Page 14 of No Surrender
Now, he realized that his network might be able to unlock the mystery of the “caves.” It didn’t surprise Simon that his calls went to voicemail—most of his crew worked hospitality jobs with varying schedules.
“Hi! This is Simon. I need to know if you’ve heard anything about ‘caves’ around Myrtle Beach. Call me. Thanks!” He left the same message over and over. Simon hoped that his question would spark recognition from someone who might break the cold case open.
When he finished, Simon sat back and rubbed his temples, trying to stave off a headache. “Fuck. There’s way too much going on.”
He needed a break, so after Simon put frozen burritos in the oven for supper, he opened his laptop on the table and sipped coffee as he waited for a folder to load.
“Wedding Ideas” included sub-folders for venue, food/catering, decor, and honeymoon. Every time he happened upon something that caught his attention online, Simon filed the link or photo for future reference.
Life hadn’t given them a lot of free time since their engagement, and they had yet to set a date. Simon knew Vic would have opinions on some choices and not care much about others. He also felt sure that Vic knew Simon enjoyed the planning phase and left him to canvas the possibilities until the options had narrowed down to decision time.
Since he’d always loved arranging travel and vacations, Simon didn’t mind taking the lead. They had already settled the biggest issue—where theydidn’twant to get married. A Catholic High Mass like Vic’s siblings’ weddings was out for obvious reasons. Simon’s more liberal Episcopalian denomination sanctioned their union, but neither of them wanted a traditional religious ceremony.
Historic locations were too problematic to consider—this was the South, after all. Fortunately, Myrtle Beach had plenty of hotels with ocean views and beautiful ballrooms. Simon had arrived at a list of favorites and created a spreadsheet so he could sort by price, ratings, and amenities.
Just looking at the beautifully decorated rooms on the websites helped Simon shed the day’s tension. He was still sipping coffee and paging through venues when Vic came home and paused for a kiss after hanging up his jacket.
“Get in a planning mood?” Vic teased, standing behind Simon’s chair and leaning in to see the screen. “Come up with some good ideas?”
Simon tilted his head back for another kiss, sweet and lingering. “Plenty of good ideas—but it’ll come down to price and availability when we actually figure out a date. I think you’ll like a lot of these—modern, elegant but not fussy, great views, and good food.”
“Food is essential for any D’Amato wedding,” Vic said, only partially in jest. “No matter where we hold the rehearsal dinner or the reception, if my family rents a beach house—and they will—there will be massive amounts of cooking.”
“Fine with me. I’ve eaten your mom’s food. It’s awesome.”
Vic chuckled. “You think I’m kidding? I’m betting that Mom started planning recipes and menus as soon as we announced our engagement and put out the word to the rest of the family. Doesn’t matter what we serve at the official meals—there will be manicotti and lasagna, half a dozen chicken dishes, and more cookies, pizzelles, and cannoli than you’ve ever seen.”
“Just another reason I love you.” Simon was grateful for Vic’s large, loud, accepting family, so different from his own. After a major confrontation with his own mother a few months ago, Simon had no intention of inviting the Kincaide family, small as it was, to the wedding—and doubted they would attend even if he did.
“Are you sure your folks will be willing to drive all the way down here?”
“Hey,” Vic coaxed as if he’d guessed the direction Simon’s thoughts had taken. “One step at a time. Don’t worry about anyone else—this wedding is for us. As long as we’re happy with it—and married—that’s all that counts. And yes, the close family will come. We don’t need to have the fourth cousins twice removed.”
Simon sighed. “I know. I just want it to be special.”
Vic pressed a kiss to the top of Simon’s head. “It will be. And remember what I said about the Chicken Dance.”
Simon cringed. “Dude—we are not doing the Chicken Dance at our wedding.”
“Pretty sure you can’t be legally married without it,” Vic warned. “It’s tradition.”
Simon once thought that the infamous Chicken Dance was an invention of children’s shows and silly videos. Then he heard Vic’s family reminiscing about family weddings and realized they were serious about it being a regional tradition.
“Just—no,” Simon protested.
“What if I promise you the best blow job of your life between the wedding and the reception?” Vic gently ran his fingertip along the edge of Simon’s ear and sent a shiver down his spine.
“It’ll be our wedding night. I thought awesome sex came with the package.” Simon couldn’t give in too quickly.
“Oh, ‘packages’ will be ‘coming,’” Vic promised. “I’m just sweetening the offer. It’s a small concession since we aren’t planning to get hitched in Pittsburgh.”
“Oh, all right,” Simon said with an exaggerated sigh. “As long as we can have barbecue and bourbon at the reception.”
“I’ll even let you bury the bourbon bottle to keep away rain,” Vic said.
“How did you hear about that?”
Vic grinned and ducked his head, hiding an adorable blush. “I might have looked up Lowcountry wedding traditions.”
