Waikiki Wedding: Unforgettable Nights in Hawaii Read online

  She too repeated the same words, slipping her brother's ring onto Ray's finger.

  "By the power of God and according to the laws of the State of Hawaii, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

  Chapter Seventeen - Epilogue

  “Another wedding, another trip to paradise.” Amy stepped into the short-sleeve dress she'd pulled from her overnight bag. "I can't believe this time tomorrow we'll be in Kona."

  Ray slid his toiletry case into his carry-on. "I can't believe your brother and Emily needed over a year to plan the wedding."

  Sliding an arm into the sleeve of her dress and pulling the fabric over her shoulder, Amy dared a glance at her husband. "Emily had her heart set on a New Year’s wedding. Since the venue they wanted was already booked last year, they chose to wait."

  "We all know I didn't want to wait even one day to make you mine." Ray reached for her zipper. "Here, let me help you with that."

  "Absolutely not." Giggling, Amy took a step forward. This morning Ray had offered to help her dress, and, instead, they wound up back in bed and almost missed their flight from San Francisco to LAX. "I've been dressing myself for over twenty years."

  Her husband leaned back against the wall, crossed his arms, and smiled. "Then I'll just watch."

  "Men," she huffed, rolling her eyes and holding back laughter. The last year had been filled with a whirlwind of change, but, so far, married life was looking pretty damn sweet. Arm behind her back, she tugged the zipper up the last few inches and scurried into the bathroom to finish getting ready.

  "Spoil sport," Ray called to her back.

  The exact same thing had happened on the big wedding day last year in Hawaii. She and Ray had been late to the wedding brunch, after which he'd helped her back into bed, and then late again to Courtney's ceremony. Fortunately, for that wedding, they were only spectators. A short time later Amy was the bridesmaid for her friend Carrie's ceremony and even managed to show up on time.

  Both brides and bridal parties had become such good friends over their week's stay in Waikiki that, when time came for the two receptions, the brides removed the room partitions and shared the massive hall and terrace for dancing and dining. The instant friendship between the two wedding parties was also the reason Ray and Amy were spending a night in Los Angeles before leaving for Kona.

  In front of the bathroom mirror, Amy added a touch of mascara and continued talking to her husband. "This really worked out quite well. We'd have had to be at the airport at four in the morning to fly straight to Kona. This way we get to spend an evening with friends before the morning flight." Through the crack in the door she could see Ray tucking in his shirt. More than a year since their Waikiki wedding and the sight of the man still gave her goose bumps.

  "Okay. I'm ready." Ray retrieved his wallet from the dresser and placed it into his back pocket. His appreciative grin spread at the sight of Amy fully dressed. "You are so damn beautiful."

  Feeling the heat of his gaze all the way to her toes, for a brief second Amy wondered how awful would it be if they were a little—okay, a lot—late. "I'll give you the rest of our lives to stop saying that."

  "Deal." He squeezed her hand and, leaning in, gave her a restrained kiss on the lips, then, pulling back and resting his forehead against hers, he blinked. "What time do we have to meet the gang?"

  • • •

  “They’re here!” Courtney's voice carried from inside the restaurant where her friends were gathered to belatedly celebrate her and Drew’s first wedding anniversary. "So good to see you."

  His hand on his wife's hip, Ray ushered Amy to the table where everyone stood. The men took turns slapping Ray on the back, and the women hugged and squealed, as if they were teens returning to school after a long summer break.

  "I missed you, big brother." Tish pulled Ray into a big hug, smothered him with kisses, and then hugged Amy close. "I am so glad you guys could join us tonight. With Brady away so often on movie locations, and Matt and Lisa spending the last couple of months in New York working on a Broadway play, this is the first time we could all make the celebration. With both of you here, it's even more special!"

  "It all worked out." Amy gave her sister-in-law another squeeze as people retook their seats. "My boss was really cool about letting me take time off for Doug's wedding."

  "That really was nice," Courtney added. "Not many employers would give you time off so soon after starting your job."

  "Hey." Ray smiled at his wife. "The guy's no dummy. Amy finished her MBA top of her class with honors. He knows he's lucky to have her."

  "How are your classes going?" his sister asked.

  "Good. I'm actually enjoying school this time around." Ray scanned the table. "I thought Brady would be here. I swear that dude works more than anyone else in Hollywood, except maybe George Clooney.”

  "I'd say you’re exaggerating." Tish beamed. "But my husband has been much more fortunate than most aspiring actors. Brady's not only making a living at his craft but is well on his way to becoming a household name."

  "Now who's exaggerating?" Brady strode up to the table and shook Ray's hand. "I hear you love teaching."

  "Yeah, I do."

  "You teach history?" Lisa asked.

  "Thought you were coaching," Matt interrupted.

  Ray shook his head. "Not yet. I'm substitute teaching until I finish my masters. Then I'll do a semester of student teaching and move on to a permanent job."

