by Jo Watson
Graduate top of my class, go to college, earn my degree, work at my dad’s auditing firm. Married by twenty-five (at the latest). First child by twenty-six. Two boys and two girls. Live in a double-story house in a leafy suburb not too far away from my family. Vacations at the cottage. Roast chicken on Sundays.
But in less than twenty-four hours, my entire plan had gone up in a puff of stinking smoke. I wasn’t just not getting married; I was losing everything that I’d meticulously planned for since the age of twelve. And then another thought hit me. A memory that made my body ache.
“Won’t it be romantic if we conceived our baby on our honeymoon?” Michael had said one night.
I rubbed my throat. The lump that was forming made it hard to swallow.
I started to cry again. I grabbed the remote and randomly pressed buttons until I got to the nature channel…
Swirling, turquoise waters. White sands made luminescent by a low-hanging tropical sun. Massive palms, swaying seductively in the cool sea breeze and gentle waves lapping on the shore. It all looked so peaceful. So beautiful and, most importantly, so remote.
So, so far away from the farce that had just become my life.
And then a thought hit me. It was so decisive, and it slammed into me with such force that I almost fell off the couch in shock. It was also, by far, the craziest thought I’d ever had in all my twenty-four years on this planet. A part of me couldn’t believe it was even mine.
I was going to go on my honeymoon! Alone.
I leapt off the couch, suddenly imbued with purpose. I ran into my bedroom and rummaged through the drawers for my passport and ticket. Crap! The flight was leaving in a few hours and I hadn’t packed yet. My brain went into hyperdrive trying to upload the list of things I needed to take with me as I tore around my apartment tossing whatever I could find into a bag. I grabbed Buttons and dropped her off with my neighbor, a lonely old woman with a purple rinse who loved nothing more than painting my cat’s claws and knitting her little jerseys.
I thought about my friends and family. I knew they’d be worried and wouldn’t want me to go. So I decided it would be better to send them a text from the plane, when it would be too late to talk me out of it. I typed the message so it would be ready to send.
Guys, I’m going on my honeymoon by myself. Don’t worry about me. I’m going to be fine. Love you all and thanks for the support. XoXo
An hour and fifteen minutes later I was sprinting through O. R. Tambo International Airport. People gaped and stared at me like I was a woman possessed, but I pressed on. The gates were about to close and I was officially the last person to board. I could even hear them calling my name over the booming intercom. I finally boarded the plane in such a flustered state that it took me a minute or two to notice the stares being thrown my direction. Clearly the other passengers weren’t pleased I’d kept them waiting. But quite frankly, I didn’t care.
Heart pounding like a racehorse and out of breath, I collapsed into my chair, pressed send, fastened my seat belt, sat back, and tried to relax.
But I couldn’t.
I felt unnerved. I had an eerie feeling that I was being watched. And I was. I turned to investigate and was met by a pair of dark, piercing eyes. The eyes belonged to a guy sitting two rows away. Pitch-black hair framed angular, unusual features, which came together in the most dangerous face I’d ever seen. He was dressed in black. Black sneakers, black pants, and an old, faded black shirt that gave off a distinctly I don’t give a flying fuck attitude. I could see the hard geometric lines of a tattoo peeping out of his sleeve. He was clearly a drug addict, or a drummer in a goth band, and he was definitely depressed and into vampire movies! His face was cold and serious, but then…
Then…
The corners of his mouth curved into the slightest crooked smile as he glanced from my feet to my face and back again. I felt the lick of his eyes on my skin as he gave me the once-, twice-over. And although I was fully clothed, I’d never felt more naked in my entire life. I turned away as quickly as possible, but even with my back to him, I could still feel his probing, dark eyes.
And then indignation rose up inside me. Who the hell did he think he was, looking at me like that? I decided the best way to deal with this situation was to turn around and face him with all the defiance I could muster. So I swung around with bravado, my accusing eyes met his, and I surprised myself when a word came tumbling out.
“What?” I glared at him.
His smile grew bigger, and a twinkle illuminated his black eyes as he looked down at my feet. My eyes followed his and that’s when I came face-to-face with two pairs of goggly eyes. They were attached to two pink, fluffy bunnies, with cute pink noses and big floppy ears.
I’m wearing my slippers!
I could feel my face going red-hot with embarrassment. My eyes looked from my slippers to my pants and then up to my top. And I realized that I wasn’t just wearing my slippers…
I’m wearing my pajamas!
When you go to Greece to meet your family but end up snogging your smokin’ hot tour guide. #sorrynotsorry
Get ready for a rollercoaster of a rom-com on the beaches of Santorini with the third Destination Love book, Finding You.
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