by Erin Noelle
“Yes, smart ass, I’m well aware. I don’t want to be ill-prepared,” I say with a smack to his muscular bicep.
Groaning, he picks up two of the larger suitcases and mumbles. “You and my mom are going to get along famously.” I snicker and grab the other one, along with my carry-on bag. I hope he’s right.
Thankfully, our flight from JFK to Miami is direct. I spend the three hours flipping through magazines and checking the time while Lucca sleeps the majority of the trip. The plane touches down in the Sunshine State at two-thirty on the dot, and I know that for sure because I happen to be staring at my watch for the five hundredth time since we took off.
Shaking him awake, I whisper in his ear, “Wake up, sleepyhead. It’s show time.” He quickly comes to and begins to unbuckle his seatbelt. Then, we impatiently wait for the people in the few rows ahead of us to exit the plane. He grabs my carry-on from me and ushers me to go in front of him. As we walk through the airport to the baggage claim area where his parents will be waiting, he holds my hand tightly and the grin never leaves his face. I, on the other hand, grow more and more nervous with every step we take closer to them. I’m no longer sure I want to go through with this. By the time we get to the area filled with luggage carousels, he’s practically dragging me along.
Abruptly, he stops walking and turns to face me. “Stop overthinking this, Katrina. Relax and be yourself; they’re gonna love you. Trust me on this.” He kisses me firmly on the lips, and then resumes his path through the crowd of people.
When I see his parents, I know it’s them from the pictures I’ve seen at his place. He’s the spitting image of his dad, only thirty years younger and with no gray hair. His mom is even prettier than her photos — she’s a petite woman with straight, copper-colored hair and bright blue eyes. As soon as they see us, they begin to move towards us and greet us with huge, radiant smiles. Lucca embraces them both, giving his mom a sweet kiss on the cheek as I stand off to the side a bit. Then he motions for me to step over to them.
“Mom, Dad, I’d like to introduce you to my girlfriend, Katrina,” he says cheerfully.
Wasting no time, his dad wraps me in a tight hug and then passes me off to his wife, who does the same. As she frees me from her arms, she says, “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Katrina. Lucca has told us so many wonderful things about you.”
“Likewise, Mrs. Ellis, the pleasure is all mine. I’m so thankful for you and Mr. Ellis to have us at your house this week.”
His dad interjects, “No need for formalities with us, Katrina. It’s Sarah and Christian, and our house will always be Lucca’s home too. Y’all are welcome to come down whenever you want.” I’m pretty sure I’m glowing from the inside out, relieved at their friendly nature and the overall comforting vibe I’ve picked up on immediately.
After the introductions, we gather my bags and head to their car in the parking garage. I’m a little surprised that they drive a Range Rover almost identical to mine, except that it’s gray instead of black. I shoot Lucca an inquisitive look, but he’s busy talking with his dad about something I think that has to do with fishing. Lucca packs my suitcases in the back and we all pile in the SUV for the half hour drive to their house.
Conversation flows easily between the four of us during the ride. We mainly talk about all of the places Lucca wants to take me to see while we’re there. His parents make several other suggestions which are added to the list, and again, I’m surrounded with a feeling of joy. When we turn into the Sunny Isles area, my focus drifts away from talking and more to looking out the window. I’m taking in the entire coastal resort vibe as well as the glimpses of the ocean I keep getting; however, when we turn into a private gated community with some of the biggest houses I’ve ever seen, which is saying a lot considering where I grew up. I can’t help my mouth from gaping open.
Lucca has always talked about the great relationship his parents have and how supportive they’d always been of him while growing up, but he’s never mentioned what they did for a living, or their financial status. I guess I never asked because I hate when people asked me about mine, but apparently, I should’ve.
“This is it. We’re home,” Christian announces, pulling into the driveway of a house that resembles a luxurious Mediterranean villa. I try to get Lucca’s attention, but he’s purposely not making eye contact with me. “Sarah, go ahead and give Katrina the tour while Lucca and I unload the car.”
