Dawson plants a kiss to the top of my head. “I’ll hold you to it.” He takes both my hands in his as Marsha speaks up once again, telling us it’s time to prepare for our luxury date. A date that, she adds, requires another helicopter ride to a jet that will take us to one of three destinations. But first, she tells us, we get to choose.
She lists three getaways that include, Marsha is sure to add, our own separate rooms. Denver, Vegas, or Oregon. Each destination has fun details attached, but one stands out to me above the others.
“Which one should we choose?” Dawson asks with a lifted brow.
“I’m kind of leaning toward one,” I say. “Can you guess which it is?”
Dawson narrows his eyes at me and twists his lips. “Vegas?”
I nod. “Vegas. Which one doyouwant?” I ask.
“I was actually thinking Vegas too,” he says. “I’d say we’ve been dealt a pretty good hand so far, one I’m not about to fold.” He winks as if there’s more meaning to that than I realize. “We may as well ride out our winning streak.”
“True,” I say. “Vegas, it is.” I push up on my toes to plant a kiss on his lips. When his hands slide over my hips, I can’t help but revel in the wonderful warmth it brings.
I reflect on the combination of events leading up to this moment and feel a pressing urge to say what’s on my heart. What’s been forming in my heart for the last several hours.
I bring our kiss to a reluctant end and tip back slightly. His eyes crack open enough for him to give me that dreamy look of his.
I lick my lips, then summon a breath of courage.
“Dawson,” I start to say, but he speaks at the same time.
“I love you, Brinley,” he blurts.
I laugh, sniff, and grin wide enough to make my face hurt. “I love you too,” I assure.
And as Dawson presses his perfect lips to mine, the piano music starts up once more. I thought the curtain trick was impressive enough considering we’re in a literal yacht garage, but suddenly confetti floats from the ceiling and trickles over us like a dream.
But this, I remind myself, is not some temporary illusion destined to end when the alarm clock chimes. What Dawson and I have is real, something I hope to spend a lifetime growing.
I add that to the list of things I want to say, and for now, enjoy the wonderful bliss of his kiss.
EPILOGUE
Dawson
“This is more charming than I ever could have imagined,” Brinley gushes as we explore the grounds of our first honeymoon spot. A stone walkway lined with matching pillars leads us from the back patio to the pool and garden area. Wood beams cross the long path overhead, hosting lush, green vines with succulent flowers and leaves.
“I’m glad you like it,” I say, lifting our locked hands to plant a kiss on her wedding ring. “Mia bella sposa,” I say with a grin. I’m told it means my beautiful bride in Italian.
“Mio bello sposo.” she says back with a wink that makes heat stir within me.
“So,” I say, turning my thoughts to the itinerary, “we have three nights here at the cottage, another three nights at the townhouse in downtown Rome, and the remaining week and a half in that villa we fell in love with online. Hopefully, it’s as nice as we think.”
“I’m sure it will be,” Brinley says, lifting her chin to take in the twisting vines overhead. The growth surrounding us is so thick, that it feels like we’re in some forgotten passageway where humanity has given way to nature’s botanicals.
“This place is already blowing me away,” Brinley says. “I can’t believe you really booked it.”
“Of course, I did,” I tell her. “I just had to make you think I wasn’t as enchanted by its charm as you were.” The truth is, when Brinley spotted the cottage online, with its hidden gardens and nearby farmhouse and stable, I knew it’d be perfect for our first few nights. It’s off the beaten path and will give us all the privacy we desire. A thought that makes me anxious to get the outdoor tour over with so I can carry Brinley over the threshold, usher her to the nearest bed, and have my way with her.
She squeezes my hand. “I can’t believe how perfect our wedding was,” she says. “Can you?”
I grin. “Best day of my life. So far,” I add with a wink. Inwardly, I reflect on the events of the wedding as well. To say it went off without a hitch would be a stretch. The flowers were two shades lighter than we wanted, which made them clash with the linens, the grand chandelier had a flickering frenzy until we got someone to replace the bulbs, and the ushers meant to keep the event private were caught snapping photos with their phones.
But Brinley is no bridezilla. She was gracious about the flower mix-up—an issue the floral specialist rectified within the hour, and understanding about the light fixture, joking that if it were Libby and Nick’s wedding, the chandelier would have been just right. Which reminds me…
“Hey, did you remember to bring the um…cheer uniform?” I ask with a lifted brow.
