“Watch the sunrise with me?” he asks.
The curtains are already pulled back on the balcony doors—because, duh, you always leave them open when you're on a cruise—and outside, the sky is still mostly dark. That strange, suspended moment between night and morning.
He helps me sit up—gentle—probably because of the way we lost our minds last night—not once, not twice, but three times. My body aches in ways I forgot it could. And my brain? It’s somewhere between thoroughly satisfied and completely disarmed.
God.
This man.
How had I not known what we were capable of? What he was capable of?
Taking a second to slip into the shirt Beckett wore the night before, I step outside and sink into the deck chair with my coffee. It’s exactly how I like it—hot, a little creamy, just sweet enough. Beckett disappears inside for a moment and comes back with ablanket. He drapes it over my shoulders, then crouches to tuck it around my legs.
Pampering me.
And when he leans in, his mouth brushes against my cheek, trailing down to my jaw… and then—just barely—to my lips. He pauses there, his breath mingling with mine.
“Good morning,” he whispers.
“Good morning,” I whisper back.
And the kiss he gives me is long, slow. Both a reminder and a promise.
I’m warm, giddy… almost weightless. And deep down, a little voice whispers:this can’t last.
He settles into the other chair, and together, we do absolutely nothing but watch the horizon lighten. The slant of pale gold across the water. The soft hush of waves below. A few birds hovering around the ship.
We just sip our coffee and absorb the view.
A few outcroppings of rocks rise in the distance. And then—there it is. The port.
Ensenada.It’s the last stop on the cruise, but also the most important one.
I turn my head to look at him, at the conflict etched into his brow.
He’s still not telling me everything.
And yet, deep down, he wants to. I can see it.
What could possibly be stopping him?Whocould possibly be stopping him? Who are those people he’s been working with?
A cold chill slides down my spine but I refuse to let it seep in.
For the next twelve hours, I won’t be theWife in Crisisor theWoman Waiting for an Answer. I am theMaid of Honor. Just Ashley. I am choosing to fold my fears into a neat square and tuck them away, not because I can’t face the future, but because I refuse to let anything cast a shadow on this wedding.
I reach across the little table and gently twine our fingers together. “Things will work out,” I say softly. “I refuse to believe anything else.”
He squeezes my hand. “I just want you to know, if I can’t?—”
“You ordered the blue jasmine, didn’t you?” I shift so I can see his expression.
Not meeting my eyes, he nods. “They’re your favorite."
He’s been reaching out, but I hadn’t seen it.
I see it now.
“Beckett. I’m with you, you know that, don’t you? And until I know something different?” I gesture between us. “I believe you.”
