He kissed my neck, and I melted into him, forgetting whatever point I was trying to make. One week. We'd been married for one week, and I was still getting used to calling him my husband. Still getting used to the ring on my finger.
“Mrs. Bryns,” he murmured against my skin.
“I'm never getting tired of that.”
The private jet was all cream leather, polished wood, a bedroom in the back, a full bar, and enough space to forget we were 35,000 feet in the air. This was how we were spending the next two weeks: pure luxury, zero responsibilities, just us.
“You nervous about the yacht?” DaVinci asked.
“Nervous? No. Excited? Yes. I've never been on a yacht before.”
“You're about to be spoiled.”
“I'm already spoiled. You made sure of that.”
He grinned, smug and unapologetic. “I do what I can.”
The flight attendant—a polished woman in her forties who’d introduced herself as Claire—appeared with champagne. “We'll be landing in Santorini in about two hours. Can I get you anything else?”
“We're good,” DaVinci said. “Thank you.”
She nodded and disappeared back toward the galley, leaving us alone again.
“Two hours,” I said. “Then we're in Greece.”
“Then we’re on a yacht for two weeks with no interruptions.”
“Thank you for giving me such a good life. And I’m not talking about the riches. I’m talking about the good life that speaks to my heart. The smiles. The safety. The reassurance.”
We sat there in comfortable silence; the hum of the jet engines a steady backdrop. I played with his chain, running my fingers over the gold links, feeling the weight of it.
“Halo, I never once second-guessed where I wanted you to fit in my life. Thinking about not having you in my life causes my body to react like a volcano. I probably love your ass more than even I can understand, but that’s okay with me. If you are comfortable, secure with me, I’m good. But thank you for trusting me.”
“A year ago, I was just... existing. Going through the motions. Work, derby, home. Repeat.”
“We were just existing. I was in the same spot, ready for a change, ready for movement, and my little firecracker showed up and blew my spot up.”
“Now I'm married to a professional athlete, flying to Greece on a private jet, about to spend two weeks on a yacht.” I looked up at him.
“You deserve it.”
“We both do.”
My phone vibrated, and my dad had sent a simple text:Proud of you, Lima. Be happy.
That one made me smile. We’d talked after the courthouse wedding, and he’d been surprisingly emotional. Told me he was happy for me. Told me DaVinci was a good man. Told me he wished my mom could’ve been there to see it. He was planning to come visit again soon, and I told him we’d alternate visits. I was just happy we got to reunite, and we were moving forward.
“We’ll be beginning our descent into Santorini shortly. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts.” The pilot’s voice drifted through the cabin, steady and calm.
DaVinci squeezed my hand, and there was something so tender about how he looked at me.
“Here we go,” he murmured, and I repeated it because it felt like we were stepping into a chapter neither one of us had ever imagined ourselves brave enough to write.
The yacht was something out of a dream—one hundred and fifty feet of sleek white curves, gold accents, and glass that caught the sun and turned it into something almost holy. Photos hadn’t done it justice. It floated like it owned the sea, and seeing it up close sent butterflies to flutter in my belly.
I had seen luxury before, but nothing like this, nothing that made me feel like the world had gotten quiet just so I could witness it. “This is ours for two weeks?” I asked because saying it out loud made it real. He answered with a certainty that warmed every part of me.
“All ours forever.” His tone made it clear he didn’t see extravagance; he saw intention. He saw a celebration. He saw us. We owned a yacht, and that was crazy to me.
