Speak Now

Epilogue

Ever since I gave up my jet-setting lifestyle to move back to London to fully commit to my relationship with Sam, whenever I fly, the jetlag hits me like a freight train. It's one of the main reasons I don't travel as often any more but when my boyfriend of almost a year decided we should take a trip- my first non-work related one in three months- I threw caution to the wind and said, 'yeah, why not?' 

The second we got off the plane in California, I knew that my body would take some time to adapt. That was three days ago and still, I wasn't quite sure what day it was or what time zone I'm in. Sam, a godsend, really, didn't seem to mind that I've spent almost seventy-two hours in bed, sleeping, but this morning, he woke up and insisted that we do 'things' together. I groaned and turned over in the large bed, begging him to close the curtains. 

"Martha, I did not plan a week away in Napa Valley just for you to stay in bed," Sam insisted, giving me his annoying you-know-I'm-right look. Walking over to the bed, he crouches down and pushes my hair from my face, cupping one of my cheeks. "We're in wine valley, Martha. Wine. It's one of your favourite things in the whole world and you're missing out on it. You can be a complete lush this week and you're wasting time. No, I insist. Today, you're coming with me. I have everything planned out. We're having breakfast on the veranda, then we're going horseback riding through the vineyard, our lunch will be a picnic at one of the random fields, then we're doing some wine tasting before we come back here, get changed and then going for dinner in one of those wine cellars, where it'll just be the two of us, surrounded by hundreds, if not thousands, of bottles of wine. Some of which, we might even be able to crack open and drink."

I crack open one of my eyes. "That does sound tempting."

"So, you're going to get up?" Sam asks, his words hopeful. I shake my head, close my eyes and turn my back on him, snuggling deeper into the large bed now that I have it entirely to myself. My plan to hibernate for a little while longer was thwarted, however, when Sam slid into bed behind me, planted his freezing cold feet on my back and pushed. Damn him and his leg days at the gym. I was on the precipice before I knew it and if I wasn't careful, Sam would kick me over the edge. Delaying the inevitable was stupid so I did the only thing I could- I voluntarily got out of bed. Sam laughed. "Oh, look at that. You're up. Excellent. You have twenty minutes to shower. I'll meet you downstairs."

To my surprise, it only took me twenty minutes to shower and dress since I'd long ago given up wearing makeup in front of Sam. I managed to tame my hair into a sort of chich bun at the nape of my neck as I walked down to the kitchen, watching as Sam deftly navigated the rental kitchen, whipping up pancake after pancake, stacking them high and drizzling maple syrup all over. All the while, he kept an eye on the bacon that was crisping. Maple syrup pancakes with bacon were one of my favourite breakfasts, a tradition I'd picked up when I lived Stateside. It was, surprisingly, on my list of cons for moving back to London; that was until Sam vowed to perfect the dish so he could make it for me whenever I was feeling Malibu-sick. I have to say, he's outdone himself over the past few months.