All I Know

by Tamara Lush

  Eric drums the wooden picnic table with his hands. “Well, congratulations again. We gotta get going. Do some shopping. Merry Christmas, y’all.”

  I raise my free hand slowly and give a weak wave.

  “What the hell,” I whisper, turning to look at Damien. “That was super weird. How did you keep it together? I wasn’t sure how to act.”

  He shrugs and takes a sip of his coffee, and for a rare second, I realize why he’s so good at military security. The man is collected and unflappable. Not just cool. Cold. His eyes are a glittering, hard mahogany color in the morning sun.

  “Sometimes, babe, it’s better to let the past be behind you. And, anyway,” he shrugs, “You’re the hottest woman here, and Anderson knows it. I saw how he stared at you. I win.”

  I chuckle bitterly, then let out a groan. “When I realized it was him, all of those old feeling of fear and shame came back.”

  Damien slides an arm around me and kisses my temple. “As long as you’re my wife, no one’s ever going to hurt you. Hell, they’re not even going to look at you cross-eyed. Don’t ever worry about the Eric Andersons of the world again.”

  It’s ten minutes to midnight on New Year’s Eve, and we’re on the upstairs porch of his family’s house, away from his parents and siblings. They’re downstairs, drinking beer and waiting for the clock to strike midnight. Mom and Beau were here, earlier, but went home so she could rest.

  Earlier in the evening, we talked about our wedding plans with everyone. I held Damien’s hand while we went over everything, and my dress was soaked with sweat by the time he finished speaking. Somehow, I want the approval of his family, even though what we’re doing isn’t quite real.

  Everyone seems supportive. Except for his older brother Max. He usually lives in New York but returned home today and will be on the island for a few months to handle the renovation and sale of the resort.

  He’d raised his eyebrow and looked at us with a sardonic grin when we first mentioned our February wedding date.

  “Isn’t it a little soon? Can’t you wait until Damien gets back from Syria?” he’d asked. “And aren’t you a little young?”

  “Shut up, dude; they’re in love. It’s not like they’re fifteen. He’s twenty-eight and can make his own decisions, broseph,” Remy had interjected.

  Remy and Max then launched into a debate over whether bro and broseph and dude were appropriate words to use in everyday conversation, making everyone laugh—and taking the pressure off our announcement. Still. It was as if Max didn’t believe us. Or maybe that’s my guilty conscience.

  I replay the conversation with Max in my mind and wrap my arms around Damien’s neck. “Well, that was…”

  “Interesting?” He barks out a laugh.

  “I’m glad your mom and dad are being so sweet. And Remy. He’s also been great. Max, though…”

  Damien kisses my forehead. “Don’t sweat it. Max will come around. He’s probably a little jealous because he thought he’d be the first to marry. He was pretty close a couple of years ago with this one woman, but she did a number on him.”

  “Well. Maybe he’s skeptical of love in general.” Even though Damien and I are dancing around the obvious—are we in love or no —we do seem to communicate well about everything else. Damien doesn’t hesitate to tell me how he feels, even if it’s only a sentence or two.

  "Nah. He operates on logic and not emotion. He has a plan for everything and believes life should be lived on a strict timetable. Plus he thinks of me as a kid because he’s the oldest.”

  “Ahh, that makes more sense.”

  “I know he wants a wife and kids. Was real into that one woman a while back. But she told him that he was married to his job and his life had no place for her. He didn’t let that slow him down, though. I know he’s dating. He’s got a natural optimism about him, unlike me."

  I press a kiss to Damien’s neck. “I think you’re quite optimistic.”

  “Oh yeah?” The cool winter breeze kicks up, and Damien rubs my bare arms.

  “Definitely. You’re optimistic that this crazy idea of getting married will work.”

  He laughs and kisses me.

  “You’ve also been optimistic about my chances of getting my freelance career back on track.” Lately, he’s suggested I should to take on local graphic design clients. I’m afraid my reputation from high school will hurt my efforts, but he doesn’t think so.

