Page 16 of A Wulver for the Week

“I did, too. If I get one, you get one.”

“I’m not stressed.”

“That’s a lie. My family, en masse, questioning you for an hour while photographers loom like vultures? Buddha would start drinking.”

We laugh together, spin together, sliding out of the wooden dance floor set in the middle of the large, elaborate terrace-slash-dining room. We make our way onto the cooled sands as the moon rises and the waves lap the shore. “This is so perfect. So romantic,” I sigh, heart fluttering high, leaving stress behind for a second.

“Yesss, that’s it. Relax, Minnie.” Craig’s hands start to knead the small of my back. “It’s a lovely night. Tomorrow’s going to be a lovely day. Your uncle said there’s a spot to fish. I’ll catch you a tuna.”

“If you just keep rubbing my back, you don’t have to catch me anything,” I groan.

“Oh, I can do better than this.” His hands travel up, surprisingly strong, kneading muscles that I thought couldn’t be reached, undoing knots that make me wince and then unspool like a limp piece of pasta. I drape myself against him, and Craig pulls me behind a palm tree. Before I know what’s happening, he’s spun me to face the trunk, both hands on my shoulders. “You wait until I get you face down on the bed. I can use my elbows. I learned a good trick from Kevin—you know, Kevin? Nice fellow, married to that lifeguard at the gym, Marina?”

“Uh-huh,” I groan, barely able to think of words, let alone people.

“He’ll finish his doctorate of physical therapy this year. He showed me a whole bunch of pressure points and explained some range of motion exercises and techniques to improve circulation and promote healing. Mind you, I’m not as good as he is—”

“I think you’re better. I want to go back to our room. Now,” I moan.

“Minerva Johnson!”

Craig’s hands fly from my shoulders.

Aunt Belinda confronts us, a deadly glare in her sharp eyes. “Save it for the room, you two.”

“Auntie, no. I have had such a stiff neck lately. Studying for exams—”

“She’s taking the chief nursing officer exam, Aunt Belinda,” Craig backs me up, voicealmoststeady. “I work closely with the physical therapy department, and my colleagues showed me some range of motion exercises. Here, you look tense. I can imagine. Mother of the bride must put a heavy burden on your shoulders.”

Before Aunt Belinda can lecture or I can even clear my head, Craig is grabbing her hand and massaging it. Just her hand.

The snarl fades from her face. Her eyelids sink to half-mast. “Ooh. Oh. Oh, that’s nice.”

“I was only doing the same for Minnie. I’d never take a liberty,” he croons.

“I know, sweetie. I’m sorry. This sun. This stress...”

Craig switches hands, deftly circling over her knuckles and across her palm. “But everything is simply magnificent. People will talk about this wedding for years.”

“Gerri looks so happy,” I chime in.

“Thank you, lambie,” Aunt Belinda sighs as Craig drops her hand. She kisses his cheek, then mine. “I think I’ll go get another piece of that cake. I shouldn’t if I want to fit in my dress, but I will.”

She sways off, and I turn to Craig, eyes wide. “That was legendary. No one defuses Aunt Belinda.”

“I didn’t want her to think I’d rut you against a tree like some common heathen.”

“I like common heathens—and I still owe you a massage.”

“Aye, and I’m not done with you yet.” Craig slides his arm possessively around my waist and leads me inside. “It’s been a long day. Should we head up?”

“Mhm.” This time, I get it. He’s talking about the elevator. I wonder if he’s thinking about what I said earlier...

“Could I ask you a very personal question? One you don’t have to answer,” he whispers as we skirt the terrace and walk around the flagstone path that leads to the lobby of the resort.

“Anything.”

“Hm.”

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