Page 172 of Mr. Wicked

His attention.

His constant, irrevocable love.

And as I wrapped my arm around his waist, I could feel the warmth of his skin without a chunk of plaster separating us. I could wear a sexy dress for my husband without my skin covered in purple bruises.

I could take a deep breath and bear his weight on top of me without the relentless pain in my abdomen.

I was finally healed.

Our honeymoon wasn’t just a celebration of our marriage.

It was a celebration of my life.

That I’d survived.

That I was physically and mentally moving on from the accident.

We boarded the plane, and my head was filled with dreams of what these next two weeks were going to be like. The food we were going to eat. The wine we were going to drink.

The beauty we were going to experience.

Inside the plane, the monitor in the cabin, which I assumed normally showed the flight path and destination, was blacked out. The flight attendant and the two pilots didn’t mention anything about where we were going or how long it would take to get there.

I knew absolutely nothing.

But when we were about nine hours into the flight, one of the pilots announced that we were starting our descent, and not a minute later, a text came across my phone.

Sloane: I just looked over Saturday’s sales numbers and it was a record-breaking night. Highest sales I’ve had since I’ve owned the bar. Can I hire you as a weekly guest bartender, PLEASE?!?

Me: I make terrible drinks. You don’t want me.

Sloane: Stop that ... I can teach you.

Me: Better idea—how about I come a few times a month and just hang behind the bar instead? I’ll even post a TikTok to let my followers know I’ll be there. Something tells me they’d like that better than if I charged them for drinks that I butchered and they hated (which they did, I saw their faces, omg, they haaaated them, and don’t tell me it’s because I only had one hand, we both know a second hand wouldn’t have made them taste better).

Sloane: I’m not going to lie, that extra dirty martini you made me at the end of the night was pretty rancid.

Me: SEE!

Me: By the way, I knew things were going to explode once you took over the bar. Glad I can say I was right.

Sloane: A lot of that is due to you.

Me: No way, I’m not taking any credit. You know what the patrons are looking for and you’ve reshaped the whole place. It’s nothing like it was when I worked there. It’s a million times better. Your success is because of YOU.

Sloane: If I had even an ounce of sappiness in my body, I’d be aww-ing right now. But I don’t, so I’m going to say, the second you return from your honeymoon, I better be seeing you.

Me: You got it. XO

“First stop,” Grayson gently growled in my ear as I set my phone down, “is the Amalfi Coast.”

I glanced out the window, the plane coming to a halt at the end of the runway. “Oh my God.” I turned toward him. “You’re kidding? This has been on my travel bucket list and—”

“I know. And for the next five days, before we move on to surprise location number two, you’re going to experience every bit of it.”

“Grayson . . .”

He cupped my chin, holding our faces close together. “Wife ...”

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