How to Honeymoon Alone

I smile down at the itinerary. “I thought you said you weren’t involved in the planning.”

“Not much.”

“But you requested the fishing trip.”

“Yeah, I did.”

I flip through the papers. Day by day, activities are laid out. Some of them, I know for a fact, he hasn’t done. Fruit carving with resort staff?

“You planned to scuba dive?”

He shakes his head. “I was never going to do it. She was interested in trying.”

“Why aren’t you?”

“I’ve spent my entire life swimming at the surface. I like that,” he says. “Not interested in trying to breathe underwater.”

My eyes snag on a note next to day eight. Lauren, the massage is booked for 10:00 at the bungalow.

So that’s her name.

Phillip comes to stand beside me. His forearm rests against mine, his breath fanning the hair at my temple. “So?” he says. “Care to finally admit that my travel planner knew her job?”

I flip to the end of the trip. To the day fourteen where his flight is listed. A stopover in Miami, and then to O’Hare. Airport transfer back to 113 Row Street.

And back to his normal life.

“You stayed in the same place,” I say.

“Eden?”

“After the two of you broke up, I mean. How was that?”

He shrugs. “Okay. She’d moved in two years ago, and now she’s packing up all of her stuff.” He takes the itinerary out of my hands and puts it back on the table. “Here,” he says and hands me my drink. “How did you and the dipshit do it?”Content © NôvelDrama.Org.

“We both moved out. Our place was too expensive for one person.”

Not to mention I hadn’t wanted to stay another night, never mind weeks, in the space where we’d lived together.

He nods and sits down on the edge of his bed. Behind him is the documentary, still paused, a basketball player is poised to make a beautiful layup shot.

“You’ve been relaxing,” I say.

“Yeah, and catching up on some emails.” His gaze drifts down, over my bare arms. “How was the massage?”

“You’re not allowed to work, I’ve told you.”

Phillip half-grins. “Yeah. But you weren’t here to see me.”

“Good thing I dropped by, then.”

“Yes,” he says and takes a long sip of his drink. “It is. So?”

“The massage was good. Great, even. There was soft music playing and… and… well. I almost fell asleep.”

“Is that a good thing?”

That makes me chuckle. “I think so, yeah. Best present ever. But I didn’t stop by my room to shower, though.” I hold up one of my arms, and it glistens in the dimmed lights of his bungalow. “She used a lot of oil.”

“Right,” Phillip says. He gets up off the bed and comes closer, his eyes on me. “That’s fine.”

“Is it?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I still think I should shower,” I whisper. “Plus, we were lying on the beach today for such a long time.”

“You can shower here,” he says. “Use all the weird soaps you want.”

“Thank you. Will you save my drink for me?”

“Yes,” he says and clears his throat. “I can order room service for later. What do you want? I feel like having a burger.”

“Oh, I’ll have that, too.”

“Okay,” he says. “Well, make yourself at home.”

I do.

There are tons of big, fluffy towels in his bathroom, and the rainfall shower is every inch as perfect as it looks. I stand beneath the steady stream and let it wash everything away, leaving only nerves and excitement in its wake. The combination of hot water, steam, and luxurious oils creates an aromatic escape from reality.

And he’s right out there.

I haven’t had sex with anyone but Caleb. Ever. And I knew this day would come, hoped it would, but I never expected it to be here. On a vacation, on my honeymoon, with a man who couldn’t be more different from me or my ex.

Maybe I shower too long. Maybe getting into a shower at his place was weird, too. Or maybe I should have invited him in.

I let go of all my second-guessing as I step out and wrap myself in a giant fluffy towel. I wring the water out of my hair and take a deep breath.

And then I look in the mirror.

“Oh my God,” I say and shift, turning so I can see my back and shoulders. I push my long, light-brown hair out of the way to assess the damage. “That’s going to hurt so bad.”

“Eden?” Phillip’s voice comes from the other side of the bathroom door. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just a bit sunburned.”

“Really?”