by Debbie Civil
Chapter 24
Peter and I walk down the hallway and toward our hotel room. My heart pounds and part of me, the insecure part, wants to run away. This man is my husband. We are going to consummate this marriage. I will be required to change in front of him and share a room with him. All we have now is each other. It's not like I regret being married to Peter. I'm just having second thoughts about how quick we went down the aisle. Peter and I are so young. Mom and Dad were young. I'm positive that they also loved each other, considering that they risked living in poverty to be together. But look at them now. They are going through a bitter divorce, and he's been spending nights with prostitutes. I'm pretty sure that Peter wouldn't cheat on me. I'm also sure that we will be happy together. We went through hell and back. And our experiences make our relationship stronger. Peter and I have spent more time apart. But I still feel like I know nearly everything about him.
Peter pauses in front of the door and pulls the key card from his jeans pocket. He sighs and slides the key in. The door unlocks with a click that sounds like a rumble of thunder. We will be all alone for a few days. Grandmother paid a lot of money to assure that we aren’t bothered. I instinctively clench my hands into fists. Suddenly, I don’t want to enter. But I don’t have much of a choice; Peter lifts me up and carries me over his shoulder, fireman style. I shriek, and he chuckles.
“Were you planning on staying out there forever?” he laughs.
“No,” I complain. Peter places me on the bed, and I pull off my flip-flops before scooting up the soft mattress until the mound of pillows brushes up against my back. Peter sits at the edge of the bed and studies me with an odd expression. Then, he stands and grins.
“Are you hungry, Chelsea?” His question is so out of left field that it takes me a second to respond.
“I guess so?” It’s more of a question. Great! There is a soft knock on the door and Peter answers it. The bellhop has arrived with our luggage, which is essentially a medium sized suitcase. Considering that this trip was sprung on us, people did our packing for us. Peter tips the man twenty bucks and the stocky middle- aged man smiles and takes off, the luggage cart being dragged after him. The door closes with a thump, and Peter faces me again.
“Do you want a burger? Or maybe we can order a cheesecake,” he suggests. “Room service is open until mid-night.”
“Fries,” I sigh wistfully. “I want french fries, chocolate cake and ice cream and some water,” I reply. Peter laughs. He walks over to the phone and orders me what I listed and himself a side salad and a glass of water. When he hangs up I chuckle.
“ Side salad is your midnight snack?” Peter rubs his chest.
“I can’t keep up with you anymore, Chelsea. My arteries are probably half clogged by now.” I chuckle at him before sighing.
“Do you think it’s a sign that Jake caught my garter, and Carmen caught the bouquet?” I ask Peter. He sighs and runs his hands through his dark hair.
“Probably. I’m not sure. Jake is quite the wild card.”
“What do you make of Dad not showing up? I know that I promised Tiller not to dwell on it. But he could have showed up to walk me down the aisle, and then left early if he were afraid of the press. He could have watched from afar as I got married. I don’t understand it, Peter. I…”
“Sweetheart, is this what you want to talk about?” His dark eyes are scanning my face. I squirm, and he sighs and sits beside me.
“Well. I…”
“Chelsea,” Peter says as he grabs my hand. He massages it and then kisses the back of it. My heart starts racing.
“Peter, I’m nervous,” I force myself to admit. He gently rubs his thumb over my knuckles.
“We don’t have to do anything but sleep, Chelsea. The rest will come later.” His words are said with a gentle understanding. Love fills me when I see the sincerity in his eyes. Peter will wait years if that means waiting until I’m comfortable.
“I…. Well… Oh, forget this,” I finally snap, feeling aggravated with myself. I slide into Peter’s lap, hold his face in between my trembling hands and kiss him tenderly. He sighs into my mouth and wraps strong arms around me. I sigh and deepen the kiss. Peter responds by running his fingers through my hair. I like the feel of his hands in my hair. I feel safe and cherished. Peter always makes me feel important. I love this about him. I take it one step further by sliding my hand under his t-shirt and explore his stomach. He mirrors my actions, and it’s all I can do not to squirm away because of the intensity of the feelings. But I don’t. I close my eyes and ride the wave of love and my sudden eagerness to get as close to Peter as possible.
So my husband and I play a game. I make all of the advances. When I tug on Peter’s shirt, a signal for him to remove it, he obeys then does the same to me. He mirrors all of my actions. I’m guessing that he’s doing so to make me comfortable. And it’s working. I lose track of time as we rid ourselves of our clothing. Nothing happens right away. We spend the time pushing boundaries and enjoying the fact that we have all the time in the world. But of course, the moment comes upon us. Peter’s eyes bore into mine, as if asking me if I want to continue. By this point, nerves, excitement, and anticipation all fill me. I stare up into his dark eyes and say “I love you, Peter.” And then our bodies collide, merging together and move as one.
