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Charity’s laugh carries through the door and I catch her walking around under some guy’s arm. Lawrence follows my line of sight right to her and then turns back to me. He would have seen our interaction a moment ago, so there’s no hiding that.
I should have known I couldn’t run from this. I wonder how much this guy knows about me and my past.
One word—a name—from his lips and I know he knows everything about me.
“Julio, how would you like to serve your country?”
Chapter61
Allie
The wedding was beautiful, and the evening was perfectly sweet, just like we planned. Charity was right. She had everything under control.
And Lucas—my husband—never fails to surprise me. I was mentally and emotionally prepared for a flight. Well, he told me to prepare for a long flight, so yes, he misled me when I asked about this honeymoon he insisted on planning himself. He told me to pack a toothbrush, hairbrush, and underwear, so I did not know what to bring.
I have clothes for the cold and clothes for anything mild.
There’s also the dress that he so kindly picked out for me that looks more like a Charity style, if I’m being honest. It’s too short, my boobs are out, and the shoes just highlight the fact that I have weird knees and if anyone were to look at my thighs, they would probably cringe. But it’s cute and Lucas keeps telling me it looks good, so I’m comfortable around him in it.
But this honeymoon… there was no flight.
No, Lucas Kennedy drove me four hours to the coast to a cute little bungalow on the beach of Santa Marta. He dragged me through the place until he found the only bedroom, and we didn’t get to see the actual house until we crawled out of the room this morning. It’s charming, and the view is something else, especially from the patio out back.
While I figured he would want to order food and eat in the house, Lucas wanted to come out tonight and insisted on me wearing this gift he got me. I swear, this was not meant to be worn by the likes of me. Maybe if I was one of those college girls that could win those wet t-shirt contests I try not to think about. I know him well enough that he’s not trying to change me, but he forgets that I’m not confident enough for this stuff in public.
Lucas stops in the small downtown of Santa Marta in front of a bar. We don’t do this. I don’t do this. This is not me. I don’t frequent bars, and have never really been to one. Everyone outside is wearing some sort of sweatshirt or hat for the university here, and I definitely don’t belong with this kind of crowd.
“Lucas? I thought we were getting dinner.”
He grabs the inside of my thigh with his other hand resting over the wheel. “Go find a seat at the bar and order a drink. I’m going to park.”
My eyebrows can’t possibly jump any higher up my forehead. “You want me—your wife of one full day—to go inside that bar without you?” I’m having flashbacks of him kicking me out of his car and I might just scream. Is this a joke?
“Allie, I’ll be right behind you. I just need to get a spot, and I won’t make you walk in those heels.”
Fine. He has me there.
I quickly check my red lipstick in the mirror. It probably looks stupid, and if anyone stares, I’ll just find the bathroom and wipe it off. Again, he insisted, and I caved because I do want to wear it. One shaky leg out the door at a time and I walk inside while Lucas drives around the corner where the sign for paid parking points to a lot.
There is a game on the television, and loud frat guys everywhere shouting and hollering. A few girls with the same blue and white college gear on as the guys. Others are dressed like me—only they fit the part.
I don’t fit in here. As desperately as I want to feel confident in this stuff, I don’t know how I feel about it in public. With Lucas, sure, but that’s different.
There are two open seats at the bar, and I make my way over to them and sit down. The bartender serves some beers to a few people before he makes his way down to me. “What can I get you?”
“This may be weird, but I don’t do this, and so I don’t know what to get.”
He shrugs with a cool nonchalance that makes me feel less nervous. “What do you like?”
“Umm, well, I’m vegan, if that helps.”
He snorts. I must look like an idiot. “What do you normally drink?”
“Just wine at home.” I won’t tell him it is sometimes from a box. Whatever is on sale, really.
“Right,” he assesses me. He probably thinks my lipstick looks awful and wrong. “How about a Long Island?”
I don’t know what that is, but I need to sound confident. Plus, he probably wouldn’t give me something too strong. “I’ll try it.”
