He smiles. “Then I say we get the hell out of here before we get caught up in chitchat.”
Something deep inside me stirs. “Sounds like a great plan to me.”
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
Hartley
“Reservations for Adler,” I say, adjusting my jacket across Mira’s shoulders.
“Adler,” she repeats, typing away on a screen. “How has your evening been?”
Mira gazes up at me with a contented smile on her face.
The small town where Mira has been living is just north of the Tennessee border into Kentucky. I couldn’t find a decent hotel within a sixty-mile radius. So, I figured that instead of taking a long drive the night of our wedding, scrounging for fast food in the middle of nowhere, and getting a shitty night’s sleep, I’d book a room at Ruma in Nashville. Then we could get up, have breakfast, and venture on to her apartment tomorrow morning.
After all, I only get 365 nights with my wife. I fully intend on making this the most relaxing, happiest time of her life. There will be no shitty hotels for my wife if I can help it.
My wife.
The phrase slips through my mind so naturally that, for a moment, I don’t even realize I’ve thought about Mira like that.But slowly, as the hotel clerk types away, chatting with Mira about the rain outside, the meaning catches up with me.
A wave of warmth spreads through my body. It is equal parts wonder and ache. I’ve called her so many things over the years, butmy wifewas only uttered in my dreams.
I press my fingertips a little deeper into her side, the fabric of her wedding dress caressing my skin. I know I should stop myself—halt the hope that’s uncoiling in my heart like it’s been wound too tightly for far too long—but I don’t. Because right now, my wife is leaning her head against my side, laughing softly with a hotel clerk preparing to give us keys to our room. I just want to breathe in Mira’s perfume and commit this moment to memory.
“Your wedding?” Janice, whose name I spot on a tag beneath her hair, lifts a brow. “You two are coming from your wedding?”
“Yup. And we’re starved. Please tell me you have room service,” Mira says.
I fight back a chuckle. This is Ruma, a Fenton Abbott hotel. You could probably ask for a specific fish located in an obscure sea in Africa, and it would be delivered within the hour.
“Oh, yes, Mrs. Adler,” Janice says. “We have a wonderful menu available twenty-four hours. Now, let me check something …” Her fingers flurry across the keyboard in front of her. “I’m going to upgrade you at no charge to the honeymoon suite.”
Mira stills, looking at me out of the corner of her eye.
I’m caught off guard.How do you explain that, yes, you’re newly married, but you need two queen-sized beds because sex is off the table?
“We actually have a suite ready to go, and the guests just canceled their reservation,” Janice says, turning a screen toward me. “So, it works perfectly. If you’ll sign here, Mr. Adler, you’ll be all set.”
“This isn’t necessary, Janice,” I say, fumbling over my words. “We’re fine with a regular room.”
“He’s a cover thief,” Mira says, pressing her shoulder into my side.
“And she doesn’t stop moving in her sleep.” I smirk down at her because she knows that fact is actually true.
Janice must think we’re joking because she laughs. “Well, the suite has a king-sized bed, so I’m sure each of you will have plenty of room to wiggle.” She pauses, looking at me expectantly. “So, if you’ll just sign, you can be on your way.”
Fuck. I heave a breath, sliding my arm from around Mira’s waist and scribble something resembling my signature on the screen.
“Do you have the Abbott app?” Janice asks.
I shake my head.
“That’s no problem.” She slides two keys into a discreet sleeve and hands it to me. “Just go down the hall on your left to the elevators and then go up to the twelfth floor.”
“Thank you,” I say, my arm finding Mira’s waist again. I pick up our two bags with my other hand. “Have a good night, Janice.”