She nods and grabs my elbow, leading me towards the front door. “I’m not sure what Lucca told you about our home, but he and Christian actually designed it themselves when he was in high school. He only lived here for a year before going off to college, but I know he feels a connection with it since he helped in so many ways during the build,” she explains as we walk through the grand foyer.
After familiarizing me with the great room, which encompasses the kitchen, dining room, and living area, she shows me the master suite and then leads me upstairs to the game room and other bedrooms. Opening the final door, she says, “And this is your and Lucca’s room. Take a look around; I’m going to go make sure the guys got everything.”
At first, I’m caught off-guard because I assumed that we’d be sleeping in separate rooms, but that train of thought gets lost when I see the massive bedroom. It’s like a larger version of his room in New York — an oversized sleigh bed swathed in blue linens adorned with lots of throw pillows is the focal point, tasteful ocean-inspired art hangs on the walls, and an obscenely large flat screen television hangs on the wall opposite the bed. However, in this room, instead of a windows are French doors draped in sheer light blue fabric that lead out onto a balcony. After looking around the room, I immediately head towards the doors, open them, and walk outside. The space is large enough for a patio table and two chairs and it looks out over the immaculately landscaped backyard and pool area which leads to a boat dock.
Two large hands slide around my waist from behind and that clean, soapy smell I’m completely in love with teases my nose. Nibbling on my neck and ear lobe, Lucca asks in a low voice, “So, do you approve, Ms. Foster?”
Closing my eyes and laying my head back on his shoulder, I ask, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?.”
“That your parents live like this. You’ve always made it seem like you didn’t come from money; you even made that comment about needing a sugar momma the first night we had dinner,” I protest.
He spins me around by my hips so that we’re staring into each other’s eyes. “Would it have made a difference? If anything, you probably would’ve been more hesitant to go out with me because you associate people with money with greed and narcissism — not that those stereotypes aren’t usually correct, but it’s not the case with my family. Neither of my parents came from affluent backgrounds; they met in college, got married shortly after, and they’ve worked extremely hard to get to this point in life. They’ve always promoted hard work, determination, and appreciation in me which is why I’m working for an internship in the field of teaching. I want to be a baseball coach, so they expect me to follow the path that anyone else with the same dream would travel down.”
Leaning down, he gently rubs his nose against mine. “I didn’t want you to make assumptions about me off of my background, just like you didn’t want me to judge you off of yours. You know the real me, so none of this should make any difference.”
Looping my arms around his neck, I bring my mouth to his in a tender but meaningful kiss. “You’re right; it doesn’t. And I think the place is gorgeous; I can’t believe you helped design it.”
“Oh, Mom’s already told you, has she?” he asks with a chuckle.
“Mhmm. I get the feeling she’s pretty proud of you.”
He cuddles me up against his body and kisses my forehead. “Let’s go grab some lunch and then I’ll show you around outside. You’re gonna love the boat.”
After eating a light lunch with his parents, Lucca walks me around the property as pro
mised. I can’t decide which is prettier, the outside or the inside of the house, but I know I could definitely get used to living in a place like this. We head down to where the boat is docked, and I can tell he’s getting more excited with each step. As we approach the wooden platform, he begins to tell me all about the vessel. I’ll be the first to admit I know absolutely nothing about boats. It looks pretty enough — it’s mostly white, with a red stripe running down the side of it, and it’s bigger than a canoe, but smaller than a cruise ship. He’s going on and on about the specs and telling me how versatile it is; I can tell he’s really proud of it.
“The only time I’ve ever been on a boat was when I went on a cruise with my mom. I think I was maybe eleven or twelve,” I tell him.
He looks at me with disbelief. “Are you kidding? Oh my God, I love to be on the boat. I grew up fishing and jet skiing with my parents. Nearly every weekend in the summer we’d be out on the water in some form.”
