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"Nope," I lied. "We're good."
"I don't think we are. There are 121 people between the first security checkpoint and us, and they’re processing individuals at a rate of fifteen to twenty seconds per interaction. If you take an average of eighteen seconds each person, that’s twenty-two hundred seconds. Thirty-six minutes. Given that I can't see the next stage of the process, we can only guess at the duration of that wait. But our tickets indicate that boarding ends fifteen minutes before departure. So, unless it’s earlier than 3:12, which would only give us a window of twenty minutes for the next stage of the security process, we’re going to miss the plane." He stared at my wrist as if the power of his stare alone could force the bones to turn and reveal the time.
I tucked my hands in my hoodie pockets out of pure stubbornness. Why couldn't he be normal? The type of boyfriend who glanced at a watch and stated some unfounded prediction that we might miss our plane? I didn't need intelligent foundations for my worries. I just wanted to move obliviously toward my demise.
The chatterbox in front of us had stopped talking about clothes and had moved into our space, gawking at Brant like he was an informational display, her pokey elbows jabbing into the girth of her husband. He noticed and I stifled a laugh at the alarm that crossed his face.
"Looks like you'll have to recalculate," I whispered as a new line opened to the right, catching the attention of our entire section, heads snapping, feet scurrying, as everyone did a jerky dance where they tried to decide to take the new path or stay in the soon-to-be-shorter current location. "Do we move?"
He watched the traffic, his eyes bouncing, mind ticking, then shook his head. "No."
I stayed in place, stepping forward as our line thinned considerably.
"I'm not sure you were right," I said a few minutes later, watching the speedy pace of the new line.
"About what?" He seemed calmer; the clench of his jaw less noticeable.
"This line being faster."
"It's not."
I looked over at him, pausing in my search for a mint in my purse. "What?"
"This line's not faster. It's going to take an extra five to seven minutes in this line."
I whipped my head right, looking in exasperation at the new line, Hawaiian shirt guy and his loud wife a good ten people closer to security than us. "Then why'd you tell me to stay here?" I couldn't help it. I looked at my watch. 3:19 p.m.
"I watched her." He pointed to the wife of Hawaii. "Then decided on the opposite course of action." He met my glare head-on, and the corner of his mouth crooked slightly.
I couldn't stop my laugh; it burst out with enough force that I had to sit on the top of my rolling suitcase, all of the day's stress leaving in that one moment. Suddenly, it didn't matter if we made the plane or not. If the weekend was a disaster or saved. All that mattered was that I was with him.
I contained my laughter as he leaned down, tugging on my ponytail as he kissed me. "I really do love you," I whispered against his mouth.
"You have no idea how happy that makes me," he replied, and took another kiss. Behind us, an exasperated sigh sounded, followed by the irritated tap of a ballet flat.
Brant pulled me to my feet, his other hand scooping up my suitcase and moving us a few steps closer to takeoff.
I was so happy. So oblivious to the secret hidden in his kiss, the secret that was following us to Belize.
The secret I discovered that first night in paradise.
Chapter 19 - Belize
I woke up to the sound of curtains moving with the ocean breeze. The crash of waves put me in my bedroom but the air was wrong. It wasn't the icy Californian chill, but a balmy caress, warm enough to comfort but cool enough to enjoy. I sat up, my eyes adjusting to the dark, the white linen curtains billowing in the wind, the ocean sparkling under the glow of the moon through the open doors. I relaxed back against the sheets and rolled, stretching out my arm, but the other side of the bed was empty. Stilling, I listened, lifting my head when I didn't hear anything. "Brant?"
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.
