Like something just waiting for the lights to dim before it bares its teeth.
I tell myself it’s just my nerves. My past. My paranoia.
But deep down… a part of me wonders if I’ve made the worst mistake of my life.
The rest of the day passes in a blur, and as the end of the night approaches, whatever jittery nerves I had during our wedding and reception are gone. Roberto is just like he was before. Nice. Attentive. Courteous.
He opens the car door for me like it’s instinct and smiles warmly when I look at him. We don’t talk much on the drive to the airfield, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s easy. Quiet in a good way.
At the tarmac, a sleek white jet waits under the moonlight. Roberto helps me aboard and gives me a small tour, like he’s excited for me to see it. The crew is polite and discreet. Everything smells clean, of leather, and soft perfume.
A few days before the wedding, he told me all about the private island in the Bahamas we’ll honeymoon at—nothing but palm trees, turquoise water, white sand, and no one else around for miles. It sounded romantic when he described it. It sounds even better now that we’re in the air.
I curl up in one of the wide leather seats. The cabin is dim, and the hum of the engines lulls me like a lullaby. I mean to stay awake. I want to look out the window and see the stars, but my eyes close before we even reach cruising altitude.
When I wake, his hand is warm on my shoulder.
"It's time," he says, smiling. "We’re about to land. You should eat something."
I blink myself upright; the window is already glowing with the soft gold-pink of early morning sun. The ocean lies below us—glimmering and endless.
A flight attendant hands me a tray filled with coffee, orange juice, croissants, and jelly. Normally, I'm not hungry first thing in the morning, especially not right after waking up, but the smell of coffee is enticing.
Last night, I didn't eat much during the reception dinner. My nerves were too frayed. Now I throw a glance at Roberto—my husband, and as if he can read my mind, he takes my hand, the one with the rings, and kisses it. "Mrs. Giordano," he says with pride and a grin, making my stomach flutter.
I smile up at him. "Good morning."
He takes the seat beside me and puts butter on a croissant before handing it to me. "Here, eat."
"Thank you."
I take it and smile back at him like a besotted wife. Tears build up behind my lids for having had such weird thoughts last night; tears of happiness, because he's being so nice and polite.
In the distance, the island appears like a painting—all lush green hills and blinding white beaches, ringed in pale sapphire shallows. We touch down smoothly on a tiny strip of runway nestled between trees, then board a private yacht that waits at a dock carved into the side of the jungle. The captain tips his hat to Roberto and welcomes us aboard, as if we’re royalty.
The moment we set out, warm salt air whips through my hair, tangling it instantly. The scent of the sea fills mylungs, fresh, briny, clean. It mixes with the sweet perfume of hibiscus and jasmine drifting from the island ahead.
It’s intoxicating.
This place is nothing like New York. Nothing like the marble and shadows and locked doors I’ve always known. It smells like freedom. Like possibility.
Roberto slips his arm around my waist and points to a villa tucked between palm groves at the water’s edge. "There it is," he says.
It’s breathtaking. Secluded. Romantic. Like a page out of a magazine. My phone buzzes softly in my purse. I pull it out and see a message from Gigi.
Gigi:
Wishing you all the happiness in the world, my favorite bride. Text me when he drives you crazy. Or when you drive him crazy.
A smile tugs at my lips. I glance out at the shimmering sea, the private island, the man beside me who’s been nothing but kind, and type back quickly.
Me:
It looks like that’s where I’m headed.
Send.
Roberto leans over my shoulder, reading. A slight chuckle escapes him when he brushes a kiss to my neck. I let the wind catch my hair and lean into the warmth of the sun and him. For the first time in a long time, I let myself believe this might actually be the start of something good.