“It sounds like fun,” I say enthusiastically. “Are we going to go out on it while we’re here?”
“Of course! We can do whatever you’d like. I can try to teach you how to ski or wakeboard if you want. And the night of the fourth, we’ll go out and watch the fireworks over the water. It’s incredible.”
I wish I could bottle up the happiness exuding from him in this moment. His smile isn’t limited to his lips, it’s radiating from his eyes and voice as well. “Sounds perfect,” I reply as I step forward and capture his mouth with mine, wanting to taste his joy.
Our first full day in Florida, Lucca drives me up and down the coast, showing me places he used to go as a kid, his high school, his favorite beach, and all sorts of other memorable locations. We have an incredible time together, singing along with the radio and stopping to explore whenever we get the whim. I’ve never taken a long road trip with anyone before. If I traveled with my parents, we always flew to our destination, but after spending a good six hours driving around with him today, I think it would be something fun for the two of us to do in the future.
For dinner, we eat with his parents at Il Mulino, an Italian restaurant inside the Acqualina Resort. The company and conversation are even better than the food, which speaks volumes because the chicken franchese I order may be even better than Mama Rosa’s. The Ellis’ love to talk about their son and all of the things he did growing up, but they do it in a way that shows how proud they are rather than bragging or boastful. Watching the three of them together, it’s obvious the amount of love that exists in their home. Christian and Sarah still find ways to touch each other all the time, whether it be with a quick hand squeeze or a sweet kiss, just something to display their affection for one another. I don’t ever remember seeing my parents act like that.
As we are driving back to the house, his mom is playing around on her phone in the passenger-side front seat and asks, “Do you know what the name Katrina means?”
“No, I’m not sure if anyone’s ever told me,” I reply truthfully.
“It means pure. I’m sure your mom looked it up when she was choosing your name,” she says with a warm smile. “You should ask her sometime. Do you have a middle name?”
“It’s Michelle — Katrina Michelle. I was named after her favorite aunt, but I’m sure you’re right. Thank you for telling me.” I still haven’t told his parents about my family situation, and this night is going so well, I really don’t want to ruin it with the horrific story. Lucca squeezes my hand as a show of support and I give him a weak smile with a shake of my head.
Unaware of our silent conversation in the backseat, she continues talking as she types something into her phone, obviously looking up the meaning of my name talking. “Ah, Michelle means a gift from God. That’s a beautiful name. When I was expecting, I scoured over books after books of names, trying to find the perfect one. When I saw that Lucca meant bringer of the light, I knew immediately it was the one. I was going through a really dark time because I was having issues conceiving, but when I finally accepted that it just wasn’t meant to be for me, I got pregnant. And ever since then, he truly has been the light of my life.”
“Oh Mom, stop,” he teases. “You’re embarrassing me.”
“I’m not telling Katrina anything she doesn’t know. Your father and I feel blessed that we have such an amazing son; there’s nothing wrong with that,” she argues.
My heart melts a little at her kind words, and as I fall asleep later, the idea that the meaning of our names has some higher significance bounces around my thoughts.
The following day is the Fourth of July, and thankfully, the weather is beautiful once again for all of the planned festivities. The small community they live in truly goes all out for the summer holiday. Numerous food stands serving barbeque, shrimp skewers, corn dogs, and funnel cakes line the waterfront, and there are bounce houses and face painting stations for the kids and organized volleyball tournaments and games of corn-hole for the adults on the beach itself. Most of the families set up an area of blankets and lounge chairs close to the shoreline and go back and forth from playing in the ocean to the food and activities.
Lucca and I are having a blast as we walk up and down the beach, stuffing our faces with delicious food and chasing it with fruity frozen cocktails. Being able to stare at him shirtless all day, wearing only his blue-and-white-checkered board shorts is a bonus, but I’m finding that the rest of the female population thinks the same.
“What’s wrong?” he asks me, a teasing tone in his voice, as we pass by one of the volleyball games.