  He’s silent for a while, and I cling to him while glancing every so often at the Gulf of Mexico, which is across the street from the Hastings family home. Since it’s dark, I can only see the ripples and current and the occasional whitecap on the midnight blue water.

  “Maybe you’re the one thing in my life I can be optimistic about? Ever thought of that?”

  “Hmm. I didn’t.” I lean back and study his face. His eyes have a twinge of sadness, or perhaps that’s the shadows cast by the glow of the indoor lamps. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because of what I’ve seen in war and in my job. When I came home, I was in a pretty dark place. I didn’t think I could be optimistic about anything in the world. Or hopeful. And then one night I walked into a tiki bar and that all changed.”

  Because of a few things he’d said about being in the Marines, I suspected Damien battled inner demons because of his time in war zones. But until now, I wasn’t aware of how entrenched they were. Or that he’d been in such a bad state when we first hooked up. There’s so much that I still don’t know about him, and time’s running out.

  He pulls me against his body, and I hold him tight. We stay this way right until midnight, and his muscles tense when fireworks explode in the distance.

  “Happy New Year,” I whisper.

  He bends down for a kiss and then hoists my body into his arms and carries me inside.

  A couple of weeks later, Mom and I are at the bar one afternoon—we’re dog-sitting Chunky, who’s doing great on his diet and has lost a whole pound and a half.

  Since it’s a slow afternoon with only a couple of regulars, I’m going over our final wedding menu. The ceremony’s in three weeks, and I’ve made peace with the fact that there will be close to a hundred people at our (sort of) fake wedding. It’ll be mostly Damien’s large extended family, his friends, and some islanders.

  Also, Chunky, in a dog bow tie.

  He’s become the mascot of the Hastings family, the one thing everyone adores unconditionally. Fortunately, we’ve collectively gotten the farting situation under control with his new diet.

  “I can’t wait to see your cousins,” Mom burbles. “Are you sure you don’t want one of them to be your maid of honor?”

  I shake my head. I haven’t seen Evie or Sabrina in years, and in truth, they’re my second cousins. Sabrina’s a senior in college and Evie’s married some rich guy in Atlanta.

  Mom sighs. “Why don’t you ask Natalia? There’s still time. It’s such an informal ceremony; she can step right in.”

  If I tell mom that it’s because I fear Natalia’s also skeptical of my relationship with Damien—or at least that’s my reading of her attitude—it will open an entire discussion that I’m not ready for.

  Honestly, I want the ceremony and reception over with. Except I don’t, because that means Damien will be gone soon after. The inconvenient truth is that I’ve almost certainly fallen in love with him and hate the idea of him going to Syria.

  “I told you, I’m trying to get Lauren to come for the wedding.”

  “Well, you don’t have much time. Why hasn’t she gotten back to you?”

  I heave a sigh. “She’s traveling. I sent her an email today.”

  And because I haven’t expressly told her I’m getting married. I’ve only sent her cryptic messages begging her to call. She’s been traveling from London to Paris to Rome.

  I look over at Mom and find her feeding Chunky a pickle.

  “Mom! No!”

  Mom rolls her eyes and walks off to talk to a regular.

/>   My phone chirps. “Oh, thank God, it’s Lauren,” I squeal.

  I answer and let out a yelp when I see my best friend’s face on the screen.

  She looks incredible, a bronze goddess. Somehow, she’s been able to parlay her love of travel into an entire brand, one that heavily relies on being a curvy, sexy, empowered woman who loves luxury lodgings.

  I miss her desperately.

  “What’s going on? Are you okay? How’s your mom? Something your tone in that email worried me.”

  She knows me too well. I untie my ponytail, then retie it. I stammer for a bit, and Lauren scowls. She’s going to freak the hell out when I tell her, and I take a giant inhale of air and courage.

  “I’m getting married.”

  Because of the screech she makes, I have to turn the volume down on my phone and hold it at arm’s length.

  Of course, since Mom’s at the other end of the bar, I can’t explain to Lauren why we’re getting married. I also can’t tell her that I’m madly in love with my husband-to-be. And I can’t admit that I’m too afraid to ask him what he thinks of me or about our future. This isn’t a conversation for Skype in the middle of the day.

