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Chapter Twelve
Freedom
What a weekend. No, it may not have gone exactly as I had planned, but I wouldn’t change any of it. Not for a second. Not the part where I woke up married to Samuel. Not the part where we spent time together, including all day Sunday. Not the part where I had my hands all over him as I gave him a massage. And definitely not the part where I took care of that ache between my legs in the shower this morning.
Twice.
Yesterday was fun. No, probably not the word he’d use to describe it, but I had a blast, and there was no hiding the smile he had on his face from time to time. I saw it when we visited the aquarium and enjoyed the Eiffel Tower experience—though, Samuel seemed a little green under the collar. We toured Hershey’s Chocolate World and then played mini golf on KISS’s course. He even surprised me with tickets to Shania Twain’s Let’s Go! residency show, which I’m pretty sure was his way of distracting me from the fact the Big Apple Coaster was still on my list of fun things to do.
It didn’t work.
When the show ended, we walked down Freemont Street, hand in hand, taking in the sights and sounds of the city. Hell, I even snapped a picture of Samuel with two showgirls. He pretended to hate it, but that smile on his face was genuine. Now, what he really did hate was the exotic animals atSiegfried & Roy's Secret Garden and Dolphin Habitat. I have the photo of us with an albino boa constrictor wrapped around our shoulders in my bag as proof.
He looks terrified.
I loved it.
At the end of it all, we waited in line for the roller coaster, Samuel one step away from vomiting the entire time. He didn’t vomit, however, even though he screamed like a teenage girl who saw a spider during every plunge, dip, and loop.
It was awesome.
It was also awesome when we got off the coaster and he threw his arms around me, kissing me silly and thanking me.
Now, we’re disembarking the plane and getting ready to drive home. Fellow massage therapist, Claire, brought me to the airport on Friday, but I never arranged for her to pick me up. That’s why I’m sticking close to Samuel as we make our way to baggage claim. He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s my ride. If there’s one thing I know about Samuel, it’s his need for control. There’s no way he relied on someone else to bring him to the airport. His trusty, top rated for safety car is parked in the overnight lot, ready and waiting.
After retrieving our luggage, I decide to go ahead and spring it on him. “Can you drop me off?”
He glances my way as we head toward the parking garage. “You didn’t get your car fixed?”
“Oh, I did. Cost me like four hundred smackers, but I decided not to leave my car in the lot. Claire dropped me off, so I need a ride home.”
Samuel sighs and shakes his head. “Fine.”
I smile at his gruffness, at the annoyance he implies with his tone, but I also know he’s genuinely a good guy and would never leave me at the airport to fend for myself. Well, at least he wouldn’t, even though he’d probably really want to. I mean, my goal in life is to madden him to the point of tears. I’ve come close a few times…
We find his car right where I’d expect it. In the back of the covered lot, as far away from door dings and bumper taps as possible. “Jesus, Sammy, why didn’t you just park at the Pizza Hut two towns over?” I ask as we finally reach his trunk.
“It’s safer to park back here, Freedom.”
“Not really. I mean, anyone could be lurking in the dark corners of the parking garage, ready and waiting. Have you not seen CSI: New York? I’ve seen every episode. You could have been stuffed in a trunk and butchered into tiny pieces before anyone even realized you were missing.”
He stops and turns my way, a horrified look on his face. “Is that what you watch at night? Television about murder?”
“Well, technically, on my phone, but yes. It’s about solving the murder, and yes, I do enjoy watching those kinds of shows. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m the perfect partner to have if you ever find yourself in one of those murder mystery games.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he mumbles, tossing his suitcase and garment bag into the back of his car. He then takes my own bag and sets it beside his, careful not to smash his precious suits.
Using the key fob, he unlocks the doors, and we slide inside. The air is much cooler than in Las Vegas, holding a slight hint of salty ocean. Samuel drives exactly the speed limit as we make our way to Rockland Falls, back to reality. Conversation comes easily for me, so I talk about anything and everything. I recount our entire weekend, even though he was very much a part of it. So, it’s no surprise when we reach the city limits of town, Samuel chooses to finally add to the conversation.
“So, uh, listen, Freedom. We should talk. About the…thing.”
“The thing? Is that what we’re calling it?” I tease, even though I very much know what he’s referring to. He means the big elephant in the room—err, car—in the form of a marriage license and Elvis impersonator witness.
“Be serious, Freedom. We can’t stay married.”
“We can.” And we will.
“No, Freedom, this isn’t the way it’s done. We can’t just get married in Vegas and live happily ever after,” he says, as he maneuvers the streets toward my apartment building.
