Going to your hotel room when you are completely and utterly exhausted is pure luxury. I rushed into the shower, ignored the goodies set up for us to nibble, failed to do my usual tour of the room, and simply scrambled into bed. I must have been asleep when Timothy crawled into bed. I guess I would have felt guilty about that; it was our honeymoon and all, but I never heard him, never realized he was there.
We made up for it in the morning. Then we got to practice being married. It was great fun. It is going to be unbelievable having him always close. I was just about to ask him if he wanted to give me a Pooka ride, which I hadn’t done in ages, when a nasty knock on our hotel door jarred us from further activities.
We couldn’t be upset, however. Our dinner had arrived. Yes, we’d slept through lunch. We’d spent most of the day in bed, but wasn’t that part of what a honeymoon was supposed to be like — or was it more due to jetlag?
Anyway, we had salmon fillets, sweet potato fries, a selection of fruits, and a tossed salad of greens. It was perfect. We were both hungry, having had nothing but the early morning airplane breakfast.
“What are we going to do after dinner?” I asked, while nibbling on a sesame bread stick.
“Our embarkation appointment isn’t until eleven o’clock tomorrow. A walk on the beach? A sandcastle? A midnight swim?”
I laughed. “Yes to all of that!”
We met the guys out in the hall. Timothy had called them to let them know our plans. I wondered again why we had to have constant guards, but then I remembered the vampire hunter who had haunted our San Diego trip, and there was a Faery Queen who seemed to pop in and out of our days. But hadn’t we seen the last of both of them?
It was still light out. We were able to do all the things Timothy had suggested, and then after all that, we showered and went down to the hotel’s nightclub. People were dancing in the center of the room. Timothy and I got up and “did some moves,” as Ben called it. I noticed that the guys each got up and danced at least once. There were lots of single women in the room who practically assaulted them with requests for a turn.
Mostly, Timothy and I just sat and sipped our fruity drinks while watching the band. I guess we were acting like an old married couple, but . . . That would change on the cruise, I promised myself, just as soon as I felt energized again. How could one plane trip wipe a person out so completely?
Of course, the females tried to flock about our table and drool over Timothy, but he let it be known that we were on our honeymoon and wanted to be left alone. That worked, mostly.
Although we’d talked about staying up all night, we didn’t make it. The yawns attacked, and we made our way upstairs. The bed felt soft as mashed potatoes or is it clouds?