  “Will you please come to the wedding?” I’m almost in tears as I ask. “Please say you’ll come. Please? You can do an Insta story on Paradise Beach.”

  Although she grins, I can tell that she’s concerned. Confused. Maybe even a little jealous. “Of course, I’ll be there,” she says. “Wouldn’t miss it for anything. I’ve got frequent flier miles and all that.”

  I swallow a thick lump in my throat. Will they get along? Somehow I can’t imagine serious Damien having a conversation with my whimsical, impulsive best friend.

  Of course I want her standing next to me at our wedding. But more than that, I want Lauren here on Paradise Beach in the days after the wedding, after Damien leaves for Syria.

  That’s when I’ll need her the most.

  Twenty

  Damien

  It’s two days before the wedding, and I’m nervous as all hell, something Remy can’t help but point out.

  “You scared?” he murmurs, checking me out in the tux.

  “Nah,” I say.

  “The hell you aren’t. Look at you. Like a damned fish outta water in that tux. Does that even fit your arm muscles? You’re going to rip out of it like the Hulk. Dude, take a day off from the gym.”

  We’re in the suite where Kate and I have been hooking up for the past couple of months—it’s practically my home now. Half of my shit’s here, spilling out of suitcases, and the other half’s back at my parents’ house. Kate’s also left some shoes in the closet, and every time I see her little Converse sneakers, my heart jumps.

  Ma straightens my lapels. She’s beaming at me, the same expression she had when Remy and I were ten and won a sand sculpture contest at the beach. My sister Natalia’s here, too. Tate and Max are nowhere to be found, and Dad’s supervising the Cuban pork roast, worried that my buddies will somehow burn down the property.

  My phone pings. It’s Kate.

  Hey can you meet me in the reception room? I want you to see the decorations.

  “Ma, I gotta run to meet Kate. She wants me to see the stuff in the room. See you at the party.” I kiss Ma’s cheek and shrug out of the jacket.

  “The stuff in the room,” Nat snorts. “That’s such a guy thing to say. You mean, the flowers? The centerpieces? The decorations?”

  “Yeah, that,” I say.

  “It all looks beautiful. Is Kate there with her friend?” Mom asks

  “Dunno,” I say.

  “I can’t wait to meet that Lauren girl,” Natalia says to Ma, pouring herself a second glass of champagne. “I’ve been following her on Instagram. She’s got a killer brand. Maybe she’ll promo some of my jewelry.”

  I do a Superman-quick change in the bedroom, listening to my family’s banter.

  “I’m so glad Max is home for this,” Ma says.

  “I wish he’d be less frosty to Kate. She’s such a sweetheart,” Nat chimes in.

  “Yeah, he needs to chill. Hey, I saw him flirting with some chick a while ago,” Remy says. “He was so damned uptight. Dude needs to loosen up. He’s not in New York anymore.”

  “Can you stop teasing your brother,” Ma says to Remy. “He’s got a lot on his mind with the resort.”

  I emerge in my board shorts and T-shirt and grunt a goodbye to everyone. On top of everything else, my family’s selling the resort. It’s their decision, and I’m okay with it. Still, something about the fact we won’t have ties to this place when I return in a year is unsettling. It’s where we grew up, playing in the nooks and corners of this historic hotel.

  There’s no time to think about that, though. Not this weekend.

  The reception room is on the other end of the resort, and to get there, I have to wind through a couple of corridors, step outdoors and go past the beach area where my friends have started to drink and play volleyball. I stride past the palm tree-lined pool and back into the north wing of the resort.

  When I walk inside the air-conditioned reception hall, my breath catches in my throat.

  Kate’s standing on the far end of the room, the late-day winter sun bathing her in a soft, golden light. Her hair is loose, and in the sunbeam, it looks golden brown. She’s wearing a little white dress that shows off her tan legs. Those sandals with the heels give her little frame some height, and my pulse begins to kick.

  She’s going to be mine.

  “Hey,” I say softly.

