George looks a little smug. “It’s on your phone. There’s a copy in my file storage we can watch on the big screen in the honeymoon suite tonight.”
My mind blanks for a second.
“What are we watching?”
“Carter only deleted the main file. All security footage has a backup. I found it, made a copy, and put it on your phone,” he smiles, pleased with himself.
My jaw drops.
“You’re telling me,” I say slowly, delight creeping into my voice, “that our official wedding-night entertainment is surveillance footage of the first time you fucked me on your workbench?”
George winces at my choice of words. “It sounds less romantic when you say it like that.”
I make a strangled noise somewhere between laughter and cardiac arrest.
“Are you fucking kidding me? This is the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me. Well, second to you marrying me and slightly above relocating your entire emotionally repressed mountain man self to Seattle just to be near me.”
“You’re seriously disturbed.”
“You married me anyway.”
“That’s on me.”
I’m grinning so hard my face hurts.
I hook my arms around his shoulders, still riding the high of this completely deranged revelation. “God, I hope Adrian still has the recording from Holloway’s place too. I want to see our first kiss. That striptease was basically foreplay. We deserve the full cinematic universe.”
George goes still, then he shakes his head once, almost fond.
“That wasn’t our first kiss.”
I blink at him. “What?”
“It was at Azure Tides,” he says. “The night you were too drunk to remember anything.”
It takes me a second to process that. Suddenly, every emotion in my body detonates at once.
“Trevor’s wedding night?” I whisper.
He nods once.
I don’t even know what I’m feeling first. Shock. Hurt. Grief. Weird, manic happiness. I want to punch him in the face and then immediately sit on it.
“You kissed me,” I say, scandalized. “And I don’t remember it?”
“Technically, you kissed me.”
“I did what?”
“You were drunk as hell, Lance,” he says affectionately, pulling me closer as he feels I’m starting to break down. I make a deeply wounded noise and pull back.
George’s entire expression softens the second he sees my face fall.
“Hey,” he says gently, “We just got a little handsy, that’s all.”
I stare at him, my lips already wobbling, fully seconds away from throwing the world’s most emotional tantrum.
“George, we woke up naked. ‘Little handsy’ feels aggressively misleading here. Try harder.”
