“I can’t believe you’re looking forward to fighting. What a weirdo.”
“Only the good fights, the ones where you end up coming. I didn’t ask for the rest of your life thinking short-term. Now we have a plan.” He kisses the tip of my nose. “Feel better?”
“Currently, you’re the reason for the literal pain in my ass.”
A wicked gleam shines in his eyes. “But you liked it. You got so into it and went freaky!” He morphs his voice as I slap his chest.
“It will be an anniversary type of occurrence.”
He flashes me a brilliant grin. “We’ll see about that.”
Images of our imminent future, of the backlash we’re about to endure threaten to creep in, and despite wanting to keep inside our bliss bubble, I can’t help my next question. “Are we being young, reckless, and na?ve?”
He bites his lip briefly. “Maybe a little, but we are young, in love, and fucking happy, so it’s worth it, right?”
“So worth it.”
“Good, now we can drop the adulting because it’s time to get ready for dinner.”
I glance at the clock as he walks over to my suitcase, pulls out the lone purple negligee I packed and tosses it to me.
“What restaurant is open at midnight and serves its patrons wearing lingerie?”
I slide it on as he tugs on a pair of boxers before giving me the come-hither finger. I trail him to the door before he opens it. On the other side sits a waiting cart, several chilled champagne bottles submerged in a large ice bucket. Two large covered platters rest in the center. Assorted chocolates and sweets are arranged around a tiny vase full of baby pink roses. Six unlit tapered candles sit in crystal holders next to it.
“This is incredible. I’ve been with you every second. How did you do this?” I can’t help my giddiness. Easton grins and retrieves the rolling cart, parking it next to the twelve-seater dining table in our villa. We quickly unload the haul, and I light the candles and lower the lights as he takes a seat at the head of the table, holding out his hand to me. I take it, and he pulls me into his lap before lifting both cloche covers to unveil several steaming crab legs and melted butter.
“You’re so damn predictable, Easton,” I utter, as my genuine appreciation rings clear in my voice.
Grinning, he moves my wet hair from the nape of my neck and presses a kiss to it. “No more talk of tomorrow. This is a time of celebration, so no more adulting tonight, deal?”
“Deal,” I concede easily as candlelight flickers over his profile while he untwists the wire cap on a champagne bottle before popping it. The overspray oozes down the side of the bottle, and he flicks it off like a pro before generously pouring two glasses. “Good, because tonight, we’re dining like Crownes.”
Natalie
I wake up in a stupor as Easton eases out of my grip. Moaning due to the arrival of a rapidly progressive champagne hangover, I blindly reach for the bottle next to the bed.
Gulping down the lukewarm water, I pray it does the trick as memorable pieces of our private party last night come back to me. As promised, we dined like kings on succulent crab and chocolates before having a private jam session. After washing myself clean of crab debris, I joined Easton in front of the adobe-styled fireplace just as he lit the match. Cushions and pillows surrounding him for support, he pulled me to sit between his spread legs while situating my newly purchased drum in my lap. Using his skilled hands, he guided mine, which held the sticks in an effort to help me grasp the basics.
Easton kept the champagne flowing, which in turn prematurely ended my lesson when I lost all semblance of rhythm. By the time we polished off the second bottle, an overly animated version of Easton made his first appearance—a version I quickly decided was a favorite. By the time we uncorked the third, we were exchanging sloppy words and kisses, consuming the last drop on the roof of our villa. Feeling no pain, tangled together in a large chaise lounge, we stargazed while conjuring up more immediate plans for our future.
Easton’s demand for a longer honeymoon in a more exotic place had us chattering in excitement, the sky above us feeling like our only limit as we discussed the possibilities of where and when.
Sometime after, I passed out only to wake up dangling in my husband’s arms as he carried me to bed. During the night, we’d stirred at the same time and reached for each other in the dark. It was as if our bodies were aware of our need for the other before our senses kicked in. When they did, we collided into motion, hands exploring, tongues dueling as we made love until dawn crept into our room. A mental snapshot of Easton hovering above me, bathed in the blue morning light flits in just as he calls for me to wake up from somewhere in the villa. I groan in reply and move to sit, head screaming.
It’s the muffled sound of Joel’s voice that has me coming to, just before a door slams. Easton’s curses precede him before he stalks back into our bedroom.
“What’s going on?” I groan as the thumping reminder of the amount of champagne we ingested continues to batter me.
“Baby, get dressed,” Easton orders, the alarm in his tone putting me on guard.
“What is it? What did Joel say?” Tightening the knot on my resort-provided terry cloth robe, I walk over to my suitcase and fish out my last clean pair of panties. I slide them on and turn to see Easton pulling on a pair of jeans as the reality of today’s dreaded task sets in.
We’re set to jet out of Sedona later this afternoon on separate planes with the intent to explain ourselves to our parents. The night we got married—with both of us knowing full well marriage licenses become a matter of public record as soon as they’re filed—we begged the officiant to wait until the very last minute in an attempt to buy us some time.
Knowing the threat the outside world poses to us, and along with turning off our phones, Easton instructed Joel not to update us if the news broke. We both banked on the slight chance we would be able to reach our parents before we made headlines. “Easton, tell me. How bad is it? What did Joel say?”
He hastily pulls on a T-shirt, expression full of dread, just as yelling ensues outside the door. “He’s here.”
The question of who is answered when my father’s voice booms in reply to Joel’s. All the blood drains from my face as our honeymoon bubble bursts in the same instant.
“Oh my God,” I cup my mouth in horror, the impact of what’s happening jerking me into full consciousness.
“Fuck,” Easton mutters. “How in the hell did he find us?”
“He’s a seasoned journalist and very resourceful, but if he knows, that means we made headlines and—”
“—my parents know too,” Easton finishes, his venom meant for his suspect. “That motherfucker, I knew he wouldn’t sit on our certificate.”
“We could have been outed at the concert,” I say, fairly certain someone might have seen or captured our overindulgent lip-lock on the side of the stage. Anyone with footage like that would be granted a substantial payday for it.
Panicked tears threaten as I imagine my father laying witness to his worst nightmare while I scan our destroyed room, knowing the rest of the villa is in similar shape. We’d opted out of maid service to remain in our cocoon, and because we did, the state of our temporary home is damning. Forgoing a useless attempt to clean up, I rush to a nearby floor-to-ceiling mirror. Frantically running my fingers through my sex-tousled hair, I spot several unmistakable love bites on my neck and chest. Pulling my robe tighter, Joel’s voice comes in more clearly on the other side of the front door. “Sir, please, calm down.”
“Open the fucking door! Natalie!” My father’s reply elevates my panic into a full-on attack.