  "High school," Matt said, with Brady taking a seat nearby.

  “Actually"—Ray sat too— "I’ve been teaching in elementary and middle schools. I didn’t think I’d like working with little kids, but …”

  “He’s great at it,” Amy chimed in. “All the students love him and respect him. And, in his spare time”—she winked at Ray—“when he’s not working or going to school, he started a community peewee football league.”

  Jessica cocked her head. “Isn’t your brother’s fiancée a teacher too?”

  “Yes, and she won’t be his fiancée for long.” Amy took out her phone and checked the time. “Less than seventy-two hours now.”

  “Your brother’s a navy man as well, isn’t he?” Courtney asked Amy. “Are they doing the sword thing at the end of their wedding ceremony, like we did?” She turned to her husband with a mock glare. “You could have at least warned me that I was going to get my butt slapped.”

  “What fun would that have been?” Drew grinned.

  “No, Doug isn’t active duty,” Amy said. “It's a shame. The arch was so impressive.”

  Ray had thought so too. After the ceremony, the groomsmen, all in navy dress uniforms, had marched out in two rows, then faced each other to form an arch. On command, in perfect unison, they’d drawn their swords and crossed them, and as Lieutenant Commander Randall and Mrs. Drew Randall walked underneath, each pair had lowered their swords in turn, demanding the husband and wife kiss as a rite of passage, before allowing the couple to walk through. Everyone had laughed at Courtney’s surprised squeal when the couple reached the end of the arch and the best man had swatted her behind with his sword and declared, “Welcome to the navy.”

  Ray turned to Drew. "So you're home now on leave?"

  "No," Courtney said, "he finished his tour and has a desk job here."

  "She told me she wanted to see the world and would follow me anywhere." Drew winked at his wife. "And yet, when I was given a choice between Guam and Long Beach …"

  Courtney rolled her eyes. "Well, that was a no-brainer. Your sister and all our friends are not in Guam."

  Amy looked across the table to where Jessica and her husband, Josh, sat with no toddler between them. “Where’s the baby? He must be walking by now.”

  “Anthony’s two, and he doesn’t walk. He sprints,” Josh answered. “I think the kid’s in training for the one-hundred-yard dash.”

  “My sister, Nora, is babysitting him tonight,” Jessica added. “We told him he’s too young to drink alcohol
.”

  “Is that a twinkle I see in Josh’s eye?” Amy teased. “Are you two ready for another one?”

  “No!” Jessica and Josh answered in unison.

  “Carrie’s expecting,” Amy said with a smile.

  “I know! I saw it on Facebook,” Courtney said excitedly. “That’s wonderful news.” Her eyes focused on Amy’s stomach. “How about you?”

  “Oh, no, we’re not ready yet.” Amy blushed and looked at Ray. “He’s still in school, and I’ve just started working and …”

  “All in good time.” Ray squeezed his wife’s hand. He would have been ready to start making a baby as soon as they were married, but Amy, ever the practical one, had wanted to wait. Which was probably a good thing. Having Amy all to himself this year had made him love her even more. “What about you, Courtney?”

  The redhead’s freckles disappeared in her blush. “Nope, not our thing. At least not now.”

  “But,” Drew continued, “we will have a new baby in the family soon.” He looked at his sister.

  “I’m due in June.” Lisa smiled at her husband. “Matt can’t wait.”

  Josh reached for a bottle of wine and began pouring it into glasses. “Let’s have a toast to Matt and Lisa, Courtney and Drew, and Ray and Amy. Hell, let’s drink to all of us.”

  Lisa raised her glass of ginger ale. “To good friends.”

  “And family,” Tish added.

  Amy clinked her glass with Ray’s. “And to forever love.”

  Smiling, Ray linked elbows with his wife. He could so drink to that.

  • • •

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  Meet Chris

  Author of more than a dozen contemporary novels, including the award winning Champagne Sisterhood, Chris Keniston lives in suburban Dallas with her husband, two human children, and two canine children. Though she loves her puppies equally, she admits being especially attached to her German Shepherd rescue. After all, even dogs deserve a happily ever after.

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  Meet Linda

  Writing has been a passion for as long as Linda Steinberg can remember. She started writing her first novel when she was living in Lagos, Nigeria, in long hand on school tablets, the only available writing paper, and hasn't stopped since. She writes contemporary romance, romantic suspense, and women's fiction featuring strong heroines with real problems and heroes who sizzle their way into readers' hearts. A retired accountant, Linda now lives in a suburb of Dallas, Texas, with her second time around sweetheart and enjoys reading, travel, family and friends.

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  and Linda at [email protected].

  Honeymoon For One

  CHRIS KENISTON

  “How the heck does anyone walk on these things?” Michelle mumbled, doing her best to strut down the hall. She knew full well her wobble looked more like a teenage boy in drag.

