He kisses me.
Not like a husband.
Like alover.
When he reluctantly pulls back, it takes a few seconds for me to come back to Earth.
““If you aren’t back by ten, I’m coming after you.” He rests his forehead lightly against mine. “Remember, you don’t have to do everything alone. You can delegate, you know.”
“I know,” I agree, and for a few seconds, I feel oddly hopeful.
Tay appears at my side, bumps her shoulder into mine, and chuckles. “I’ll grab the gift cards and meet you in the bridal suite?”
“Perfect,” I say.
The next hour is a whirlwind of packing up makeup bags and curling irons, double-checking envelopes, organizing gifts, and thanking anyone still standing. Vendors get paid. Leftover cake gets boxed. And through it all, I stay in motion—efficient, helpful, calm.
By the time I finally climb onto the last shuttle, shoes in hand and cheeks aching from too many smiles, I’m almost too tired to think.
Despite… everything, it really was a beautiful wedding.
ONE LAST NIGHT
ASHLEY
By the time I make it back to the ship and down the corridor toward our cabin, it’s late. The hallway is quiet, the carpet soft under my shoes, the low hum of the engines a steady backdrop—a hum that’s just a little quieter than the one thrumming through me.
When I reach our door, I slow.
The suitcases are already lined up neatly outside. All of them. Beckett’s, mine, the huge one I’d brought to hold all the wedding supplies.
I tap my keycard against the lock and push open the door. The lights inside are low, shadows stretching across the bed and walls.
Before I can call out, I hear his voice—muffled, coming from the balcony.
“I figured I’d get locked out. It was bound to happen eventually. It’s gonna have to be enough.” His tone is low, but serious.
A pause.
“Listen, I’ve held up my end of the deal. Just keep my family out of it,” he adds, the edge in his voice sharper now.
Another pause.
What deal?
“I’ll be back Sunday night,” he says. “You do what you gotta do. I’m done.”
Silence.
Cold, creeping silence.
My pulse is hammering so hard I can feel it in my fingertips. I don’t move. I don’t breathe.
Because whatever I just heard—I wasn’t supposed to.
And I have no idea what it means.
The balcony door slides open, smooth as a whisper, and Beckett steps back inside, phone still in his hand.
