Unexpected Bride

by Abigail Graham

  Taking a big band aid, I wrap it around my finger and make sure it's glued to itself so it covers the ring and it won't come off. Breathing a sigh of relief, I yank on my clothes, just shorts and a hoodie, tie my shoes, and rush down to the lobby, dragging my suitcase as the chilly hotel air kisses the last moisture from my legs.

  Ryan is already down there, big arms folded across his chest, eyes hidden behind aviator shades, looking like Adonis with a bad hangover. Now when I look at him all I can see is what's under those clothes. His amazing chest, huge arms, hard stomach, those little ridges of muscle along his waist. A memory flashes up from the alcohol-soaked remnants of last night and I suddenly recall running my tongue along those grooves of muscle, shuddering. He was a little ticklish and it made him buck and laugh and his cock was pressed against my chest...

  Karen gives me that look. I couldn't be more obvious if I tried, I'm standing here staring at her brother, my bottom lip pinched under my teeth. Shamed, I look away.

  Yeah, well, I married him. I can look if I want.

  The marriage certificate! I left it in the room. I mean, I don't think it matters. Doesn't the state's record or whatever matter more?

  Keeping my leg from shaking in a nervous tick takes up all my remaining mental energy. When the shuttles pull up, I pile in next to Karen. Ryan climbs into a different one, and when he disappears from sight it feels like my heart goes with him. I can't believe after last night that he'd just...drop me.

  Of course, that's what Karen warned me about, isn't it?

  The ride to the airport is a short trip by distance but takes a half hour, plenty of time in traffic to brood. My chin planted on my fist in a thinker pose, I stare at the floor and try to puzzle out what I should do next. My mind is full of stupid ideas that won't go away. I kind of resent that I got married in a torn dress and no panties in a ceremony officiated by Elvis.

  In my girlhood fantasies—and believe me, there were a lot of them—my wedding to Ryan was a huge affair in a massive castle of a church with all kinds of guests and Karen as my maid of honor and a beautiful wedding dress with a long train carried by a bunch of Karen and Ryan's little cousins, with a veil lifting and ‘I Do's and the whole nine yards.

  I spent a lot of time fantasizing about that. Almost as much as I spent fantasizing about the wedding night. I guess I got that last night, too. My fantasies didn't compare to the real thing. I mean, I never imagined that thing he did with my—

  "Jules?" Karen says. "Are you okay?"

  "Hung over," I grumble, rubbing my temple. "Head hurts, that's all. I'll be okay."

  She smirks. "Sorry to dump you with the boys. Now I wish I hadn't. You'd have had fun with us. I hear the guys just went to some stupid arcade bar and all got drunk and played Pong. Right?"

  My teeth freeze, my jaw locked up.

  Option one:

  Sure, Karen! I got my ass kicked on Mortal Kombat too many times, so I went off to sulk, came back to the hotel bar, and got smashed on Moscow Mules without you. Woe is me.

  Option two:

  No, Karen, we went to a casino and they were horrible to me, and then we went to a titty bar and your disgusting cousin made a bunch of strippers rub their big plastic boobs on my head and it was awful and I was going to cry, but Ryan got me out of there and we made sweet sweet love at least four times and oh, we're married now and I want to stay married now forever and have his babies and live in a big house with a back yard.

  Option One comes tumbling out of my stupid mouth.

  "Yeah," I grunt noncommittally. "I was bored, and the only banging going on was the side of a pinball machine, so I ditched them."

  She laughs. "I expected them to ditch you, so the other way around. I guess I was worried about nothing. Ryan was okay? He was a gentleman?"

  Oh, not again.

  Option One:

  I'm not sure, we didn't really talk. I tried to flirt with him, but he blew me off and sulked.

  Option Two:

  He saved me from the mean strippers and made sweet sweet love to me. Also, your brother is hung like an M-1 Abrams Main Battle Tank. He probably has to register that thing in several states. If he lived in Russia, they would put his cock on a truck and use it in military parades. I put it in my mouth!

  "Eh," I shrug. "Okay, fine, I flirted with him, but he didn't flirt back. He treated me just like he did when we were kids. Just the help's daughter hanging around his house.

