Infatuated

One

Warmth.

I take in a subtle breath, pulling the white sunglasses from my eyes as my skin soaks in the tropical heat. It's much more accepting than the bitter air back home; the brutal Chicago winter is almost unbearable in its snowy conditions. But this is splendid.

I bite down on my bottom lip as I turn, watching my husband hobble his way down along the boardwalk, the steel gray color of the crutches contrasting against his white button down. I can't help shaking my head, sorrow at the fact he's going to spend the majority of the vacation cooped up in the villa. His last racing competition resulted in a crash, leaving him with a fractured tibia and broken foot, not to mention the distress it caused me when I got the call.

Lorenzo reaches me, effortlessly gliding his hand into mine as he looks out to the horizon. "Isn't it beautiful?"

"Very," I reply, rubbing the pad of my thumb against his skin. "You picked a good one this year."

We begin walking again, his eyes playfully cutting my way, "I pick good every year. I thought you'd like the tropical scenery, so why are you looking like that?"

"Like what?"

"Troubled." He stops walking, causing me to pause my movements beside him as I avoid eye contact. "Corinne, honey, I told you to stop stressing over me."

A bland look covers my face. How am I supposed to act knowing he should be sitting down and resting up, considering he's only been released from the hospital for a week. We probably shouldn't have taken this trip anyways, I'm more than positive we would've been fine cozying up by the fireplace in our own home.

"And I told you to stop acting like you're not hurt. The doctor said to take it easy-"

"They always say that." He cuts in smugly.

"Yes, but they say it for a reason, Lorenzo. We shouldn't have traveled right now, we could've postponed or. . ."

"Or," he begins, gently taking my hands in his. "We can relax and enjoy our time here for the holidays. You, my love, need it more than anyone, so I really want you to let go. Just while we're here, okay?"

I take in a heavy breath, my mind intently putting his words to action as it tries to rid itself of stress. My resolve fades away slowly, the crooked grin dancing on Lorenzo's lips explicitly showing he knows I'm giving in.

"Thank you," he murmurs against my lips as he pulls away from our kiss. His fingers grip around the small bar of the crutches, his eyes mischievously darting between the private villa and myself. "Now, on your mark. . ."

"No."

He playfully lifts his brow while tightening his grip, his arms already working the legs of the crutches before he even finishes the countdown. There goes my relaxed state. A soft sigh escapes me, in contrast to his joyous laugh, as I trail behind towards our temporary home.

The cool air conditioning swarms me as I enter, my eyes mesmerizing over the expensive furniture and layout; the smooth oak flooring and cream walls complimenting the tall, light brown beams and supports. I run my hands over the soft cushion tops of the couch, before making my way over to the large glass window. I place my hands in front of my stomach, absentmindedly twiddling my fingertips as I look out at the clear water.

Despite my near decade long marriage to Lorenzo, I still find myself amazed at the luxuries he can afford. Maybe, at thirty four years old, I still see myself as the simple town-girl from Indiana whose biggest dream was simply getting able to attend the local community college. My mother's death took quite a toll on my father and I, both emotionally and financially. To our misfortune, layoffs at my father's construction site forced both of us to pick up small jobs around town. I was lucky enough to not have dropped out of high school at sixteen, so the luxurious trips and expensive gifts truly amaze me to all ends. However, compared to most, Lorenzo is very humble of his fortunes. I know he could go above and beyond in his purchases, but he's always been considerate of my anxiousness with the newfound opulence.