“Bali,” I answer quickly.
He smiles. “Where else?”
My eyes widen. “For our honeymoon?”
Christian shrugs. “We’ll honeymoon for the rest of our lives. Pick another place.”
“I’ve always wanted to go to Bora Bora where they have those little houses on the water,” I tell him and my cheeks heat. “I know it’s probably basic?—”
“It’s not. We’ll go on three vacations a year,” he promises. “You pick the places.”
“Three?” I turn to face him and he continues massaging in my shampoo. “And the kids?”
“They’ll come too,” he says, nonchalantly. “Family vacations.”
“You’re going to spoil them.”
“You say it like it’s a bad thing.”
“I don’t want them to grow up to be privileged assholes,” I grumble.
He snorts and tilts my head back to rinse my hair. “We’ll still make them do chores. And their own laundry.”
“Fine,” I sigh. “But only because I really want to go to Bali.”
“I’ll take you anywhere.” He brushes his fingers through the wet, soapy strands. “Come, let me wash this out so we can eat.”
“Did you cook?”
With my hair rinsed out, he turns me around again and reaches for the conditioner. “I thought we could order in and watch a movie.”
“Wanna order something from Rowan’s?”
I smile. “Yes.”
CHAPTER 27
Christian
Lana is in the ensuite bathroom of my New York penthouse finishing her hair and makeup while I button my shirt. I got new, custom cufflinks last month for this. Told myself that the next time I wore a suit or a tux, I’d wear these.
I wanted to wear them all the time.
Silver cufflinks.Lon my left.Aon my right.
I’ve always liked the way her name rolls off the tongue.Lana Aurora. When we first started dating and I learned that was her middle name, I remember laughing a bit. I thought it was cute, maybe because it’s a known princess name. But when she said it how it’s meant to be said in Spanish with the proper accent, I froze.
Beautiful. Everything about her then was beautiful. And now? Even more so.
From the wide grin on her face as we boarded the plane and sat in our seats, to the way she fell asleep on me almost immediately after we took off, to the soft snores that escaped her in the silence of the cabin.
And once we made it from JFK into Manhattan this morning,I’m almost certain Lana was trying not to stick her head out the taxi’s window to look around the city.
I smooth my hands down my tie and the jacket of my suit, content with my appearance—especially with the way Lana styled my hair for the night. It’s at a length we both like, not too short at the side and a bit longer on top, combed and slicked back with a light layer of gel. And my stubble is also at the thickness she likes, coated with a beard oil Lana applied to moisturize and smooth out the hair.
“Lana, baby,” I call out as I strap on my silver Cartier watch.
“I’m done!”