“Nothing,” I fib.
Nudging his hip against mine, he laughs. “Liar- now spill. What’s got your bikini bottoms in a ruffle?”
I look down at my solid-red bikini which is indeed ruffled across the triangle tops and the butt. “My suit was made with ruffles, silly,” I attempt to change the subject.
He stops walking and turns to me. Lifting my chin up so that I’m gazing into his eyes, he asks again, “What’s wrong, Katrina?”
Crinkling my nose playfully, I whine, “All of those girls are ogling you, and I don’t like it.” Rarely in my life have I felt jealous or envious of people, especially over a guy, but he makes me feel things I’ve never experienced or even thought about. Most of those feelings are pleasurable and gratifying, but this one — not so much. And I hate that I sound like an insecure, whiny kid.
He bursts out laughing, which is neither the reaction I expected nor wanted. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
Saying nothing, I pull my stare away from his and look down at the sand as I dig my toes into the warm, gritty beach.
“Katrina, look at me now,” he commands in a low, but serious voice.
Obediently, I bring my eyes back to his. He cups my face gently and lowers his mouth to mine, capturing it in a soft kiss. “You think I don’t notice every male on this beach gawking at you? I do, but I don’t worry myself with that. I know you belong to me, just like you should know I belong to you. I see no one but you, no matter where we are. Learn that and accept it. I’m far from perfect; I know that I can be a stubborn jerk sometimes, among other things, but one thing you never have to worry about is me being unfaithful to you. Do you understand that?”
I nod as his words excite the baby dragons in my tummy. “Yes,” I answer, knowing he expects a verbal response. “I understand, and I feel the same way.”
“Good, now I’ll race you to the water. Last one in has to wash the other’s laundry when we get back home.” Laughing hard, he takes off running towards the shoreline and I follow closely on his heels, all thoughts of insecurity washed away.
Obviously, with his head start and long legs, he beats me by a landslide. Splashing me as I enter the refreshing blue waters, he cackles, “Ha-ha, you’ve gotta do my laundry!”
I hurl myself at him, making him fall back into the incoming wave, and start laughing. “No problem, silly boy! My building has a cleaning service that does door-to-door pickups,” I taunt, sticking my tongue out.
“Oh, you think you’re so clever, don’t you?” he asks, regaining his footing. Then he grabs me by the waist and begins tickling me before dunking me.
The rest of the afternoon we spend fooling around, bantering back and forth and sneaking kisses in here and there. I can’t remember the last time I felt so carefree and relaxed, and even though we still have five days left, I’m already dreading going home.
Returning back to the house, Lucca and I take a short nap, as we’re both exhausted from the day in the water and sun. Once we wake up, we shower and get dressed for the nighttime celebration with more food, drinks, live music, and fireworks. Since I had my hair up all day, I spend a little extra time and fix it to wear it down for the evening. After applying a little bit of mascara, and a thin layer of coconut oil to my sun-kissed face, I step into a pale yellow, cotton sundress that hits a few inches above my knee. Lucca helps me zip it up from behind, kissing the back of neck when he’s finished before I slide my feet into some sparkly, brown flip-flops. He’s wearing a light blue, Guevara-style shirt with tan linen shorts and dock shoes. His hair is a wild, unkempt mess, and his skin is already bronzed from the couple of days we’ve been here. I’m pretty sure he’s never looked sexier than he does tonight.
“Are you ready to go, babe?” I ask excitedly.
Looking me up and down, a mischievous smile spreads across his face. “I’m rethinking leaving the house tonight. Maybe we should just stay here and make our own fireworks.”
I shake my head, giggling, and begin to walk out of the bedroom. “Uh-uh. You promised me my first ride on the boat tonight, and I’m keeping you to it.”
His face lights up when I mention the boat. “Oh, yeah, I’ve gotta get you out on the water. You’re going to love it,” he says, patting my ass just before we head down the stairs.