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From somewhere, music plays through a sound system, a wordless rendition of Elvis’ ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love,’ plays. After a few measures, his beautiful voice radiates through the speakers. “It almost sounds like Elvis is here singing to us,” I say into his chest.
Cole turns us, and on a small stage with a lone spotlight, Bryant Memphis is melodic as he echo’s the words of the King. A tear spills over onto my cheek. “It’s Elvis,” I breathe over Cole’s lips, kissing him.
“I know how much you love him.”
“It’s true, but Elvis has nothing on you. It’s you whose name is burned on my heart.”
“I love you, Katie.”
“You knew exactly what I wanted to hear.”
Cole cups his hands around my face. My eyes flutter closed, and I feel his soft, supple lips against mine. “Would you like to meet Elvis?” he says with a wink.
“I’ve been waiting my whole life for someone to ask me that,” I laugh.
Cole introduces us, Bryant gives me a CD and signs it: ‘to Kate my prettiest fan, love Elvis, aka Bryant Memphis.’
“Do you have any requests for one more song?” Bryant asks. “Hmm—how about a fast song, like ‘Burning Love’ or I know, ‘A Big Hunk O’ Love,’ that was a favorite of my grandmother’s.”
So, Bryant Memphis sings us one last song, while we sit and listen. When he’s done, I stand and clap like I wanted to the other night, and Cole stands with me, whistling and clapping just as loud, all for my benefit, I’m sure. A server brings us dinner, but I’m not hungry for food. I want Cole to take me home and satisfy a different hunger. I fidget in my seat until finally, I get up. Cole shows me the proper etiquette by standing. I smile, walking around to his side of the table.
“Sit down please.” He cocks his head at me but does as I ask. I scoot between his legs, then sit on his lap with a sigh.
“This is better. I was too far away from you,” I pout.
“Cookie.” Cole kisses my neck. He feeds me some of his fish, and I sip his wine, then let him have a few sips.
“Cole.” I nuzzle his neck next to his ear. “Take me home and make love to me.” I nibble at his ear, taking it between my teeth.
He moves his hand to my knee. “I don’t want you to wait, Cookie.” He parts the slit of my skirt, exposing my leg, then runs his hand up my thigh. His fingers skim my folds and I part my legs, granting him access. I close my eyes and let my head fall onto Cole’s shoulder, kissing the crook of his neck.
Cole’s phone buzzes in his pocket. I open my eyes, Cole’s jaw is tense. “Shh, it’s okay, answer the phone. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Luke—this better be important.”
I kiss him on the cheek, trying to dispel his anger. He grabs me by the waist, standing up. Whoa—what the hell! My feet are barley grazing the floor the way he’s holding me. Mr. Hot Ferrari needs to be renamed Hercules the way he seems to tote me around like a bag of potatoes. Morgan opens the ballroom door. I try to smile and give a little wave. You know the kind that says, ‘hey what’s up, just hanging around—in the literal sense’.
“No, bring the car around…no…fine yes.” Cole disconnects the Call.
“Cole, baby, my waist is hurting.”
“Sorry Cookie.” He sits me down, then grabs my hand. We take off through the exit. He’s walking way too fast for my heels and the length of my dress. I gather up my dress, so I don’t trip on it.
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s a problem at the nightclub.”
Now who’s being vague? Wow, I have this overwhelming sense of Deja Vue as we run through the halls.
“You’ve got to love this.”
Cole looks back at me. “What do you mean?”
“Doesn’t this bring back any memories, I don’t know, of say, last Sunday night at roughly the same time?”
This gets a smile out of Cole. “The only memory I want to remember about last Sunday is that you became my wife.”
The Escalade is idling out front, with the door already open. Cole hitches me up and in and then climbs in.
