How to Honeymoon Alone

“No?”

“No,” I murmur and dig my fingers into his hair. “Besides, this, with you and me? It’s an adventure. We’ve been on those before.”

“We have,” he agrees, his lips brushing over mine. They’re hot. “But that was hiking in a forest and watching sea turtles hatch.”

“So maybe this is a bigger one,” I say. “I know what it’s like to be hurt, too.”

“I know you do,” he says, and there’s anguish in his voice. He’s told me several times that I have to point Caleb out if we see him around town. Not that I know what he’d do if I did. “Trust me, I won’t ever put you through that. Never.”

“That’s right,” I say and run my fingers through his hair. “I know you won’t.”

He kisses me again. It’s filled with promises of the future, the excitement of the unknown, and all the words we’ve just spoken. I kiss him back. Because the adventure we’re setting off on?

It might just be my favorite one, yet.

Three Years Later I look at Phillip out of the corner of my eye. He’s flipping through my notebook, filled with the scribbles I made during our plane ride. I’d even brought highlighters, and the notes for each chapter have their own colorful headings.

The taxi driver takes a corner fast, and I grab the headrest in front of me.

“Hold on!” the driver says with a chuckle. “More turns ahead.” The car’s engine protests as we head up the road. To our left is a barren hillside, and to our right, shrubbery. “Okay, now you have to look. When we come up here, on the right.”Content rights belong to NôvelDrama.Org.

As he rounds the corner, the shrubbery gives way to a clear view of the glittering blue Aegean Sea. It stretches as far as the eye can see. And perched below us, on the cliffs, are white houses. Square like sugar cubes and built along the sunbaked slopes, cascading down to the azure waters.

“Oh my God,” I whisper. We’d seen the blue ocean as we flew in, but this view is so much better.

“It’s good,” Phillip says. “I really like the premise, trapping them all together like that.”

I tear my eyes away. “What?”

He holds up the notebook. “The plot? I like it. You have a great story idea here, with them all snowed in at a luxury ski resort.”

“Really?” I say, grinning. “You think so?”

“Definitely. A worthy sequel to your last book.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry I made you read it now, on this winding road.”

He chuckles. “I offered.”

“Are you seeing this? The view?”

“Yes.” He reaches over and takes my hand. “It’s stunning.”

“I can’t believe we’re really here.”

“I can,” he says and smiles crookedly. “What I can’t believe is that you’ve come up with an entire plot for your next book with all the craziness of the past few weeks.”

I shrug. “Me either. Maybe that’s why, though? My brain needed an escape from the party planning and seating arrangements?”

“And it went straight to a murder,” he says, but there’s only amusement in his voice. I’ve fully converted him into a true crime junkie. He was half of one already, as I’d once pointed out to him. Documentaries about real-life whodunnits and assassinations fall squarely into the same camp. In turn, he’s opened my eyes to a whole new world of documentaries regarding historical crime-or even crazier, financial crime. It’s just as interesting.

Now, he’s officially the legal consultant on my stories. He made The Sunshine Murder leagues better than any of my previous books, just by letting me pick his brain.

Sure, sometimes the suggestions are unhelpful. Why would his jaw be tensing so much when he looks at her? he’d asked once, lowering my manuscript and frowning.

Because it shows he’s secretly pining for her!

He hadn’t bought it, but there are some things you just have to be a romance reader to appreciate.

The taxi driver pulls to a stop in front of the resort. It’s a vision of white, lime-washed walls with hints of blue and terracotta. Two giant, knotted olive trees flank the wooden door that marks the entrance to the Winter Corporation’s new five-star location on the Greek island.

“How does it look old,” I say, “when it opened half a year ago?”

“Excellent architects,” he responds.

Inside, the lobby has the kind of understated minimalism that signals true luxury. The air smells like lavender, and the front desk is made out of a single block of weathered wood. Under our feet, the marble is shining. I bet it was quarried locally.

An attendant arrives to take our bags, and I slip my arm through Phillip’s. His linen shirt is soft beneath my fingers. “I can’t believe this is real.”

He presses a kiss to my temple. “Staying in a Winter Resort isn’t a once-in-a-lifetime thing anymore,” he says, and he sounds just the tiniest bit smug.

Our room needs another hour to be ready, the attendant explains with a wide, serviceable smile, but would we like to enjoy a late lunch on the terrace?

“Definitely,” I say.

The receptionist steps around the beautiful counter to escort us there. “It’s right this way, Mr. and Mrs. Meyer.”

Phillip presses another kiss to my temple. “That’s right,” he murmurs. “You’re all mine now.”

My hand tightens around his arm. “And you’re all mine.”

The terrace overlooks the deep-blue Aegean Sea that stretches as far as the horizon. A few seagulls lazily glide overhead on currents of warm air. Next to the terrace is the hotel pool, surrounded by outdoor chaise lounges with shade umbrellas and tall olive trees in terracotta pots, providing much-needed relief from the scorching sun.

“Pinch me,” I whisper. “Right now.”

“Absolutely not,” he says. “That would be very un-husbandly.”

We are escorted to a table right at the edge of the terrace, overlooking the steep drop down to the adjacent white houses.

“After lunch, we’ll be more than happy to show you to your suite,” says our guide and gives us another beaming smile. “Nikos will be right out to take your order.”

She leaves, and I set my bag on the chair. Then I wrap my arms around Phillip and press my lips to his.

He chuckles against me, but kisses me back. “Hello,” he murmurs.

“Hi,” I whisper back. It’s been a very long twenty-four hours. An international flight, very little sleep, and a connection in Athens. But now we’re here. Just the two of us in paradise, on another adventure. There’s a guidebook in my bag. Less annotated than my last one, true. But the bookmarks in this one?

We put them there together.

“Happy?” he asks. His eyes are warm. They’re the same color as the sea below. Dark-blue and sparkling.

“Yes,” I say. “Stupidly happy.”

He kisses me again, gently. “Good,” he says. “That’s my goal.”

“Are you?”

He pulls out my chair and I take a seat, watching him. His face is relaxed. No frown between those brows. He’s handsome, and he’s mine now. Forever.

“Yes,” he says and gives me a half smile as he sits down. “I’m not sure I can contain it all.”

“Just enjoy it.” I reach out a hand across the linen-clad table, and he takes it. His wedding ring is a thick, gold band on his left finger. It mirrors the thinner gold wedding ring and the diamond engagement ring on mine. “You know, this is technically our second honeymoon.”

“It is,” he says and squeezes my hand. “And it’ll be our best one yet.”