  Karen sighs and strokes my hair. "I know. I'm sorry. You'll find somebody. You can do better than my brother."

  "Yeah," I sigh.

  I love him more than the air that I breathe, more than a Dark Vader hot chocolate from Chocolati, more than anything. When he told me to leave, I died a little and it was sweeter than a hundred bland days of staring at a tablet drawing widgets for tech companies.

  I shrug. "There's other fish in the sea."

  She nods. "We'll find you somebody. Once we get you in that bridesmaid's dress, the boys won't leave you alone.

  I don't want them. I want him.

  She huffs. "Looks like we're here. Let's go get groped by the TSA."

  I chitter out a forced laugh, grab my bag, and join the line. I'm pretty sure our group takes up the entire flight, or close to it. I tap my feet and watch everyone filter into several lines. Ryan catches my eye, looking at me for a second before he sticks his bag on the conveyor and walks through.

  Hateful spite pulses in my throat as a TSA worker guides him aside and grabs at his legs. They're a woman, too. I thought that was against the rules?

  Ahead of me, Karen is complaining.

  "Why do I always have to get in the machine?" she gripes.

  "Come on, ma'am," a bored agent says.

  Always nervous, I step towards the metal detector, and freeze.

  I'm wearing a ring and it won't come off.

  Does it even detect gold?

  I swallow hard.

  "Uh, I'd like to opt out of the machines and get a pat down."

  The agent looks at me like I just pooped on her sandwich and waves me past all the fancy detecting gear. I pull off my hoodie to make it easier. With a tank top and shorts, there's not much to pat down, but it makes my teeth clench and legs shiver anyway. I pull my sweatshirt back on, grab my bag, and hop into my shoes. Karen stares at me, shaking her head.

  "What's next, fluoride in the water?"

  "Whatever," I mutter.

  It takes almost an hour for everyone to get through the lines, and then we're moving as a group through the airport, Karen and Bruce's families together in one big horde. Todd leads a group of guys to the Popeye's by the gate and they all load up on fried chicken.

  "Great," I mutter, "we're going to have to ride to Hawaii smelling buffalo chicken farts."

  Karen crinkles her nose and laughs.

  Ryan lurks nearby, his bright, sharp eyes hard on Bruce, his jaw working. What's going on?

  I look at him and he looks away. I move towards him and he saunters over to a newsstand and picks up a copy of The Economist. Karen taps my arm for attention and we start going over the wedding. There's a rehearsal dinner tonight, and the ceremony is tomorrow. Only a small party goes to the rehearsal.

  Ryan and I will, of course, both be in it.

  I check my ticket. I'm sitting with Karen, of course. I don't know where he'll be. We get to board first when the attendant comes out and makes the announcement. Most of Karen's people are flying first class. I guess her dad (or more likely her dad's secretary) arranged everyone by relationship to the bride and groom or position in the wedding party.

  Once we're aboard and I've shoved my bag into the bin, I take the window seat and settle in next to Karen. Yawning, she rests her head on her palm while everyone else climbs aboard.

  I stare at Ryan as he passes. He's two rows behind us and takes the aisle seat. Somehow, Todd gets a first-class seat, too. I guess it's because he's a groomsman. He drops into the seat across the aisle from Ryan, and I pity my reluctant hu
sband for the flatulence he must endure.

  By the time the plane is fully loaded, I'm starting to drift off to sleep. I wake up when Karen passes me a glass of wine. Well, a plastic cup of wine. Let's not go nuts here. I down half of it.

  "Little hair of the dog," she says.

  "Let's not turn into alcoholics," I retort.

  She snorts. "Not unless they have craft breweries in Hawaii."

  "They probably do," I muse. "What would Hawaiian beer be like?"

  She shrugs. "Pineapple and spam. How would I know?"

  I laugh and turn in my seat. I can see Ryan through the gap between the cushions, brooding with his hands folded in his lap, eyes downcast, frowning slightly. I wriggle my eyebrows as if he'll magically notice somehow.

  He shifts and spots me, and his head pops up. He gives me a forceful look. I sip some wine and turn around, leaning back into the big plush seat back. I'll catch up on sleep.

