Own Me (The Wolf Hotel, #5)

A small army of staff huddle in their hotel-supplied jackets and vests, waiting with smiles and empty hands to collect luggage.

“There’s Mama!” Even with her longer curls, I can still pick her out of a crowd. I wave.

I hear a faint holler of “Abigail! We’re here!” and she waves back, as does my father who’s standing beside her, free of his walking cast, healthy and strong again.

For all the fussing that Mama did about a wedding in Alaska, she’s been buzzing around town with excitement since the bridal shower. By now everyone knows her full itinerary, from the glacier landing to the bear sightseeing trip we have planned for them and the Enderbeys in the coming days, as well as the fact that she refused Penthouse Cabin One for accommodations on account of not wanting to be eaten by wild animals.

I wave at Aunt May, Reverend Enderbey and Celeste, and Jed, who has come solo. Henry sent his jet to Pittsburgh and flew them all here together.

“Nervous?” Violet asks, sidling up beside me.

“Yes,” I admit with a laugh. “I love this place so much, and I want everyone else to love it too. I think I’ll be crushed if they don’t.” I know that sounds silly, and yet it feels like such a big part of Henry and me—who we are to each other.

“They’d have to be crazy not to love it here. I mean, come on.” She points behind us, drawing my attention to the grandiose lodge that towers over the water.

“I know, right? But Mama could find fault in a newborn baby.” And she’ll point it out too. As far as Henry goes, she has hovered in lukewarm territory for months, which is better than that strange alien-abducted cheery version of her last fall and a thousand times better than the version who faked a heart attack to keep us apart.

Violet nudges my shoulder with hers. “Don’t worry. They’re gonna love it.”

“They will.” I nudge her back. “But let’s try to get Mama drunk just in case.”

“On it!” She rubs her mitted hands together. “And just so I have my stories straight, is Henry still my cousin?”

“Yes. We’d rather get through the next few days without her theatrics. But we will tell them the truth after the wedding.” Less chance of Mama deciding Henry is the devil again and yelling her objections during the ceremony. Then we’ll pray Mama can keep her mouth shut for Violet’s benefit. Given her aim to rid Greenbank of all gossip magazines, there is hope.

Violet shrugs. “I like her. I think she’s funny.”

“She is something, all right.” Henry is suddenly behind us, one arm slung over each of our shoulders. “But she’s family.”

Violet steals a bashful glance up at him before refocusing on the coming ferry, getting ready to dock.

I can see their faces clearly now—the awe filling them as they take in Henry’s special place for the first time. I know that feeling. I stood in that spot, wearing that same look a year ago.

Had I known then that this place was nothing compared to the man behind it, who would capture my heart and become my everything.

“So, hey, does this mean I’ll get a matching sweater next Christmas too?” Violet asks suddenly.

I grin as Henry’s jaw clenches with annoyance. “Definitely.”





EPILOGUE





“I thought we agreed to no work,” Henry scolds, watching me pull out my laptop and set it on the floor in front of my lounger.

I’m thrumming with excitement as I wave him over. “This isn’t work. Joel sent the pictures.” He promised to send them as quickly as possible, but I expected that would take weeks.

Henry strides leisurely across the deck to the shaded area where I lay, stomach down. His cerulean board shorts are settled low enough on his waist to show off the cut of his pelvis. “Why are you hiding here?”

“You’re asking me that? Really?” His skin is a rich golden brown after almost a week under the Mediterranean sun. Meanwhile, I burned so badly on the first day of our honeymoon, the only touching Henry got to do for two days was rubbing aloe vera on my inflamed body.

“You’ll be fine. You didn’t put on enough sunscreen before.” Henry pushes my legs apart to straddle my body just below my ass. “I need to touch land. I was thinking we could go to Monte Carlo tomorrow, if you’re good with that? Preston’s there. We could have dinner with him.”

“Can Merrick come?” I tease, earning my left butt cheek a smack as I wait for the satellite reception to find a signal. Had I known Henry owned a yacht that he kept docked off the coast of France, I might have been able to guess his secret plans for our honeymoon. But I’ve never asked him to list his assets and, to be honest, being continuously surprised is more fun.

I already own the only parts of him I care about—his heart, his mind, his adoration.

“Ugh! Come on!” I tap the key repeatedly, wishing my computer would hurry up.

“Relax. It’ll work.” I feel a tug on my bikini string, and then another, and another.

“I really don’t want the staff seeing me naked, Henry.” I add quietly, “Again.” Though the bikinis Margo packed for me leave little to the imagination anyway, but Captain Blain has already caught me straddling my husband’s lap once on this trip.

“I told all of them to stay away from this side of the boat, unless they want to swim to shore.”

“There! It’s up!” I quickly punch in the passcode. Several folders appear. I select the one marked Wedding Day.

I gasp as the first pictures fill the screen.

Henry stretches his warm body out on top of me while keeping the bulk of his weight resting on his elbows. He presses his lips against my bare shoulder. “All right, let’s see how good Joel really is.”

I pause long enough to turn and steal a lingering kiss from his lips and try to ignore his growing erection against the crack of my ass. We’ve been on this yacht for six days, and he’s had me in every position and countless surfaces and seems nowhere near sated.

But right now, I’m determined to relive the most perfect weekend of my life through a screen.

When Joel promised to capture all the moments, he wasn’t exaggerating. There are six hundred perfect moments in this wedding folder, from my first sip of coffee, bare-faced, my hair in a clip, to our last moments at the lodge, as Henry helped me into the pickup truck. We spent our wedding night at the old house with the hearth burning and champagne chilled, our bodies rarely apart.

“Mama looked good, didn’t she?” She was vehemently opposed to the idea of a black mother-of-the-bride gown. “Is this a wedding or a funeral, Abigail?” she’d declared. But when I sent her a designer satin dress to try on, she quickly changed her tune, allowing Celeste to make a few tweaks for sizing.