Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Dead silence. No one in our suite but me. I slid off of the bed and felt my way out of the bedroom and through the suite, to the kitchen. My purse was on the counter, and I found my phone inside it and powered it on.
We were staying at an eco-resort that didn't believe in electronics; their website had described a tropical “unplugged” paradise that was distraction-free. It was one of those concepts that seemed like a great idea until we arrived. It only took two hours to realize our attachment to air conditioning and internet, our technology withdrawals peaking at the moment when we failed to find in-room electrical outlets to charge our cells. I flipped on the bathroom light and watched my phone go through its opening scripts, the time finally displaying. 1:22 AM. Late.
I called Brant's cell, realizing, as it went to voicemail, that it was off, its battery-saving mission more important than my own. I stepped over to his suitcase, unzipping its top and dug through it, looking for the device. What I wasn't looking for, tucked underneath underwear and swim trunks, was the ring box.
Oh no. My hand froze, as I stared at the black velvet box. No. No. No. A woman got proposed to only once, assuming she played her cards wisely. It should be handled perfectly, the correct amount of delighted surprise filling her eyes. This discovery could ruin my reaction. I softly brushed my fingers over the velvet top and fought the urge to pull it out of the suitcase. It would be so easy to flip it open. Take a little peek.
I pulled back and carefully placed his clothes back into order. Zipping the suitcase closed, I stepped away from it and turned off the lamp. I could still be surprised. I hadn't seen the ring. I'd just practice my shocked face. Make sure it wasn't grotesque or too exaggerated. I spotted the bulge of his suitcase's side pocket and unzipped it, finding his phone. I grabbed it.
I placed both cells on the entrance table and took a chance, walking to the back balcony and stepping out. As I scanned my eyes over the beach, moonlight reflected off waves, the sand pristine and unmarred. No billionaire in sight, nothing but nature. Yeah, it was pretty. Big deal. I would have traded it all for a television with HBO.
Granted, it was the perfect place for a proposal. Mrs. Layana Sharp. The name alone put goosebumps on my skin. Was it what I wanted? Absolutely. No question. My biggest complaint with our relationship was that I wanted more of it. More time with Brant. More insight into the beauty that was his mind, so many pieces of him hidden behind his commitment to work. I wanted a partnership, wanted children, wanted to move into his home and fill it with memories. Be his wife. Grow up and have a purpose.
Tomorrow, it seemed, I might have it.
I scanned the beach one last time and then returned into the suite and closed the doors, the sound of the ocean muted. I glanced toward the bedroom and contemplated returning to bed.
I was used to waking up alone. The few nights I had spent at Brant’s, he often got up during the night. Headed down to the basement to work or drove to the office. It didn't bother me; I wasn't someone who needed a full night's commitment to feel secure. But here, in this resort, with no work in sight, where was he? And why didn't he leave a note? The questions kept me from returning to bed.
Instead, I went into the closet. The hotel had fluffy cream robes and I pulled one over my silk pajamas, loosely tied the belt, and worked my feet into the matching slippers. I put both of our phones into the pockets with my room key and a handful of cash. Still smiling from the ring box discovery, I schooled the goofy grin away, then stepped out of the suite, tugging the door closed.
I went downstairs to find my future husband.
It didn't take long. It was a small resort—another issue that ensured we wouldn’t be returning. There just wasn't enough to do here, especially not for a man who got his kicks off on things that beeped and lit up.
Ten minutes after leaving the room, I walked into the place I should have started my search at—the hotel bar. Brant didn't really drink, certainly didn't seek out social mingling or groups of people. But, at almost 2 AM, it was one of the only places open inside the resort's gates. I walked into the large outdoor tiki hut, scanned the crowd, and saw him at the bar, his back to me, in a cluster of people I didn't recognize.
I smiled, relief washing through me. I didn't know what I expected, what the tight knot in my stomach had anticipated, but the tension eased at the sight of him. I made my way past the steel drum band and toward the bar, my pajamas out of place, a few women at small tables by the dance floor giving me snide looks that deserved a sharp word, but I continued forward. As I moved closer, I fished his phone out of my pocket and powered it on. I'd give him his phone, kiss him goodnight, then make my way back upstairs. I didn't need to stay down there; I wanted to go back to our bed, and he could call me if he got drunk and needed help finding his way back. I smiled at the absurd thought of a drunk Brant and moved closer.