We forget about the food. A knock on the door is our warning that round two is definitely not happening. Though, I don’t think that it’s a good idea considering that my muscles are sore. Peter pulls away from me, kisses my forehead and slides out of bed.
“Hang on,” he shouts as he begins to slide into his close. I jump out of bed, stretch and rush into the bathroom and turn on the tap. I look in the mirror and wince. Other than the fact that I have a couple of questionable marks on my neck, my hair is a mess. When the tub is nearly fool of water, I slide in and sigh. The warm water does wonders at relaxing me. But I know this won’t last too long. After all, the ice cream might melt. Peter comes in a few minutes after I start my bath. He stares down at me and grins.
“I put your ice cream in the freezer. So it won’t melt,” he tells me. How does my husband know that food would be my main concern? He is seriously perfect for me.
“I hate soggy fries,” I grumble as I horridly begin rinsing myself free of the soap. This bath was a stupid idea. Peter crouches down and begins washing my back. I sigh at his gentle touch. I’m lucky to have him.
“Don’t rush, sweetheart. The fries will be fine. I left them covered,” he gently says as he begins to massage my shoulders.
“If you keep on doing that, I’ll seriously fall asleep,” I groan.
“Relax, Chelsea,” Peter chuckles. I finish my bath two minutes later. I get out of the tub, and Peter hands me a towel. When I walk into the bedroom, a pair of shorts, a t-shirt and some underwear is in a neat pile on my bed. I slide into my clothes and make a beeline for the desk. Peter laughs and grabs my plate of fries and places them in the microwave.
“You know, we got our meal for free since it took so long. Apparently, there was some conflict in the kitchen,” Peter reports to me. I chuckle, thinking that it was fortunate that our food did arrive late. He places the plate of fries in front of me, and I sigh in contentment and dig in. Peter eats his salad with contentment. He’s a neat eater. I smile when he frowns at me for studying him so much. After we are both done with our food, Peter pulls my dessert out of the freezer. I sit on the bed beside him and split the cake with him. He seems surprised by the gesture and I laugh.
“I must really love you if I’m sharing cake and ice cream with you.” Peter kisses my cheek.
“Well, then I’m the luckiest man alive,” Peter declares. I smile wide, and that’s pretty much it for conversation. After we finish eating, Peter carries the dishes out into the hallway. When he returns, we snuggle under the blankets and fall asleep.
The next couple days are paradise. Its nice getting Peter alone because all of his attention is on me. We talk for hours about
our childhoods. We play card games and watch television. Apparently, Peter is interested in crime shows like Law and order SVU and CSI. He will also watch Snapped: Women Who Kill. Comedies are lost on my poor husband. He’s the kind of person who laughs at situations more than funny lines. Peter’s favorite show is The Growing Pains. I’ve never seen it until we caught a rerun. The show isn’t bad. I like watching it.
Peter and I leave on Wednesday morning. Unfortunately for us, Grandma has not replaced Bob. She feels as though we should try giving him an honest chance. So Peter and I make it down to a nearly empty lobby with the suitcase, check out, then, step outside. Someone must have sent all of the reporters away. Maybe, we’ve alluded them. I don’t care. I’m just glad that I can stare into the bright morning and allow my real emotions to play across my face. Bob is right on time. He pulls up to the curb and gets out. After taking our suitcase from us, Peter opens the door, and I slide in. He slides in after me. It isn’t until Peter has the door closed that I realized that someone is in the Limo with us. Mom looks at us, her brown eyes filling with compassion. Bob starts driving without saying hi.
“Chelsea, I’m sorry for telling you this, but your grandmother can no longer give you any money,” she says, as if this is supposed to scare me. We have our money.
“I have money,” I remind her. Mom sighs.
“The money you have, Chelsea, is the money you’re always going to have. I’m sorry. This family isn’t helping you anymore. I…”
“Mom, we have plenty of money. We don’t need to…” I curse when I forget that I didn’t mention my large inheritance to Mom.
“What?” Mom asks.
“Justin had lunch with me the other day. He gave Tiller and me an inheritance from his grandfather. We’re fine, mom.” If this is relieving Mom, it doesn’t. She gets even paler.
“Chelsea, how much is it?”
