Page 63 of Perfectly Wedded

I lift an eyebrow. “I’m highly combustible right now, and you’re a lit match in that suit. Way too dangerous to be standing this close to me.”

He tugs me closer, slides a hand across my back and whispers, “The feeling is mutual. So let’s burn it all down tonight.”

My heart leaps.Yes, let’s.

When we arrive at the dock, Jaz nearly squeals with excitement at our surprise date. We board the enormous boat, where couples lounge on the top deck, fancy drinks in hand, looking like the type of people who have yachts of their own. It’s one of those high-end tourist experiences I could never have afforded in a past life, but thanks to Vale, I now have access to.

I twist the skin on my wrist, just to remind myself this is real. This dream life is my life now. Nothing could ruin tonight.

We’re handed complimentary drinks as we board and choose a table with an amazing view of the water. As the boat sets sail along the coastline, I lean into Vale’s arm, admiring the endless views of water and a sky so big it feels like we could sail to the ends of the earth.

He leans toward me, whispering in my ear. “Does this feel too much like senior prom on a boat?”

I muffle my laughter. “Senior, as in, citizens?”

Many of the guests are double our age plus a few decades, and the women are wearing beaded mother-of-the-bride gowns.

“Now that you mention it”—he looks around—“we are the young bucks on this cruise. Sorry I didn’t choose the singles’ party boat. That might have been more fun for you.”

“Getting hit on by drunken twentysomethings who will callme the wrong name and slosh their boozy drinks on me somehow doesn’t have the same appeal.”

Vale’s grip tightens around me. “If anyone hits on you tonight, they will lose their teeth.”

“Vale,” I say biting back a smile, “most of these men don’t even have their real teeth.”

He laughs and rubs the back of my arm in small circles, something that drives me insanely crazy. It’s not until a waiter approaches with king crab legs and jumbo shrimp that he finally stops touching me. We feast on so much food that I lean back in my chair, fully satisfied, the remnants of crab shells and shrimp tails littering my plate. A waiter offers me a bright green key lime macaron, while Vale finishes his tiramisu.

“If I eat any more, I’ll be sick,” I say, spinning my macaron in my fingers before I turn to Vale. “Do you want to head to the upper deck and puke over the railing?” I give him a cheeky grin.

He throws down his napkin. “There’s no one I’d rather lose my dinner with.”

Jaz and Brax stay at our table, sharing a tiramisu and promising to join us for dancing later.

When we reach the top deck, a sultry saxophone plays in the corner of the dance floor. I prop my elbows on the ship’s railing, admiring the bloom of colors in the sky, like a woman’s skirt spread across the horizon, all orange and pink taffeta.

“I love everything about this,” I say, feeling better already. Turns out, I just needed fresh air and a short walk.

He slings an arm around my waist, like it’s always belonged there. Like it was made to touch me.

I love being here with Vale, adore being his wife.

I should tell him.Share with him exactly how I feel, how I always want it to be this way.Just us.He still doesn’t know why I turned him down the first time he asked me out, and it’s something I’ve avoided talking about, mainly because it’s about me.

“Vale, I’ve been wanting to tell you something,” I begin, the words a lump in my throat, aching to climb out.

“What is it?” he asks, his face turning toward mine.

This is my chance to explain that he wasn’t the reason I said no. I was. I couldn’t ruin what we had.

“This thing between you and me,” I say. “It’s been incredible, but...”

“But?” he asks, like I’m about to drop some bad news on him.

“Notbut,” I flounder. Wrong choice of words. “I wanted to explain why I said no the first time you asked me out.”

There’s a tap on the shoulder, probably a waiter with more food. When I turn to sayNo, thank you, I’m met with the last person on earth I’d expect to see.

“Anthony?” I gasp.

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