The Hotel Riviera(73)
“About marrying me?”
“Oh…that,” I said airily. Then I stared at him. “What?”
“Please, Lola, will you marry me?”
Another wave splashed over my feet but I hardly noticed. “You want me to marry you?”
“That’s it. Only please hurry and say yes before we both freeze to death.”
“Are you serious?”
“Never more, sweetheart.”
“But your boat, your long-haul trip, your sailor’s life…Can you really stay in one place?”
“We’ll work it out together,” he said, giving me that long lingering look that turned me to jelly. My heart did a little jump. I did a little jump. My feet actually lifted off the ground!
“Tell me again.”
“Damn it, woman, you’re marrying me,” he said. “Sunset cruises and all.” And he lifted me off my feet—really this time. We were hugging and laughing in between kisses and Bad Dog was jumping up at us, barking his head off.
Jack held me close, murmuring did I know how much he loved me, and other things I don’t think I should confess to right here and now. I was lost in his words when he suddenly pushed me away. He held me at arm’s length, gazing heavenward.
“Lola, look what the gods have sent us as a celebration,” he said.
I saw the icy white flakes drifting gently to earth. “It’s snow!” I yelled. “It’s snowing on the Riviera.” And like a big kid I stuck out my tongue to catch them.
Then we were hugging again and laughing until Jack stopped my laughter by kissing those snowflakes right out of my mouth. When we finally came up for air I had to blow my nose and wipe away the tears, but they were tears of laughter this time.
“By the way, I will,” I said.
“Will what?” he answered, putting on a pretend-bemused face.
“Think about marrying you,” I answered, sighing, as he nuzzled my neck, holding me close so the warmth of his body thawed my frozen heart.
“Darn right you’ll marry me,” he said.
Epilogue
It’s early morning on the C?te d’Azur and the May sky is a limpid pearly-pink, like the inside of an oyster shell. On my way to the kitchen I stopped to watch the sun drifting lazily above the horizon, touching the sea and treetops and tiled roofs with gold until the whole world glowed as it must have at the dawn of creation.
Lucky me, I thought, to get to see this every morning. Lucky me, heading for the early market again. Lucky me, with the Hotel Riviera back in business, already with six guests who’ll soon be stirring and looking for croissants and coffee to begin their leisurely day.
And lucky, oh so lucky me, to have slept the carefree night away in the arms of the man I love, the sexy, wonderful captain of the sloop Bad Dog, and now captain and owner of my heart. “You’re too much,” you might be saying, “you’re too romantic, too over the top.” Of course I am, but then I’ve never felt like this before. I’m head over dizzy heels in love, and this time he loves me too. Really loves me.
How do I know? Why, because Jack Farrar, the nomad, the roamer of the sea, the man’s man whose usual hangouts are the fishing ports of the world, told me so. And to prove it, he married me on New Year’s Day in the little nineteenth-century church of Saint Torpes, conveniently overlooking Saint-Tropez yacht harbor.
The locals have finally taken us to their French bosoms and many attended, including the firemen who saved the Hotel Riviera from the flames, and even a couple of the local gendarmes who came to show their support.
Jack looked so to-die-for handsome in a nautical dark blue blazer, his eyes linked reassuringly with mine, as I walked toward him like a woman in a dream. Bad Dog trotted down the aisle behind me wearing a scarlet bow tie that matched his master’s and minding his manners for once, though he did give a quick exploratory sniff to the priest’s shoes. Of course, Chocolate, my little love, had to be left at the hotel as we were not sure of her “wedding manners.” She had a special bowl of fresh fish to compensate her for missing the banquet.
I wore a vintage lace dress that I feel sure must have belonged to Rita Hayworth when she was married to Aly Khan, here on the C?te d’Azur all those years ago. It was glamorous and low-cut and ruched up the rear like old-time cinema curtains. Very sexy. Which, to tell the truth, is exactly the way I was feeling. I wore dangly pearl earrings and carried a bouquet of pinky-red roses, and as usual, my pointy red shoes were killing me.
A small retinue of children threw rose petals and waved banners as we left the church, laughing and greeting people, and I swear our happiness was contagious.
Afterward, we dined and drank champagne at a bistro in the Place des Lices, with Bad Dog sneaking every morsel he could from the plates. Jack wore a permanent smile and, clutching his hand, I fizzed like the champagne with delight. Everyone was laughing, the band played under the plane trees, and lovers kissed in the shadows.
Later, we sailed off in the old sloop for our three-day honeymoon, floating happily around the Mediterranean. Did I mention earlier that I hated boats? I’ve changed my mind. Making love rocked by the waves can do that for you.
Bad Dog went with us, of course. He goes everywhere with us. He sleeps at the foot of our bed and Chocolate sleeps on my pillow. (By the way, the gold lamé has been replaced with white linen.) At least, Bad Dog starts out at the foot of the bed and Chocolate at the top. Come morning, though, Bad Dog’s cute little black nose is usually propped on my chin. I open my eyes and find both he and Chocolate staring intently at me, willing me to wake up. I know Bad Dog wants me to take him to the market where he’ll find food. Like me, this dog is food obsessed, while Chocolate (also like me) wants love and attention.