  She turns her head and grins. “Hey.”

  I walk up and stand behind her. She’s inspecting a large vase.

  “How’s your mom?” I knew Kate had gone to the mainland with her mom this morning to meet with the oncologist.

  Kate rakes in a breath. “She needs another round of chemo. The doctor said she’s doing well, considering. And Mom told the doctor she was in a great mood because of our wedding.”

  She flashes me a mortified smirk. “I feel terrible.”

  “Why? We’re making her happy by doing this. And my mom’s freaking ecstatic.”

  Kate nods, tight-lipped.

  “Do you like this arrangement?” I’m grateful that she’s changing the subject, because I don’t want to dwell too much on whether we’re lying to our moms. I’d like to think no—my intentions with Kate, and my feelings about her, are true, pure, and honest.

  I rest my hands on her waist and consider the sticks in the vase. “Um, well, it looks like two tall branches to me. Are they spray-painted gold? Is that how it’s supposed to look?”

  Kate chuckles. “Yes. These are interspersed with other vases full of white roses. For dramatic effect.”

  Tonight she smells a little like salted caramel and as usual, my dick twitches. I kiss her neck softly and goosebumps flare across her skin. She’s so sensitive when I touch her. It drives me fucking insane.

  “Oh, well, if they’re for dramatic effect, I guess they’re perfect.”

  Lifting her hair, I flutter more kisses on her nape and she moans softly. Press my hips into hers. By now my dick is iron-hard.

  “We should get out to the party,” Kate whispers.

  My hands skim her front, starting with her breasts.

  She sighs pleasurably. “Shouldn’t we?”

  “I dunno. The party can wait a few minutes.”

  Because she’s grinding her ass into my erection, all I can think of is sex. That’s what Kate does to me.

  “We shouldn’t be naughty in here, where anyone could walk in.”

  I trail one hand down her stomach, cupping her pussy through the fabric of her dress.

  “Nope. We shouldn’t. Good thing there’s an adjacent storage room that locks.”

  Kate turns, her big eyes shimmering. She reaches for her purse. I love how eager she is to be with me. “There is?”

  I grab her hand and lead her to the little room. Because it has a sink and a small fridge, it’s usually used as
a makeshift kitchen for events.

  Pulling her inside, I close and lock the door. The light’s entirely too bright and too artificial, but I don’t care. And I don’t think she does, either.

  She hops up on a long, stainless steel table that’s the same height as my hips.

  I kiss her first, and she spreads her legs.

  “Wait,” I mumble, pushing her knees together. She seems to know what I want, because she wriggles and lifts her hips up as I hook my thumbs into the waistband of her panties and strip them off.

  She spreads her legs, and I reach for my zipper.

  Twenty-One

  Kate

  I give a little sharp cry when he enters me. Not because I’m not ready—I am—but the sudden intensity of his need for me right here in the reception hall is terribly exciting.

  Until now, Damien and I have kept our sexual escapades to his bedroom, my bedroom, and the hotel room in Tampa. Okay, and that first make-out session in the wagon.

  He’s a private person, so it’s surprising that he wants to fuck here. Does the lock on the door really work? What if his mom comes to check on the arrangements or the room?

  He licks his thumb and puts it to my clit, circling. All thoughts vanish except for one.

  Orgasm.

  “You’re so hard,” I whisper.

  “You like that, don’t you?”

  I nod, sucking in a breath as he thrusts into me. I’m plenty wet from the taboo of it all, and now my clit is throbbing insistently. I spread my legs wider.

  “Deeper,” I murmur.

  “Yeah? How deep?” He slows his thrusts and picks up pace on my clit.

  I whimper. “Deep. Deep as you can. Fuck me hard. Please?”

  It doesn’t matter how desperate I sound because I know Damien loves dirty talk in bed. Because I know I’m safe with him, that he doesn’t think I’m a slut because I tell him what I want.

  “Love it when you talk like that,” he growls, pistoning into me. “Can you take it all?”

  I’m on the edge of an orgasm now, ready to explode. “Y-yes…Damien, like that!”