50. CHANCE

The downside to Bora Bora is that it’s a twelve-hour flight from O’Hare.

The upside to Bora Bora is literally everything else. And, of course, the fact that we had access to Atlas Security’s private Gulfstream jet to take us there. Plus, recovering from jet lag is easy when you have nowhere to go, and all day to get there.

Our tiki hut is one of a dozen at the private resort, each with its own private dock and catamaran. If anything else in the world exists outside of these things, I don’t want to know about it for at least a few days.

The sky is the same clear blue as the water below us. Sara’s bikini, on the other hand, is emerald green. With her floppy hat for that infamously sun-sensitive redhead’s skin, and her huge sunglasses, she fits in perfectly on her lounger with all the jetsetters around us.

She’s forgiven me for making her wait last night – or the night before last, or – I don’t even know what day it is anymore. Anyway, while she was in the tub, I was arranging this honeymoon.

She shades her eyes as I hand her a mojito that’s sweating away its ice in the tropical heat.

“Thank you, dahling,” she says with some made-up foreign accent. “Do I sound Eurotrash enough for our neighbors?”

“Hey, don’t be judgmental,” I say, lying down beside her. “Some of these people are nouveau-riche American trash, too. Including us.”

She giggles. “I know I say this all the time, but could you honestly have imagined this when we were kids? I know my imagination just wasn’t that powerful.”

“Maybe not this specifically,” I say. “But I always imagined us being successful together. Whether that meant living in a bungalow in the suburbs, or vacationing in a tropical paradise, didn’t really matter to me.”

I think I’ve made her uncomfortable, because she turns her gaze back toward the ocean. We keep running into these awkward moments. I guess that’s inevitable, given the circumstances.

Fortunately, they don’t last long.

“Whoever invented the mojito deserves a medal,” she says, smacking her lips. Her glass is nothing but ice, lime and mint now.

“What about the guy who gets you another one?”

“He deserves something else. He’ll just have to wait to find out what it is.”

I jump up and run back to the hut as fast as my feet will carry me.

* * *

Later, after sunset, we’re floating naked in each other’s arms in the shallow water under our raised hut. I suppose one of our neighbors could see us with binoculars if they really tried, but I don’t really care.

The only sound is the light splash as we bounce lightly, and the distant sound of faint conversation from the other huts.

“Do you believe in heaven?” Sara asks.

“I never thought about it,” I say.

“I think maybe, if we’re good, we get to choose our own heaven. I hope so, anyway. If we do, this will be mine. This moment, right here, right now, for eternity.”

“I could get behind that,” I say. “Maybe we should start our own religion. If we get enough people to join us, we can make it happen. That’s how it works, right?”

She wraps her arms around my neck as her breasts bob in the water. I’m still recovering from our most recent trip to bed after the mojitos, but my cock is still doing its best to stand at attention.

“We should be philosophers,” she says. “All those old guys I learned about in college were way off. So depressing.”

I sigh. “Here’s something depressing: we have to go back to the real world in a couple of days.”

Sara frowns. “Says who? You’re rich, and I’m your wife now, ergo I’m rich, too. We can just live here.”

It suddenly occurs to me that she’s right. Not about living here – although that would be incredible – but about the fact that she’s rich now. In the crazy whirlwind of our wedding, it never occurred to me to think about a prenuptial agreement. She’s legally entitled to half my money.

Like I care. I’ve got much more important things to worry about. Like the fact that my flagpole is standing tall again.

I plant my lips on her neck, eliciting a moan from her. Then my erection brushes her mound and she gasps.

“The mojito delivery guy is looking for his reward again,” I whisper.

She sighs in mock exasperation as she grabs my member.

“Probably would have been easier just to give him the medal,” she mutters.

She turns and tiptoes through the water, back toward the ladder that leads up to our hut’s living room, towing me by my cock.

As I follow, my mind begins to go over the “living here” scenario with a lot more serious thought than before.

* * *

After our lovemaking, we lie awake in bed, feeling the tropical breeze through the open walls of the hut, Sara’s head on my bare chest.

She turns to look up at me.

“Did we win, Chance?” she asks. “Maybe?”

“Not yet,” I say. “But we will.”

She gives me a faraway look. No doubt she’s wondering the same things I am: whatever happens, where do we go from here? We’re married now – will we stay that way? It’s a huge step, and we’ve only just reconnected.

So many what-ifs. So many things to think about.

But not right now. I lean forward and kiss her softly.

“Whatever happens in the future,” I say. “This, right here, right now, is a win.”

“Heaven,” she sighs sleepily. “Right here, right now.”

She drifts off with her head still on my chest, but it’s a long time before I follow her into sleep.