  After we take off. I hate this part. Flying, not so bad, taking off and landing, not so good. Like, try not to pee myself or throw up not so good. As the plane starts to move, I strangle my armrests.

  Karen sighs and pats my forearm.

  "We're just taxiing to the runway, it hasn't even started flying yet. Want another drink?"

  "I think it's too late," I say. The flight attendants are doing the safety briefing thing.

  I occupy my mind with watching them do that.

  If I need a floatation device. We're flying over the ocean. Like a floatation device will help. Tense, I press my eyes shut and fold my hands in my lap. If I just let myself deal with the sensations, I'll be fine.

  Karen gives me another reassuring pat, and I relax, slightly, only to go rigid again. The engines spin up terrifyingly loud and the plane surges forward, tipping back so far it feels like it'll flip over backwards, then the terrible shaky feeling of the wheels leaving the ground...

  The first few moments of the flight where it feels like the plane is clawing its way into the air are the worst. Once that passes, and after a few gentle surges, everything calms down and I open my eyes.

  "Are you okay?" Karen asks.

  "Fine," I say.

  "Good. Now all we have to do is sit here for six hours, and then land."

  I suck in a gasp. Landing is the worst part. I mean, controlled or not, you're still sitting in a plane as it hits the ground.

  When the drink service starts up, I order a rum and coke, sobriety be damned, and sip it slowly so I won't get too buzzed too fast. Just enough to get to sleep.

  The next thing I know I'm lifting my head from my shoulder and looking around, feeling a little out of time, like my brain has come loose from all the gristle in my head and floats around a few seconds behind my skull when I move.

  Karen glances at me. "Awake, huh? We're another hour out. Should be landing soon. You must be tired."

  "Yeah," I yawn.

  "You overslept this morning and now you're all sleepy on the plane. Are you sure all you did last night was have a few at the hotel bar?"

  I tense. "Pretty sure," I say.

  "Oh, calm down, I'm just teasing. You don't have a wild bone in your body."

  I keep my face smooth to hide my resentment.

  Of course, she's right. When Karen was out partying in college, I was the one back at our dorm room, or in the apartment she eventually rented for us, studying. Unless I had to clear out while she was with a guy. Hell, I cleaned the place.

  A tiny bubble of resentment rises to the surface and I try to push it down.

  No, we're friends. I'm not just the daughter of "the help," I'm not.

  So why am I working for her, then?

  Great, riding Ryan's meat missile has turned me all jealous and suspicious. Karen is my best friend. I glance at her and sigh, reaching for that feeling of happiness I had yesterday when thinking about watching her get married. I'll get my turn, eventually. I won't always be a bridesmaid.

  Well, I got my turn. Right?

  You wouldn't know it from my 'husband'.

  Karen notices me running my other thumb over my left ring finger. The bandage.

  "What happened to your hand?"

  I glance down. "Oh, uh, I'm not sure. I grabbed something in the room last night and woke up this morning with it a little bloody. Maybe I broke a glass?"

  "Is it okay?"

  "It's fine, it's just a scratch."

  I almost jump out of my skin when Ryan appears, leaning on Karen's seat. She looks up at him like a bothersome rodent just popped into view.

  "What?"

  "Why do I have to sit next to Todd?" he demands.

  "I didn't arrange the seats."

  "Do you know what I've gone through for the last five hours?"

  "No," Karen says, coldly.

  "First off, there's the flatulence. You were right. It smells like someone stuffed a bunch of rotten chickens in a sack full of old peppers. Todd's digestive tract should be against the Geneva convention."

  Karen waves a dismissive hand.

  "Then he starts talking," he says. "After a while it just blurs into bro bro bro brobrobrobrobrobrobrobro brobrobrobrobrobrobrobro..."

  Karen grits her teeth.

  In spite of myself, I giggle, and tense. Karen doesn't notice.

  Ryan looks at my hand.

  "You hurt yourself?"

  You idiot, don't draw attention to it!

  Karen scowls at him for me.

  "What's it to you?"

  "It would be ungentlemanly of me to let it go unremarked."

  "Sir," a flight attendant says. "We're going to land soon."