“Five million,” I lie. Peter reluctantly nods in agreement. He hates deception. But mom can’t know the extent of my wealth. That would be a bad thing. “After the trial is over, Peter and I plan on buying a house.”
“Five million dollars isn’t bad. At least you have something. I think that it is close to the amount that all of the kids inherit once they get married. That makes me feel a little better,” Mom admits.
“Anything else?” I ask her. If this woman thinks that she’s going to hover the entire time, she’s got another thing coming. Peter and I are married now.
“Have you been watching the news?” she asks.
“No. Why?”
“Well, I’m not sure how to say this, but Teresa is suing Brent Harris for damages. She can barely afford her medical bills,” Mom says. “The others are joining in on the suit. Grandmother was hoping that you would as well.”
“No. Mom I don’t want anything from Brent Harris,” I say coolly, feeling sick to my stomach. It’s enough that I have to be in the same room as him during the trial. But seriously?
“Don’t you want to punish him?” Mom nearly wails.
“Mom, him giving money to me isn’t a punishment for him. In fact, I’m pretty sure that he’ll enjoy it. Brent will probably look at it as him taking care of his woman,” I reason. Mom looks disappointed. She was hoping that I would sue Brent Harris. Maybe she is dying to get some of the cut. I can’t be sure. I sigh and clasp hands with Peter. I need his strength right now.
“Chelsea, think of the possibilities. Brent has a 20 million dollar fortune. Think of how much money you could get. Your five million could turn into six million.”
“Mom, you’re being ridiculous. I’m fine. I’m living in the mansion with you. What expenses do I have?”
“Nothing. Betty won’t expect you to pay rent. But once the trial is done, you need to be out of the mansion. Some of your grandfather’s family members aren’t happy with you being there. When your father and I eloped, we upset a lot of people,” she says.
“Have you heard from him?” I ask in a small voice. Mom sighs.
“We’ve been keeping in constant contact, Chelsea.”
“Why didn’t he come to my wedding?” Mom doesn’t answer. She wraps a strand of her caramel colored hair around the index finger of her left hand. Her brown eyes look at her designer white sandals.
“Chelsea, he figured that he could always go to the next wedding. You know that your father couldn’t show his face right now. Everyone wants to know what he was doing. He could have charges pressed against him for sleeping with prostitutes. I’m sorry, Chelsea. It was selfish of you to get married right now. I don’t understand why you rushed. Had you given it a few years, you would have been with someone else. Believe me. Sometimes, I wished that I hadn’t eloped with your father. Then, I wouldn’t be in this situation,” Mom rambles. My chest burns from all of the anger. Peter tightly squeezes my hand. He thinks that he’ll show up at the next one? Peter’s it for me. He’s my life. I couldn’t imagine a world where he and I weren’t together.
“Mom, I don’t know what to say,” I confess. She curses and then tugs at her hair so hard that I swear that she has pulled a clump out. I’m clearly aggravating her.
“Chelsea, you don’t have to say anything. Just meet with my lawyer. You two have had your fun. Just annul the marriage and move on with your lives. I’m sure that…”
“Mom, I’m not leaving Peter. End of discussion,” I hiss. Mom runs angry fingers through her tangled hair.
“Just think about it, Chelsea,” she urges as if my husband isn’t here. I glare at her and take a deep breath.
“I’m sorry that this is upsetting you, Mom. But this conversation is over.” Mom is quiet, and that’s when the three of us realize that the limo has stopped moving. I have never been so happy to see the mansion. I smile at Peter and despite the conversation that I had with mom joyous emotions wrap me up like a warm blanket. I look at my handsome husband with his expressive dark brown eyes, black curly hair, and beautiful face and say, “We’re home.”
The End
Acknowledgments
I want to thank God for providing me with the strength to not only write but publish books. Thank you to my parents Marie and Emanuel for their overwhelming support. Nahomie, Harold, and Eunise, you are wonderful siblings who are very encouraging. Thanks for reading my books and giving me your honest opinions. I want to thank my extended family for their prayers and good thoughts. To Riva Davis, you are amazing! Thank you for not only editing my books, but creating the book covers. You work so hard. I appreciate your moral support and your belief in this series. Thanks I have to give a special thanks to Pierre,Ratha, Jess, Dave, Mark, Francisca, Chelsea, and Darrell. I so used your personalities to create some of my characters. I want to thank Roosevelt for all of his wisdom. To everyone that read “Escape” and “Salvage”, thank you. I hope that those stories made you smile.