My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon

I like a challenge.

“Mia rosa, you spent the entire afternoon in the cooler. Your fingers and toes are purple, and there is nothing more that you can do to prepare.”

I know I’m right because I confirmed with Janey. After their additional shoot in the Azure Ballroom, Abigail and Janey moved their flowers back into the cooler, which has thankfully held up. Hours later, Janey assures me that they are right on schedule for this weekend.

And so am I.

“And you have to eat, so why not do so somewhere beautiful? I promise to have you back home and in bed at a reasonable hour. I know we’ll need a good night’s sleep to hit the floor running tomorrow.” Such an American expression—they are always running somewhere.

Not that I’m one to talk.

“A very reasonable hour?” she clarifies. I nod, and I can see her weighing the options. “What do I wear to this thing?” she asks, and though she hasn’t said yes, I know I’ve won.

“Sundress and a bikini,” I say as I pull her off the couch and push her toward the bedroom. “Janey’s coming too.”

At that, Abi does a wiggly dance of happiness and gets moving a little faster. I even hear her let out a whoop of excitement that makes me smile. She’s so easy to please, so eager for any adventure.I lead the ladies out of the resort, following signs directing us to the resort’s dock. The boat is already loading passengers. In fact, we seem to be some of the last people to board.

It’s not really a cruise ship, and I’ve actually been on yachts that are bigger, but those belonged to billionaires who hired me to cook. But it’s well-maintained and painted crisp white with blue hand lettering on the bow proclaiming it ‘B-Yacht-ch’. Based on that name alone, I think we’re going to have a great time.

“Come on,” Abigail tells me, pulling at my hand now with a big smile. Janey waves her fingers at us with a knowing look. “I know it’s geeky and old and stupid, but I have to.” I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I find myself running along with her, chasing that smile.

She leads me to the bow of the main deck, gets up on the railing, and throws her arms wide. She might not be yelling out, but there’s no doubt who she’s imitating as we pull away from the dock.

I can’t help but laugh at her infectious exuberance. People are watching, some with smiles and some with raised brows, but Abigail cares nothing about either group. She’s simply doing what she wants, as always, and everyone else be damned.

“I’m the Queen of the world!” she shouts into the wind. “I’m flying!”

I put my hands on her waist to steady her, loving the feeling of her curves beneath my palms. I lean forward to press my back to her front and rumble in her ear, “Don’t expect me to sing Celine Dion for you. But if you want me to sketch you naked later, I’m happy to pretend I can draw.”

She laughs, looking over her shoulder at me, and I know this cruise is exactly what we needed. Now that we’ve pulled away from the dock and waved to the fishermen coming in from their day’s work, Abigail steps down from her perch.

“What is there to do aboard?”

“Yoo-hoo!” a voice calls out, and I groan.

No fucking way. But yes, there they are.

“I thought that was you, Abi. I was afraid you were ending it all by throwing yourself overboard.” Emily laughs as though that’s a funny joke, but there’s an actual thread of disappointment.

Emily is wearing another white bikini top, a sheer white coverup, and frayed white denim shorts. My guess is that her entire suitcase is full of bridal white since it’s her honeymoon.

Doug has on a salmon-colored polo with the collar popped, khaki shorts, and boat shoes.

They’re the picture of the upper-crust yacht crowd.

“Hey, Lorenzo. Good to see you,” Doug says with an offered hand.

We shake and then the awkward silence stretches longer and longer. A waiter walks by with a tray of wine and beer, and Abigail practically dives for it. Taking a white wine, she grabs a beer for me, and I watch with an internal eye roll as Emily does the same.

Maybe Emily just likes white wine, or maybe it’s because she doesn’t want to risk spilling the red on her white outfit, but I’m pretty sure that if Abi had grabbed a beer and chugged it in one go, Emily would try to do the same.

Hmm, that might be a fun theory to test.

“So, what’s up first?” Emily asks as she drains her first wine. “I was thinking a little gambling.”

We end up at blackjack after a little bit of debate. At first, Emily wanted to play Texas Hold ’Em, but Doug and I were dead set against that. Hold ’Em has players going against each other, and I don’t want to give Emily and Abigail a reason to get pissy with each other. Though I can’t be certain of his reasons, Doug was equally against Hold ’Em and had the suggestion of blackjack, a much better option for our ladies.