  "Good," he says, rising. "I'm going to be an iron lung by then."

  The flight attendant looks at him oddly, then, probably assuming it's a joke she doesn't get, flirtatiously giggles and flashes him an expansive, perfect, straight-toothed grin, doing that thing where she turns one foot on her toes to show some leg. A furious, hot bolt of rage tears up through my guts. That's my husband, you hussy.

  Ryan gives me a look as he turns, as if he sensed my jealousy, and saunters back to his seat.

  Faintly, I hear Todd saying, "Bro, you wouldn't believe..." and press my fingers in my ears for a moment so I can listen to the thrumming of blood in my own veins.

  The plane banks, the captain makes his announcements, and down we go. The plane drops several times, leaving me weightless for terrible seconds, teeth clenched, fingers digging into the seat. Karen huffs as if I'm putting her out. I don't relax until the jolt of the landing gear touching the tarmac jostles me loose. As soon as I can, I yank off my seat belt. It makes me feel trapped, not safe.

  Climbing out of the seat behind Karen, I bump into Ryan.

  He leans down and whispers in my ear.

  "Why are you wearing the ring?"

  The question takes a moment to register. All I get at first is the hot presence of his lips near my ear, his breath tickling my skin, the big, elegant muscles of his chest pressed to my back. A sudden surge of lust lifts me off my heels and I just barely stop myself from licking my lip. All I need is to call attention to him whispering to me.

  I cough a few times and manage to half turn and glare at him.

  After everyone thumps down the jetway, we all swarm the luggage carriages and stand around, waiting for the suitcases to come off the plane. Ryan drifts towards me, a question in his eyes. I slip away, making as if nervously pacing around the carousel looking for my bag. Karen lost track of me, talking with her mother and I think one of her cousins, a girl a few years younger than we are who brought a college sweetheart.

  Ryan is suddenly there as my bag comes around. He plucks it off the carousel and sets it next to my feet.

  "Why," he says in a low, thrumming voice that makes something vibrate inside me, "are you still wearing the ring?"

  "It stays on until we're not married anymore," I purr, defiant.

  He grits his teeth but there's no anger in his eyes only...a sense of challenge? As if he's caught the scent o
f a prey animal and needs to chase me.

  "Isn't that your bag?"

  He goes to grab it, muttering to himself.

  Almost unconsciously, I rub at the ring through the bandage, then stop myself. Why did I say that? The truth would be fine. It's stuck, and I'll figure out how to get it off later.

  He wasn't wearing his.

  Someone bumps into him and makes an excuse. A soft pinging sound clatters on the carpeted floor, and he quickly dips down to grab something. Karen storms over to him, pulling her roller back.

  "What is that?" she whispers harshly.

  "Nothing," he says.

  "Do you still use a wedding band to pick up women?" she snarls in a low, breathy whisper. "You fucking creep."

  A cold pang of unease twists in my stomach where heat was a moment before.

  He looks at me...mournfully, but just for a second, a bare moment before his face returns to his usual practiced expression of ironic indifference, and his eyes disappear as he whips his reflective sunglasses into place on his eyes.

  We need them. A long hallway from the baggage carousels is open to the brightest sunlight I have ever seen.

  "You need sunblock," Karen says. "You're going to look like bacon before the ceremony if you walk around here with that pale skin of yours."

  I nod, frowning, thinking about Ryan. He walks ahead of us, as if he can beat us to the hotel somehow. As we reach the chartered shuttles, a bunch of airport staff line up to put leis around all our necks and bid us aloha. I accept mine graciously, fingering the silk flower petals. Ryan immediately removes his, grimacing as if embarrassed by it.

  I slip over to him when Karen is distracted.

  "What's the matter?" I say, low so he can hear me. "Don't want to get lei'd?"

  He just glares at me.

  "Why are you still wearing that ring?"

  "'Till death do us part."

  He snorts. "First we have to survive the weekend."

  I sigh. "Yeah."

  "I want to talk," he says.

  My heart swells. "Okay. When and where?"

  "I don't know. I'll find you. Let's just get there. Get back over to my sister before she notices you wandered off and comes over here to yell at me for it."