance smiled at me from across the table, his hand circled around a ginger old-fashioned, a drink he only ordered when we came to our favorite Peruvian restaurant in downtown Sarasota. There was a plate of wahoo and tuna ceviche in between us that we’d been picking at while we sipped our second round of cocktails.
Each time he shifted his fingers over the glass, his gold wedding band caught the light and shimmered. The ring was thicker than mine but identical, something I’d insisted, instead of the diamond band he’d wanted me to get. The four carats he’d proposed with in my engagement ring—that he’d designed himself—was more than enough bling for me.
He had been just as hands-on with our wedding.
With an extremely long list of attendees he had to invite, he was very specific on what he wanted to feed them, what they drank, and how they were entertained. A Hamilton wedding had to be memorable.
Exactly one year after he proposed, we exchanged vows in front of five hundred people at the iconic Boston Public Library, followed by a party in the Bates Hall, a room on the same property, that not a single attendee would ever forget.
The wedding had been very much for Lance, but the two weeks we’d spent on the Amalfi Coast of Italy for our honeymoon couldn’t have made me happier.
Now that we’d reached our six-month wedding anniversary, it wasn’t the date that had brought us to Florida.
This time, it was because of me.
As my husband looked at me, even his eyes were smiling back. “I’m so proud of you,” he said. “You’ve worked so goddamn hard for this.”
My cheeks reddened, my grin as large as his. “Thank you, my love.”
After several promotions at Back Bay Digital, the company still hadn’t felt like the right fit, so I’d started my search, and it had taken a while. But, as of three days ago, I’d accepted a job with an online travel booking company to work in their digital marketing division. The position was in management, where I’d have my own team with a higher title and salary than I’d had before. There was an opportunity for growth and travel. It was everything I wanted.
Once the paperwork had been signed, Lance had said he wanted to celebrate, and this was where I’d chosen for us to come.
Our place.
I lifted my Prosecco and took a drink. “Let’s take the boat out tomorrow,” I suggested. “Maybe dock in St. Pete and have lunch.”
We’d only landed a few hours ago, and after getting settled at home, this was our first stop.
He smiled. “You just want to see the bridge.”
The Sunshine Skyway Bridge, what we would have to pass under to get to St. Petersburg, was one of my favorite sites in the area. Flying over it on the way to Sarasota was just as pretty, but being close to it, the arches and grandness of its structure, was just amazing.
He reached across the table, putting his hand on mine, as I said, “I can’t get enough of it.”
“That’s what makes me happy.” His thumb rubbed over my knuckles. “But we were just here a few weeks ago. Now that you have a little time off before you start, I was hoping you would want to go to Europe, maybe London.”
“London?” I said, laughing. “You’ve never mentioned that you want to go back there.”
He took a bite of the fish. “I haven’t been since I lived there. I’d like to see it with adult eyes.”
Lance knew about Oliver, how I’d lost my virginity to him, that he was my first love, and that we’d dated throughout the semester, my heart torn in half when it was time for me to leave.
It wasn’t that I was avoiding the city altogether or that I didn’t want to make adult memories.
I just wanted to keep that part of my life separate from the one I was living now.
“I bet that would make an unbelievable guys’ trip,” I said, both of my hands now surrounding his. “In fact, I think you should take Marshall and the boys there before the end of the year because we know it’s only a matter of seconds before Molly gets pregnant again. Then, Marshall will be on a strict no-drinking-until-Molly-can-again policy, and he won’t be any fun at all.”
“Jesus, he’s a patient man.”
We laughed.
“I’ll bring Molly to Nashville, which she’s been talking about visiting anyway now that little May is six months old.”
“I’ll text my assistant in the morning to have her start working on it.”
I didn’t know why, but I felt relief.
I reached for my drink, finishing the rest of the glass. When I set it down, Lance’s eyes were on me, and I said, “You’re about to make Molly the happiest girl; she’s so desperate for a vacation.”
He said nothing; he just smiled.
Part Three
Even if it hurts.
Thirty-Five
“Hey!” I said to my husband when he answered my call. “You wouldn’t happen to have a few free seconds for me to pop in, would you?”
I knew it was a long shot, but I had to try. The news I wanted to share with him wasn’t something I wanted to say over the phone, and I didn’t know if I could wait until tonight to tell him.
I heard the sound of his keyboard, and he replied, “If you can come right now, I do.”
I grabbed my jacket and purse and waved to my assistant on my way out my door. “I’ll be there in five.”
“I’ll see you soon, baby,” he said and disconnected the call.
Having left Back Bay Digital eight months ago, my new office was only two blocks from his, and several days a week, we would meet for lunch.
But food had nothing to do with why I was going there today.
I was greeted by the doorman the moment I arrived at his building, and once I was inside, I immediately went over to the reception desk to check in.
“Good morning, Mrs. Hamilton,” Chelsea said, entering my name into the computer. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
I waited to be buzzed through and continued to the elevator, joining several of the associates inside, seeing one of them had already pushed the button for Lance’s floor.
“Nice to see you again, Mrs. Hamilton.” One of the women grinned.
I didn’t know if I would ever get used to being called that, and I really preferred just my first name, but Lance’s family had set a precedent many years ago, and I wasn’t going to be the one to change things.
“You too, Cindy,” I replied.
“Great shot from the Bruins game,” one of the men said to me from the corner, regarding the picture Lance had posted of us last weekend when Boston played in Tampa.
Now that we were spending so much time in Florida, he had purchased us season tickets.
“Who were you rooting for?” one of the paralegals asked.