Page 88 of Life

“Whatever you say, Spicy.” He winks and follows me around until it’s time to settle at the table for the feast put out before us.

We find our seats and wait patiently while Chase makes a big deal of passing out pink champagne. It has some type of meaning to him and Gigi. I sit back, lean against Eli, and enjoy the comfort of being with my family, all together as one.

“I’d like to start the next two weeks of celebration by reminding my wife of the promise I made to her three years ago today,” Chase says, turning Gillian to look at him. “Gillian Grace Davis, I promise to love, cherish, and worship the ground you walk on every day of my life. I’ll strive every day to be the man who’s good enough for a woman like you.”

He continues to share the vows that the rest of us girls never got to hear since they eloped. By the time he’s done and sets his hand over her belly, I lose it, weeping into my napkin. Eli cuddles me from behind, pulls my hair to the side and lays several kisses against my neck. “That will be us in three years too, babe. Just you wait.”

Gillian speaks up, looking into her husband’s face, the love so clear and pure, it hits my heart with a lasso of joy and squeezes. “I give you me. Body. Mind. Soul,” she says, and then jumps into his arms, kissing the daylights out of him.

The three of us girls bounce up and hug the two of them. “Cara bonita, you are pregnant again?” I ask, putting my hand over her stomach.

“Yes. We found out today. Don’t even know how far along.” She wipes at the tears trailing down her cheeks.

“I’m so happy for you.”

Once we are all sitting at the table chatting it up, Eli stands up. “Maria and I too have an announcement of our own. Babe, get up here.” He holds his hand out to me.

Kat, Gillian, and Bree have all eyes on us.

“We’re getting married!” I squeal and show them my ring finger.

This time we all squeal and jump up and down hugging one another again.

“Wait a minute. Ladies, you didn’t hear the best part.” I dangle the juicy nugget of information.

“You’re pregnant?” Gillian asks, a hope so strong in her tone I almost wish I was. Almost.

“Dios mio, no!”

Eli laughs. “I wish.”

All the girls stop hugging me and focus on him. Three pairs of eyes get huge.

“We want to get married while we’re here in Ireland,” I announce, bringing the topic back to the matter at hand.

Gillian’s mouth drops open, and screech of excitement rips through her lungs and deafens all of us. “We can do it here by the cliffs!” she says.

“Cazador?” I look at him, and he glances off toward the open plain of brilliant green grass and the stunning ocean view.

“Perfect to me.”

“Just. Like. You.” I kiss him over and over. He dips me back, licks my lips, and I open for his tongue. He tastes of salt, champagne, and the ocean breeze. I slide my tongue along his, licking deep and rubbing against him. He lifts me up, grabs my ass, and grinds his hardening length against me.

“Um, hello! There are kids in the vicinity. Go to your room.” Gillian laughs.

Eli keeps kissing me until we both can’t breathe before he pulls away. “I’m so marrying your fine ass, and locking you down for good, Spicy.”

I snort. “I’m the one putting a chain around your ankle. My dancer’s legs are always free.” I grin saucily at my man.

“Speaking of dancing, how’s being a free agent and choreographer going?” Kat asks, sipping her champagne. Her long-sleeved shirt must be annoying, but she doesn’t often leave the arm bare if the children or anyone else but us girls are around. She’s finally got a bit of movement in the arm and can grip on to things and steady herself more with it, but it still looks like a mangled mess of tissue.

“Amazing! Besides the regular dance company and Broadway stuff, I was recently asked to do the choreography for a hip-hop video for a friend of mine, Anton Santiago.”

Bree’s eyes widen. “Anton Santiago! He’s the biggest and hottest rapper in the business. That’s exciting. Is he going to film here? Please tell me he’s going to film here!” She holds her hands in prayer position at her chest.

I chuckle and shake my head. “Nope. Once we get home, I leave for Miami in July. Has some type of muse named Mia Saunders whobaila como una mierda. You know, dances like shit,” I whisper so that little ears don’t hear.

Bree taps her bottom lip in thought. “I’ve heard of her. She’s dated some pretty well-to-do guys this past year. I’ve seen her picture in the gossip rags tied to Weston Channing, that moviemaker in LA. The French artist Alec DuBois did some paintings and pictures of her. Last I heard, she was with that baseball player… What’s his name?”

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