Vegas Knot (✔️) | Love Travels #1

Eight

I'm in neutral territory — a cafe — wearing a cute floral dress and flats. Apparently it is casual but still cute. Why that matters, I will never know. But Divya convinced me it was suitable for an afternoon date with my husband. Or whatever he is.

It's only once I find an empty table and sit down near the espresso machine that I realize the cafe is very small and warm. And, I can't remember what my husband looks like, so I have to pull my phone out and pretend to be covert while I check my camera roll to remember.

I keep saying 'my husband' like it's real. Maybe if I say it enough times I'll start to believe it. Or at least other people will.

My husband.

"Bianca?" a voice calls from across the cafe, and I look up to see the same face I'd been trying to memorize moments before. Except the unkempt hair and disheveled suit jacket have been replaced by a fresh clean look and a short sleeved button down.

"You order already or do you want me to get something for you?" he points to the cashier and waits, eyes wide and smile bright.

"I'll just have a plain coffee, thanks!" I wave and smile back, hopefully obscuring the shaky, unsteadiness of my arms. It's so much colder in here than it used to be, but I can't find where the draft is coming from.

Okay, all I have to do is wait for him to get here and then explain the situation. We'll go to the pre-wedding activities, I'll pay for his amazing trip to Divya's wedding, and then we'll get a divorce and be done with the whole thing.

He'll probably go for it! And if he doesn't, there's always the Elvis impersonator from yesterday.

Oh, God, I hope I don't have to call the impersonator.

It's possible I've pushed back every single one of my cuticles five times before Enrique slides into the chair across from me and pushes and tray onto the small circular table between us.

"I got you a croissant and a sandwich, just in case. If you don't want them, I'll take them back with me so they don't go to waste. So, no pressure either way. I'll just put your coffee down in front of you there and then go give this tray back. I guess they only have one or two."

His babbling is oddly calming. "Thanks. It's perfect." I pull the sandwich toward me and pick it up, offering a smile that hopefully looks more confident than it feels.

I admit to watching him walk away. He's my husband, so it's fine, right?

The sandwich he picked is loaded with flavour. Some type of green sauce really adds to the ham and cheese packed onto freshly baked bread. The scent of coffee pulls me in to the point that I almost miss a bridal party crashing through the doors.

"They must get bachelorette parties here a lot," Enrique says when he returns, slapping a small pile of napkins down on the table. "No one even flinches when they arrive anywhere. Have you noticed that?"

My mouth is full of sandwich so I just smile and nod.

"You aren't from Vegas, are you? I can't believe I didn't ask."

"Well, I did run away from you, so..."

"You did. Not that I blame you. I'd think I was a joke, too, really. I'm ... not usually the kind of guy who does stuff like that."

"Drunkenly marrying the girl whose shoe you picked up out of an elevator?"

"Precisely."

"Well, I think we gave it about the same amount of time as Cinderella and Prince Charming, so clearly we're fine. Totally normal."