  Once she'd made her decision to ditch her sensible side, she had realized there wouldn't be much swinging if she dressed like a small-town librarian. One of the flight attendants had suggested the best place to shop chic would be in South Miami Beach. Afraid she’d miss the ship's launch, she only had time to hit one store for her new wardrobe requirements. The perky little redhead at the boutique—who didn’t look old enough to know the difference between Hollywood chic and bad taste—had assured Michelle she looked like an A-list star.

  Now, the skimpy leather-strapped sandals pinched her feet, and the stiletto heels felt like she was balancing on toothpicks. But in the name of all the women left at the altar, she wasn’t giving up. Finally, she conquered the distance from her stateroom to the ocean-view lounge. The round leather bar stools called to her like a siren’s song. At least tomorrow, no one would expect her to wear strappy heels on the beach.

  “What can I get you?” the bartender asked.

  She slapped her cruise keycard on the counter and ignored the little angel on her shoulder pleading with her to order a diet cola. “Something exotic.”

  For a moment she thought the man was going to ask for more ID. The way he stared at her, one brow slightly higher than the other, he either thought she was too young, crazy, or maybe the salesgirl really did have bad taste. “One BBC for the lady.”

  BBC. That sounded much too much like British Broadcasting to be exotic. She glanced down at herself. Her bronze-colored backless sandal hung loosely from her foot. With her legs crossed, the short khaki skirt revealed a few more inches of thigh than she was comfortable with, but she resisted the urge to tug at the hem.

  Let the real you show, the girl at the store had said. You’ve got great legs. The world should know it. Except with the thin fabric of her off-the-shoulder top and the ship’s arctic air-conditioning puckering her nipples, she didn’t doubt she was showing the world a lot more than just a little leg.

  “Here you go.” The bartender set the tall glass with a coconut slice and colorful umbrella in front of her. “Staying around for Name that Show?”

  “For what?” Michelle’s eyes remained fixed on the thick shakelike concoction. Her fingers reached forward, slowly, almost trembling. Oh, for heaven’s sake, she scolded herself. It’s not poison.

  “Name that TV Show. It’s a trivia game. One of the ship’s entertainment crew will be gathering with passengers over there by the grand piano.” He pointed to a far corner of the large room. “It’s fun. Good way to meet other passengers.”

  “Oh. Thank you.” Holding the drink with both hands, she slid off the stool and took a fortifying sip before strutting, or wobbling, over to the other waiting passengers. “Hey, this is pretty good. What did you call it?”

  “BBC. Baileys Banana Colada.”

  Forty minutes and three more BBCs later, with the cruise line cap her team had won in hand, Michelle sashayed into the casino. Apparently, all she needed to take the wobble out of her walk was a little booze.

  “I play the nickel machines.” Sarah, one of her trivia teammates, pointed to her husband. “Big spender here likes the craps table.”

  “Absolutely.” The man leaned over and kissed his wife briefly on the lips, and hurried off to the gaming tables across the crowded room.

  Michelle shifted her weight and ignored the tug of jealousy that crept up at the easy marital gesture. “Well, the nickel slot machines sound more my speed, but I think I’ll look around first.”

  “Sure. I’ll probably still be here if you get bored.” A plastic cup of coins gripped in one hand, Sarah slid onto a nearby seat.

  The bustling sounds of slot machines dinging, roulette wheels spinning, and people chatting and cheering made Michelle want to play, too. For a few minutes she stopped and watched Sarah’s husban
d at the craps table. People placed their chips on the felt table, and then one person would toss the dice. Chips moved back and forth, and every so often the table would burst out in a loud roar. Judging by the pile of chips at Sarah's husband's side, at least he knew what was going on.

  When the waitress came by to take drink orders, Michelle hesitated. The sweet little angel on her shoulder was apoplectic over the four drinks she’d already had. But the little shopgirl whispering in her other ear convinced her the concoctions were nothing more than glorified banana milkshakes. So she ordered another. Fresh drink in hand, she took a long sip and strolled over to the roulette table.

  This she could do. With ten dollars of splurge money in her pocket, she wanted to play. Until now, she’d never realized how much of her life had been spent on the sidelines. Other people traveled on vacation, but not her, she saved her vacation time for spring-cleaning. Weekends were spent doing laundry and buying groceries. Jeez, venturing to the movie theater was about the biggest deal she had going. Especially since she usually waited for the movies to come out on DVD. Cheaper that way.

  But not now. For once, she would be part of the action. Setting down her half-empty drink, she handed the dealer her money and clutched at the ten round chips she received in return. What number to pick? The board behind the dealer showed all the recently winning numbers and colors. Nibbling on her lower lip, she studied the other players. A large older man stacked piles of chips on four or five different numbers. Next to him, a skinny brunette placed a short stack on black. The guy hanging over her shoulder picked twenty-one.