Chapter One

Chapter One

“Can I get you something to drink?”

Startled out of my daydream by the perky flight attendant, it took me a minute to snap out of my thoughts. I was in such a fog that I couldn’t be sure if I had just woken, and the last week had been just a dream, or if it was really an unforgettable memory.

“I’ll have a vodka cranberry and she’ll have a merlot. You’ll have to excuse her, she’s spent the last week fucking her brains out with a gorgeous stranger and can’t seem to snap out of it.” Sienna smiled to the appalled flight attendant, a pleasant-looking mid-forties woman who was wearing way too many pins on her bulging uniform. From the look on her face, I was sure the flight attendant wasn’t used to a raunchy-mouth like Sienna in first class. I looked around and saw most of the other passengers looked well bred and refined, more like they were dressed for an uppity tennis match than a twelve hour flight from Honolulu to New York. Sienna would have stood out even if she didn’t have a mouth like a truck driver.

Sienna McAllister had been my best friend since the third grade. We became kindred spirits on our first day in chorus when we realized we could sing in natural harmony together without so much as a beat of music. Twenty years later, our lives had taken us down very different paths, but it had never dulled our bond.

Aside from being the same age, we had nothing in common on the outside anymore. With her wild, dark curls falling around her alabaster skin, and black tight-fitting clothes coupled with five-inch laced-up leather boots, Sienna looked like she’d just walked out of a rock band. If her voluptuous curves straining her tight clothes weren’t enough to catch an eye as she passed by, the hundred or so bracelets she wore halfway up her arms actually played a sweet jingle as she moved.

I, on the other hand, had a penchant for pink and all things girly. My long blonde hair was almost white after a week in the sun and stood in stark contrast to my deeply-tanned skin — and the wild woman sitting next to me. When I was younger, I hated my olive skin and bright blonde hair. It was an unusual combination to have such tan skin and natural blonde hair. Most people assumed I was a bottle blonde. My dad used to tell me that I was special because I bound together my mom’s Swedish ancestry with his Italian heritage. But, as I suspected most kids did in their teens at some point, I wanted to look like someone else. It took me until I was in my late teens to stop fighting my looks and to learn to play them up.

The flight attendant brought us our drinks and scurried away with a hesitant smile. It was obvious she was trying to avoid hearing any more about our vacation, which Sienna would have surely divulged if given the opportunity. Sienna enjoyed shocking uptight people with her crass mouth. Watching them squirm was a sport for her.

Sienna raised her glass to me in a toast. “To the best damn honeymoon I’ve ever been on.” I laughed and shook my head as we clinked glasses and both tipped our heads back to drink.