“Are you looking forward to tomorrow?” Leon asks before laying his hand on top of my thigh.
“I can’t wait.” We’re going on the private yacht lagoon day trip with lunch tomorrow. The special gift Leon gave me when he handed me my new stethoscope for my birthday.
“Pack an overnight bag, too,” he instructs.
“Are we staying overnight somewhere?” This is the first time he’s mentioned it.
“We’re staying over on the yacht.”
That sounds like five-star luxury. “You have to stop spoiling me.”
“I’m only getting started.” He glances toward the area where many couples are dancing to the steel drums that sound like how I imagine sunshine would—shimmering, bright, and uplifting—and are now my soundtrack of the honeymoon. “Let’s dance.”
I offer him my hand to take, and we both stand up at the same time. “Is this just an excuse so you can rub yourself against me?”
“It’s like you’re living in my head, baby.” He laughs, already shaking his hips on his way to the dance area, tugging me behind him, his other hand raised to the sky, swinging it to the song’s beat.
I take a mental picture of this happy moment.
It’s a memory that will stay imprinted in my brain for a lifetime.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Leon
With my arm around Erika’s waist, we make our way down the sun-warmed walkway toward the private yacht waiting for us.
I’m nervous because I’ve planned a whole day for her that is full of surprises, and if everything goes to plan, it will be perfect.
Two attendants stride behind us, shading us from the sun with white umbrellas.
The smell of salt from the surrounding plant life along the shore is something I’d like to bottle, as it will always remind me of what can only be described astropical bliss.
“Do we really need someone to shade us from the sun?” Erika asks through the side of her mouth as we follow the yacht captain, signaling readiness and preparing for boarding to the deckhands positioned on either side of the walkway.
“Yes, we do. It’s hot.”
“The captain looks very sharp in his uniform. How does he keep it so white?” she whispers under her breath.
“Why don’t you ask him?” I suggest, loving how curious my wife is.
“He’s very professional,” she states.
So he should be. I pay him well enough. He walks with quiet authority, just a few steps ahead of us, his eyes surveying the vessel as if he’s checking, double-checking, ensuring she’s set for sailing.
Standing like soldiers lining the deck, six deckhands stand to attention, their tennis shoes whiter than untouched snow.
I send myself a mental note to compliment them on their appearance once we settle in.
As we approach, one of the deckhands extends his hand to the side, as the scent of freshly polished wood swirls softly around us. The smell also screams new and shiny, the yacht glinting in the sunlight as if showing off how beautiful she is.
“Leon, this is beautiful,” Erika gasps, taking in the seventy-foot yacht that can comfortably host twelve guests.
“She is.” It’s her maiden voyage, and today she’ll be hosting Erika and me. I can’t wait to show her around.
As we approach the gangway, the private canopy of umbrellas vanishes as the captain politely offers Erika a welcoming hand to help her on board.
Before she steps on board, something must catch her eye as she stops in her tracks and says, “The Keira.” She gestures toward the name emblazoned along the bow in black, hand-lettered script. “I wonder who Keira is?” she asks inquisitively.
