Page 59 of Single Malt Drama
Nicolina
“Areyou sure you it’s safe?” I eyed what our guide called a john boat. To me, it looked like someone had cut a huge tin can in half and duct taped a motor to it.
Marco ran his hands over his head. He hadn’t stopped fidgeting since we’d arrived at the marina. “No, but we’re following Cyril to the cabin. If it sinks, he’ll save us.”
Swatting a mosquito the size of a small dog, I lowered my voice. “Is it big enough? I’ve never been down here, but I’ve heard the alligators are huge.”
The color drained from Marco’s face. “It wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t gator-proof.”
I disagreed. While ours was in fairly decent shape, many of the vessels in the marina consisted of miscellaneous pieces and parts of metal welded together like a patchwork quilt.
Cyril, who looked like he’d been old when dirt was young, spat chewing tobacco juice on the dock. “You’ll be fine, cher. ’Em gators ain’t gonna bother you. Just keep all your parts in the boat.”
“Thanks.” I glanced to my new husband for moral support, but he’d turned the same shade of green as the murky water. “Are you okay?”
Marco set the last of our supplies in the boat. “I’m fine. Just anxious to get to the cabin.”
The guide glanced between us. “Jack Landry said you two were in some sort of trouble.”
My stomach sank. Not only did Shanna’s friend know about our situation, he’d told Cyril. The old man hadn’t stopped chattering since we’d arrived. How long would our secret hiding place stay secret?
“We were married tonight.” Marco held up his left hand to show his wedding band. “Her father doesn’t approve.”
He flashed us a toothless grin. “Congrats.”
“It’s doubtful anyone will look for us down here, but if they do, I trust you to tell them you haven’t seen us?”
“Seen who? What’s your name again?” He winked.
Marco nodded and handed Cyril a fat envelope. “Jack said you offered to bring us supplies from time to time. This is enough to cover the cost, and a little extra for your trouble.”
“I sure do thank you, sir.” He tucked the cash into his pocket. “What-say we get going?”
Marco climbed into the boat and offered me his hand. “Step down easy and move to the front to counter the weight of our stuff.”
The boat rocked like a funhouse floor, but I managed to reach the bench seat without falling overboard.
“Y’all follow a little way behind me. If we get separated, look for the blinking red light.” Cyril fired up his boat and pulled away from the dock.
I glanced over my shoulder as Marco pulled the cord on our motor. The sight of his muscles straining beneath his T-shirt made my mouth water. My mind drifted back to our kiss at the altar, and the speech he’d given me before the ceremony.
Everything about him was a contradiction. He’d said I’d have another wedding one day but had put a ring on my finger that was almost identical to the one my father had given my mother. He’d had me sign proof the marriage was a sham, but stared at me through the entire ceremony like he meant his vows.
And that kiss. Thinking about it made my hands tremble. Maybe Hildie was right. Maybe he does love me but isn’t ready to admit it.
“Keep an eye on Cyril’s boat,” Marco called over the roar of the motor.
I stared at the blinking red light, but between the tornado of thoughts in my head and the eerie beauty of the swamp, I had a hard time focusing.
I found myself mesmerized by the silhouettes of trees along the banks, and at times, overhead. A million stars twinkled in the sky, far more than I’d seen in Trapani. Even over the motor, the hum of insects filled the air.
“Which way did he turn?” Marco let up on the throttle and glanced around the utter darkness.
Scanning the area in front of us, I said, “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?” His voice came out sharp and higher pitched than normal.
We’ve been married less than two hours and he’s yelling at me?“He has to be close. Keep going.”