“Don’t drown,” I say, with just a hint of sarcasm.
She gives me a strange look before flouncing down the beach toward the water, her ass swaying just the right amount to catch my attention.
It’s weird not to be busy with work, and I know it’s going to be frustrating if we start fighting again and there’s no work to distract me, so I hope we can keep this peace up for the few days we’re here.
I watch as she dips into the water, her luscious curls blowing with the wind that bounces off the water. There’s a radiant beauty about her that I will always admire, at least from afar.
Chapter 9 - Amelia
Thank God we don’t have to share a bed. It makes this honeymoon just a little easier. I wasn’t looking forward to this at all, and Frankie was so on edge when we arrived that it was giving me anxiety. Now, though, he’s relaxing, and I must admit it brings back fond memories for me.
The easy banter that existed between us was something I always appreciated. He doesn’t speak down to me like I’m a stupid woman, and we’ve always had interesting conversations. That was never our problem.
I won’t lie, I partially attribute the easiness of this trip to the numerous glasses of wine and cocktails I’ve been enjoying, and I note he hasn’t been shy about the beers and whiskeys either.
On the third day, I leave the room and pass a man wearing a suit in the hallway. I give him a small smile and notice he has a tattoo of a cross and prayer hands on his neck. He doesn’t smile back at me, and I shiver as I walk away from him. He’s kind of creepy.
I take the elevator downstairs, and I go to the dining hall. I dish up a generous helping of eggs and bacon with some toast and sausages and then find a table. Frankie has probably noticed my absence already and will be down in no time, I’m sure.
As I eat, I stare absently ahead at a man seated by himself, reading a newspaper. He doesn’t touch his food at all. He turns the page, and a tattoo on his hand catches my eye. Another cross and prayer hands. It must be popular around here or wherever they are from. Maybe they’re together! Oh, perhaps they are brothers. Why do I even give a shit? I chuckle to myself and blush when the man glances at me. I turn my gaze down to my breakfast and eat quickly. I wonder what the plans are for today.
Once I’m finished, I decide to see if there are any activities today and as I walk out through the front door, I bump into a burly man dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, though he looks awkward in them, as though he’s not used to dressing that way. He grunts at me to watch where I’m going, and I glare at him as he walks off. On the back of his calf is a cross with prayer hands.
That’s so weird. It must be a conference or something happening at the hotel.
The weather outside doesn’t look promising, and I nearly scream when I hear Frankie’s voice behind me, “Looks like rain.”
I turn to face him. “No beach today, I guess.” I shrug.
“A day in, reading perhaps?” he offers, and I nod. “Sounds great.”
“We can get room service for dinner and watch some movies if you want?” he offers.
“Sure, if I can pick the movies.” I smile.
He nods. “Of course, you can.”
These first three days have been easygoing, and I’m actually enjoying myself.
We spend the day sitting in the living area, and so far, we haven’t killed each other. We checked with the hotel, and the weather seems to be an unexpected storm passing through. It should be sunny again by tomorrow, so we spend the day unwinding and reading.
I order us food and wait until the room service arrives, and I let the waiter wheel the cart into the living area where there’s a small table to eat at. He lays the food out and is about to leave when I pipe up, “Hold on.”
I take Frankie’s wallet from the side table and pull out a fifty. “You forgot your tip.”
Do I feel bad about just taking money from Frankie’s wallet? Not at all, the guy needed a tip, and I don’t have any cash on me.
I put the wallet back as Frankie walked out of his room, dressed in a pair of slacks and a golf shirt.
“A bit formal for dinner in our room,” I comment. I’m in my pajamas, and Frankie eyes me out. “A bit casual for dinner in general.”
“This is proper home attire,” I say, trying to sound posh.
Frankie raises an eyebrow and runs a hand through his hair. I smile, “Your hair is perfect, don’t worry.”
He smiles and sits down. “What did you order for us?”
“We can’t be Italians unless we try the actual Italian dishes.” I lift the metal cover off his plate. “Spaghetti with a creamy sauce.”