The honeymoon was fab-you-las.
The return flight was killer.
I lifted my head and asked, “Where are we?”
“Home.”
I looked to him.“Honey bunches of oats, thisain’tno underground parking.”
Eyes twinkling even in the dark car, he smiled.
Ronald did a sweep with the limo before he stopped and mutedlight came into the car.
Marcus’s smile changed in a way I felt in my belly.
I stared at it and whispered, “What’d you do?”
I heard Ronald’s door open.
Marcus took my hand.
But he didn’t answer.
“What’d you do?”I repeated.
Ronald opened Marcus’s door.
This Ronald didn’t do.Unless otherwise instructed, Ronaldopened my door first if I was in the car.
Marcus slid out and pulled me with him.
My platforms hit gravel.
My eyes hit light.
And my mouth dropped open.
Because in front of me, amongst a dark backdrop ofnot-quite-fledgling trees, stood a huge castle.
Yes.
Acastle.
Just like it had been brought stone by stone straight fromGermany or England or something.
It stood strong, high and proud, with turrets andeverything.
Lit up totally with lights, I saw every inch.
Even the drawbridge.
And the moat.
Marcus’s arm slid around my waist, curling my front into hisside, and his lips found my ear.
“Welcome home, Daisy.”
Well, apparently, way back when, Ididblather onabout my castles.
