How to Honeymoon Alone

“But one weekend, the lies just didn’t add up. I was naive enough that I didn’t realize the reason why. Becky’s the one that did, actually. So I called Caleb and asked him if Cindy was in the hotel room with him… He was quiet for a few seconds before the excuses poured out of him.” I sigh. “It was right under my nose the whole time.”

“It usually is,” Phillip murmurs, looking down at his drink. He swirls the glass around, and the ice clinks softly. “How long ago?”

“Three months, roughly. Want to know the craziest part?”

He nods.

“Caleb actually thought we could still go ahead with the wedding. He promised he’d stop right away, and that he’d be a better husband than he’d been as a boyfriend. As if I’d ever agree to that?”

Phillip takes a sip of his drink. “He sounds like a fucking idiot.”This content © Nôv/elDr(a)m/a.Org.

I let out a surprised chuckle, and soon I’m laughing so hard I have to put down my glass. The matter-of-fact delivery of that statement couldn’t be more accurate.

“Yes,” I say. “God, yes.”

“How long were you together?”

“Seven years.”

“Shit.” Phillip stretches out his long legs beneath the table, his shoe resting next to my sandal. “I’d say I’m sorry, but you’re better off without him.”

“That’s what I think, too. And that’s why I had to go on this trip. I have to enjoy it. I have to. Because… because I was the one who dreamed of a trip to the Caribbean. I wanted this expensive honeymoon. And I booked it, and planned it, wrote out our itinerary, and paid my half. It was my dream vacation. How could I let him take that away from me, too?”

“Revenge by enjoyment,” Phillip says.

“Exactly. And if I don’t enjoy this, there’s no point, you know?”

“I know,” he says, and it sounds like he truly does. “That’s the most devastating thing you can give him. Your happiness.”

I’m giggly in the car back to the resort. Phillip is more stoic, but there’s a smile lurking in the corner of his mouth, too. All thanks to the rum. Maybe the sun and the tour, and the lovely day, too.

My head is floating. It’s the most pleasurable feeling, like I’m in that pool at midnight, afloat on my back and staring up at the star-ridden sky.

We make it out of the car and end up in front of the resort’s giant wooden doors. It’s late, but not late enough for bed, the sun just having set. The last thing I want is to return to my little room. Alone.

So, I turn toward the garden and the path that leads down to the beach. “I’m going for a walk.”

Phillip chuckles behind me. “Think you’re sober enough for that?”

“I’m not drunk. I’m just a bit tipsy,” I say and demonstrate this by walking away from him in a wonderfully straight line.

He follows me at a leisurely pace. “You’re not going for another midnight swim, are you? Because it’s far from midnight.”

“Another? You’re the one who tempted me into the first, you know.”

“That’s right. I’m a bad influence.”

“The worst,” I say. My meandering takes me to the very edge of the beach. I slip out of my sandals and stand barefoot in the sand. “Isn’t this place just amazing?”

He makes a low humming sound in agreement, his hands in the pockets of his pants. “Have you seen the entire resort?”

“Most of it, yeah. I mean, your area is pretty gated.”

“Only the individual bungalows,” he says. “Come on, let me show you.”

We amble past the empty lounge chairs toward the path that leads to the bungalows. Soon enough, we reach the gate beyond which are the villas, built in a staggered row. Hedges separate them from one another, and I catch sight of a small pool. I had missed that during my snooping.

“You really have your own pools?”

Phillip nods and pushes open the gate. “Want to see?”

The paved pathway takes us past two small bungalows. They’re private and closed-off, and it isn’t until we’ve walked to the far side that he turns onto a smaller path behind a bungalow. A quick swipe of his key card and a gate unlocks, revealing a private backyard.

“Oh my God,” I say. “This is stunning.”

“It is,” he says. He’s holding the gate open, his eyes on me. It’s an invitation.

I step inside the backyard of his private bungalow. It’s small but cozy, with a miniature version of the hotel pool right here. It’s surrounded by planters of flowers, and it’s only a stone’s throw from the beach. A beach that starts right at the edge of the bungalow’s property.

Behind me, Phillip unlocks the porch door. Through the glass window, I glimpse a large room and the edge of a bed. I can’t imagine staying in a place like this for a honeymoon. If I did, I wouldn’t need an itinerary. I’d just stay here-in the garden, on the beach, in bed.

My cheeks heat up. I’m in his hotel room. Well, not inside it. But right on the fringe.

Phillip returns to the porch. The top buttons of his linen shirt are undone, revealing a hint of his tanned pecs and a sliver of chest hair.

He’s holding a bunch of small bottles in one hand.

“I raided the minibar,” he says.

I grin. “That’ll cost you a fortune.”

“It’ll be worth it,” he responds and hands me one of the small rum bottles. “There’s a chaser, too. Let me grab it.”

“Your bungalow really comes with all the bells and whistles, huh?”

“Yes. Do you want two hundred rose petals, too?”

I laugh. “No, thanks, I’m good.”

“I figured.”

I sit down on the edge of his pool and sink my feet into the water. So this is bungalow twelve.

He lowers onto the other edge of the pool, directly across from me. There’s something so composed about him that it’s just shy of intimidating. Like even when he’s relaxed, he’s still guarded, watching his words and his actions.

I lean back on my hands and look up at the heavens. It’s dark, but not all the stars have come out quite yet. I can’t wait for them to illuminate the sky again. It’s a wonderful sight.

“Can you believe we’ve already been here more than a week?” he says.