And I know—with absolute, brutal clarity—that I will never touch another woman again.
That there is no world, no fame, no fortune, no fucking universe where anyone else exists for me but her.
Adrianna Bosco—no.
It’s Adrianna Thorn now.
Goddamn, that sounds perfect.
Exactly how it should have been years ago, but I vow then and there not to waste time on regret.
Because sheismine now.
My wife.
My muse.
My fucking heartbeat.
And I’m never letting her go again
ChapterTwenty-Six
Adrianna
By the timethe private plane levels off somewhere above the Midwest, I still haven’t figured out how to breathe like a normal human being.
I’m buckled into a buttery-soft leather seat, wearing one of Nathan’s hoodies because my dress from last night is, well, somewhere in a sparkly heap inside my suitcase.
My hair is clean and braided.
My body is sore in places I haven’t felt in years.
And I’m replaying every sinful, careful, reverent thing Nathan Thorn—my rockstar husband—did to me last night.
It’s a lot.
Too much.
And yet, not enough.
God, last night—I don’t even know where to begin.
Maybe it was with the way he washed me in that enormous Vegas hotel bathtub, big enough to swim laps in.
Or how he held me on his lap while warm water cascaded along my sore thighs, kissing my shoulder, whispering things like he was afraid to let the silence have me.
Then again, it could be how he carried me to bed like I weighed nothing.How he curled around me afterward, all heat and strength and security, his arm locked around my waist like I’d disappear if he loosened his grip.
Every time I stirred, he kissed me.
Every time I sighed, he touched me.
Every time I doubted, he whispered my name like a vow.
I didn’t sleep much.
Neither did he.
