Mr. & Ms. Abernathy
***note: not edited***
I’m not at all freaking out. I sleep nude, always have…
always will… I used to sleep nude. I don’t wish for my bride to feel uncomfortable, or so I lie to myself. Not that I wish Divina discomfort. It’s a lie that I’m wearing pajamas for her benefit. Pajamas weren’t good enough of a barrier, either. I have on boxers, a t-shirt, pajama pants and long-sleeved shirt, and a robe for good measure.
I’m not at all sweating in the ninety-five degree humid heat in the height of summer. Ninety-five in the shade, the shade of the moon. It’s nighttime and sweltering. Divina’s dream vacation: Jamaica… and no hotel. We’re in a cabin on our own private beach- a cabin without air conditioning… without electricity. We’re trust fund babies… seriously? Divina picked primitive beach camping as her ideal honeymoon. I’ve never even made toast in my life. What are we going to eat while we’re here… what are we going to do?
Did I ever mention my bride has a wicked sense of humor? Which I love when we’re picking on someone else. Not so much when it’s directed at me, and without a doubt, I am the brunt of Divina’s private joke.
I lunge to the side, batting around my head, when a buzzing flies by my ear. The mosquitoes here are the size of hummingbirds, and they ain’t looking for nectar, unless you call my blood sweet. Which I’m sure it is.
“Oh, Cort,” Divina sadly says, shaking her head at me, trying her damnedest not to laugh.
“You do realize I can hear your silent spoiled hanging in the air,” I snidely say, glaring her ass down. “What are we going to eat? I don’t have any idea how to catch a fish, or scale a fish, or cook a fish. Hell, I don’t even know how to start the fire to cook a fish. Still breathing Sushi?”
“Oh, Cort,” Divina repeats, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.
“I didn’t sign up for Survivor,” I mutter, turning my back on my wife to stare out at the beautiful ocean. It’s gorgeous.
“Ah, Survivor- Rich Bitch Edition. Out-bitch. Out-moan. Out-groan. Six days and five nights on a tropical island, in your own personal cabin, with your wife as your constant companion. The prize is a pre-nuptial agreement giving you half a billion dollars, deeded as the owner of ShadowHaven with Ezra, and my undying love. Oh, poor Cort,” Divina whimpers, pouting out her bottom lip.
“Shut it,” I growl, palming Divina’s forehead and shoving her away. “Like you’re any better. What do you suggest?”
Divina’s eyes gleam wickedness and I get worried. She’s Ezra’s cousin for a reason. Diane is reserved, but Pearl is a wildcat. Never trust a woman who smirks like that. Beautiful, petite, glossy chestnut hair, and gray eyes that hold a tint of blue from her father, Divina can be a brat. So sweet and innocent until she makes you her private joke. Right now, I’m Divina’s joke.
“Rum,” Divina sings holding up a liter of golden liquor, “and marshmallows.”
“Um… I have no idea how to cook that,” I grumble, trying to figure out what concoction that could possibly create. “I’m not even sure that’s food.”
“Cort,” Divina bursts out laughing. “Relax. Take off your jammie snowsuit and put on some shorts. Come outside and sit with me on the beach. I’m going to start a fire. We’ll toast marshmallows and get drunk. Husband and wife or not, it’s still you and me. I’ve known you every day of your life. Let’s just go hang out on a beach in Jamaica- forget it’s a honeymoon. Let’s… just be us.”
“How do we get fire? How do you know how to start a fire to toast the marshmallows,” I mumble, feeling about as manly as a princess.
“Boy, your head has been up your ass since your birth, I guess. First, it’s called a lighter. You flick it, and as if by magic, flame appears. And in case you are lost on what flame is, it means fire. So you hold the magic flame to the paper until it catches on fire, and then the kindling lights. Second, I was a girl scout. Which you’d know if you’d paid attention to anything other than Ezra.”
“What’s a girl scout gotta do with it,” I mumble in confusion. I swipe my hand over my forehead, getting the back of my hand sticky from sweat.
“Oh, Cort,” Divina moans again, and again, and again. “I learned how to start a fire with only two twigs and some tinder.” She shakes her head at me, silently laughing. “I’ll meet you out there… it’s up to you if you want to sweat to death with your style choices.”