It’s funny how the simple act of walking has become the most awkward action possible now that I’m married to a gorgeous hunk wholovesme. I’m overwhelmed with excitement. I instantly speed up, thinking better of it once my elbows start pointing outwards like a Nordic speed walker.
Now it’s as though I’ve forgotten what a normal speed is. I’ve gone too far the other way; it feels awfully like I’m walking in slow motion. And my hands? I wipe some non-existent hair from my brow. Now where do I put them? I suddenly get the idea to wave at him with one of them just for something to do, while I’m laughing at what a coincidence it is that we’ve arrived at the same time.
Obviously, I’m too far away to explain what I’m laughing at. So, for some reason, I just keep waving and laughing. Much longer than is acceptable. I am also walking too close to the wall because I’m trying to focus on his handsome face, and not the picture I’ve just knocked off the wall with a loud thump.
He stands watching me with an amused expression while I display signs of acute dyspraxia, trying to discreetly put the picture back up and rehang it. Let me tell you, hanging pictures is not easy. And the weight of these things can be very deceiving. I am fucking exhausted by the time I reach him.
He is literally biting his lips together.
‘Hello,’ I say in a breathy, low voice. I’m too tired and stressed to even begin explaining what that spectacle just was.
He opens the door for me. His eyes are glassy, and his cheeks are pink. I may need to give him a moment to compose himself. He really is trying very hard to be gentlemanly and not to laugh. He clears his throat. ‘You okay?’ he asks.
‘Oh, God. I forgot to tell you. Hank Junior showed up while I was looking for the others in the casino. He’s really mad at us for wanting to cancel. He basically said it was all too late and that the deal had been done. Please tell me you’re sure Luke got safely on to the plane.’
He puts his arm around me. ‘He did. The driver sent a confirmation email of the airport drop-off. Try not to worry. Las Vegas is a crazy town. It may all be bravado on Hank’s part. But I’m here for you. I won’t let him do anything to harm you or the others.’ He dips down to kiss me. His lips are soft and warm. His touch is like a rejuvenating elixir as a wave of calm envelops me. When we draw apart, he is smiling.
‘How did things go? Did you manage to sort things with Birdie?’ I ask, instantly soothed.
‘Kind of. But that’s not why I came back. I have something I hope you’ll like.’ He sounds very excited. He leads me over to the floor-to-ceiling window. The sight of the city bathed in sunlight and sprawled out before us is stunning, simply breathtaking. ‘Stay here. Don’t move. Keep looking out of the window.’
Matteo is doing something in the room. There’s a zipping, some clicking sounds; he’s plugging something in. It’s all very, very mysterious.
‘Okay, turn around.’
‘What’s this?’ I ask, pointing to a picture of me on the large TV screen in the room.
‘It’s you at the piano in the Cocktail Hour bar,’ he says, and presses play.
I gulp loudly. It’s the video he asked me to WhatsApp him. How cringe. But as soon as I hear it, I realise he’s tinkered with it. He’s added amazing acoustics, some bass, subtle layers of sound. It’s extremely clever. It’s absolutely amazing. He’s taken my song and made it a million times better. I am wide-eyed and speechless.
He gives me a shy smile.
We are silent as we watch the close-up of me on screen, eyes closed, lost in my own world, belting out the track. Singing about how excited I feel, how lucky to have found my special someone just at the right time and how, if only he knew, that inside I’m a blazing furnace, burning for his touch.
It’s only when it ends that I realise I’ve been holding my breath.
‘What do you think?’ he asks quietly.
‘It’s incredible,’ I whisper. ‘I can’t believe that’s me. Thank you so much.’
‘That’s only part of my surprise,’ he says. ‘What time are you performing today?’
‘At 4p.m. Up at the poolside. Everyone is coming here to rehearse beforehand. Sorry. I should have asked you first. I thought you’d be with…’ My voice cracks. I can barely get the words out. I really don’t want him to spend any more time with Birdie. We’ve only been married a day, and he’s spent more time with her than me.
Luckily for him, all of this whining is very much internal.
‘That’s okay. I need to get back to the recording studio. I’ll see you at 4p.m.’ His eyes rake over my face. ‘Hey. I’m almost done. Birdie is behaving herself. The client is happy. Just two more hours and it’s a wrap. I promise. By the time you’ve finished your gig, you and I will be officially on our…’
A wave of jubilation flows through my veins. ‘Honeymoon,’ I blurt, just as I hear him say, ‘First date’.
He pulls a yikes face when he sees the look on mine. ‘Honeymoon it is.’
‘No, it’s fine. I meant first date too,’ I say, fake laughing to disguise my embarrassment.
‘Honeymoon.’ He places a hand on his heart, smiling. ‘I insist.’
I swallow hard. He must think I’m insane. He has married a lunatic.
