Warming Up
OPAL
I realize that I don't have anything to offer this man to drink. I wish I'd asked Aunt Janice more information about this.
What am I supposed to do now? What's the next move?
I thought he was the one who was supposed to know.
He stops near the bed, then turns around to look at me. I can't read the look in his eyes, and it makes me feel very uneasy. I clear my throat, tuck a lock of hair behind my ear, then say, "So...have you been doing this a long time?"
"More or less," he answers, rooted to the spot. "Have you?"
"No," I reply before blushing. I wish I didn't feel so nervous but this is something unknown to me. I don't know how to act when I've never experienced something before. "This my first time."
He starts walking toward me again and a shiver races down my spine. Soon, I'll have sex with this man, and the thought is so surreal that it makes me want to give up and ask him to leave so I can go back home with my tail tucked between my legs.
"And why are you doing this?" he asks, his voice low and strangely intimate.
"I...I'm getting married tomorrow."
"Oh?"
"I know it might sound...crazy, but I don't know the man I'll marry. I don't even want the wedding. So, I want to do something for me. Something I decided."
"I see," he murmurs, stopping in front of me. His eyes search my face, and then he asks me, "Why not just give up on the marriage? Why not say no?"
"It's complicated," I reply, averting my gaze for a moment before my eyes return to his face. "I can't say no. I don't have a say in the matter."
Something crosses his dark eyes. An emotion I can't quite describe. "I'm sorry this is happening to you. You seem like a very kind person."
The compliment catches me off-guard, and again, I look away, too embarrassed. This isn't like me at all. I'm not usually easily embarrassed. I hate that he's bringing this side of me out, but at the same time, I'm intrigued by him too.
Maybe this would have been easier if he weren't so attractive.
"Why don't we sit down?" he suggests, gesturing at the bed.
I sit down next to him, our knees almost touching. He's wearing dark-washed jeans, and his boots are massive. I find myself glancing at his hands. They're clean, all the fingernails trimmed short. He's wearing a ring on his pinky. It's golden. Beautiful.
"Tell me about yourself," he begins. "I like to know my...my friends first before we start."
Butterflies flutter around in my belly when he says this. I say, "I don't really know what to say."
"You don't have to tell me your name if you don't want to," he says. "You can tell me anything you want. Any part of your life you think is worth sharing."
Why is it that nothing springs to mind? I search my memories for something good, but my mind fails me. Is it nervousness?
"I'm sorry," I say to fill the silence. "I don't know what to say."
"What's your best memory?"
This question is easier and helps me sort through my memories in a way that doesn't feel uncomfortable. "My best memory would be when my aunt and I traveled up north with her late husband. We were in a small cabin in the mountains. I was around twelve, I think. I met my best friend, Gwen, and I can say it was a pretty great weekend."
"What made it so special?"
"It was the first birthday I spent away from home," I explain. "My father has never been big on celebrations, so I'd never had a birthday cake until that particular day. It was the only birthday party I ever had. Just me, Gwen, my aunt and my uncle."
"Really?"
I meet his gaze, and nod.
He stares at me intently for a while, then he says, "I need to ask you something."
"Sure," I say.
"What are you hoping this night will be for you?"
I think about his answer for a few beats before I settle with, "Unforgettable."
"Like your first birthday party?"
I nod, my throat closing up a little. He runs a hand through his hair, looks to the side, then parts his lips to say something before we're interrupted by the sound of my phone ringing.
Aunt Janice.
I forgot all about the fact that she was going to call me. I should have put the phone on mute.
"Excuse me for a second," I tell him before racing to where my bag is, on top of a chest of drawers. I think it would be too awkward to answer the phone in front of him, so I decline the call and send her a quick text letting her know the guy is here and that things are going well. I also take note of the time.
Then, I shove my phone in my bag and return to his side.
"You were saying something?" I say.
He smiles thinly, then says, "Forget about it. Do you have something to drink? Water maybe?"
I'm about to say no when I remember that there's probably a minibar in this room. Every hotel room has one. I find it, and when I open it, I see bottled water, some juice, and a bottle of champagne. I pull out the bottle of champagne and hold it up for him to see.
"Perfect," he says before I make my way to him. I find a few empty glasses and carry them to the bed, too. I'm not much of a drinker, but I think we'll both need to unwind.
He opens the bottle and pours us some champagne. As I stare at his face, I feel this kind of mild pain because I know I'll probably never see him again after this night. It's almost hard to believe that, later tonight, I'll meet my future husband, and that tomorrow, I'll marry him.
I don't want to think about this, though. It'll ruin my evening.
We have three hours to go. That's all I focus on.
"Cheers," he says, clinking his glass with mine. We drink it. I drain my glass pretty quickly and he fills it up for me. I drink the second glass quickly, too. He gives me an amused look, and I say, "I'm sorry. It's just that this is my first time and I'm nervous. I don't know what to expect."
"I know," he simply says.
"Know what?" I ask.
"That it's your first time."
I want to tell him that of course he knows. My aunt probably mentioned it. But before I can say another word, he leans toward me and presses a kiss to my lips, drowning out all my thoughts and worries in one swift move.