Vegas Knot (✔️) | Love Travels #1

Twenty-Two

I must drift off to sleep before I see the end of the movie, because one second I'm watching the leading lady kiss the guy to get his parents off his back and the next second, the brazen beep of my alarm is grating on my ears, sun piercing into my eyes as I try to open them.

"I need to stop doing this to myself," I groan, rolling further into my pile of pillows. "How is it already morning?"

"You probably don't want to miss Divya's wedding," Enrique says as though it's an answer. "I got you a coffee."

A huge part of me heaves a sigh of relief when I peel one eye open and find him standing across the room rather than laying beside me. I can't believe I cuddled with him.

He hums a low tune, pouring some cream into my coffee and carrying it over to me.

"How were you up before the alarm?" I ask, sitting up to take a sip.

He's about to answer me when the coffee hits and I realize the truth.

"Oh no! You're a morning person, aren't you?"

"Guilty," he says, raising his hands before leaning in to offer me a kiss.

I turn my face at the last second, narrowly avoiding his lips meeting mine again. I don't look at him. But I don't have to.

He doesn't say anything, kissing my cheek and then returning to his little make-shift kitchen to prepare peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and organize snacks for me to take to Divya's wedding.

The coffee burns my tongue, but I keep drinking, not wanting to deal with whatever it was that happened the night before. Or this morning.

Enrique floats around the room like nothing has changed. It's an avoidance tactic I use often.

"Are you okay?" I blurt, pausing to let my tongue heal from the burns.

He stops and slowly turns to face me, jelly dripping off the knife. "Do I not look okay?"

Deflection will not stop me today. "You know what I mean. I just..." Trying to run my hand through my hair results in a fresh reminder of why I shouldn't forget to braid my hair before bed. "What happened last night it was—"

"Bianca, we didn't do anything," he whispers, unable to meet my eyes, but not returning to his task.

"I know we didn't. But we—"

"Can just drop it. It's fine. I shouldn't have asked. I'm still figuring out this husband thing and... Sorry."

The room deflates. It collapses in on me and for a moment the burning coffee on my tongue is all I can feel. "You don't get to say sorry and leave," I say with the last of my breath.

"Isn't that what you were about to say?" His eyes meet mine, a short flash of anger crossing them before returning to a stoic, empty stare.

"Where is this coming from?" The fire rises in me and I'm struggling to keep it under control. "You kiss me and we have a perfect night and then you—" I wave my hand to punctuate the effect.

"You weren't going to say we should forget it?"

"No?" I don't know why I ask it like a question. I was so sure of myself five minutes ago.

"And you don't regret it, now that you've seen me in the light of morning?"

I'm sorry I turned away. I should say that to him. I should... But I can't. My heart clenches in my chest and I can't move. I can't breathe. I'm the one who turned away. I'm the one who told him not to kiss me. And now...

"No. We might have to work on your alarm habits, though. You really know how to kill a mood."

"So I've been told." He sighs, turning back to his task.

It is in that very moment that I realize this whole time we've been getting to know each other, I've not asked him a single thing about himself. The guilt washes through me like a grimey green tidal wave, settling in the pit of my stomach and reminding me why I'm not meant to be married.

Except I am married.

I am the worst wife he could ever hope for and he's still over there, muscles in his shoulder tensing as he cuts strawberries for me using a plastic butter knife.

"You know, you don't have to do that," I say, trying to alleviate some of the guilt that has settled in my stomach. "I'm only going a few hotel rooms over. If I forget something I'll just walk down the hall and grab it."

"I know." He shrugs and pops a strawberry into his mouth. "I just want you to have a good day. Our wedding was a bit of a bust, so we might as well enjoy this one, right?" His hand brushes my shoulder, trailing down my arm until it reaches my hand.

I squeeze his hand in mine.

"Thank you," I whisper. "And whoever told you that you kill moods wasn't always right."

It's a small olive branch, but he draws circles on the back of my hand with his thumb.

His silence makes me blurt out the last thing I ever thought I would admit. "Last night was amazingly perfect. So amazingly perfect I'm not sure how we'll top it." I say it so quickly it almost comes out as one word. I force myself to look at his face, even as the fear bubbles inside.

A smile grows on his face until he looks like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. "I'd like to try, though. If you'll let me."

I'm drawn to him, eyes locked in on...

The moment is well and truly ruined by Carla crashing her fists into the hotel room door with such force I almost duck behind cover. She shouts through the door. "If we're late because of you I will throw you under the bus. I'm not taking a hit for you. Now get your late butt out of bed and get over here."

"I have to go," I whisper.

The kiss he places on my temple lingers with a warmth I never want to let go of. We have a lot to figure out, but Divya's wedding isn't the time to do that, so I steady myself, pick up my dress off the bed, and swing the door wide open, waving goodbye to Enrique as the door swings behind me.

"Calm yourself, Carla. I'm here. Let's go."

The door isn't even closed behind me before Carla wraps her arm around my shoulder. "Girl, you have to tell us everything."

"What do you—?"

"Maybe not everything," Lorena interjects. "We don't need that."

"I do," Carla argues.

"Everything about what?" I ask, looking between the two of them.

"Everything about how Lorena and I saw Enrique leaving your room this morning. And how he was clearly still in there when we came to get you. What happened?"

"Oh my goodness you two will stop at nothing. Absolutely nothing of interest happened last night."

"We know you're lying. But fine, keep your secrets."

"Can we focus on what we're here to do?" I ask, pushing my way into Divya's room. "Aren't we all supposed to be getting presentable with hair and make up or something?"

Divya rounds the corner. "Yes. You are. Now sit and let the girls do their work." She points to three chairs positioned in front of well-lit mirrors.

The girl with purple nails isn't even half finished my hair when Lorena drops her phone with a little squeal. "Oh. My. God."

That in itself isn't really shocking, so I keep painting my nails a sparkly gold to match the wedding. It isn't until Divya gasps that I turn, sending a shooting pain through my scalp as I wrench my own hair out of the stylist's hands.

I don't have any time to apologize because Divya's hand covers her mouth. No bride should look like that on her wedding day.