Page 52 of Honeyed

For the first time in a week, I feel like Warren might be fighting to make this marriage more than the farce it started as. So I take his hand, even if it’s clutched around a suitcase, and nod my agreement.

Hopefully, paradise will take our fake relationship and turn it into the real thing.

* * *

Eight hours later, we’re pulling past wrought-iron gates in the dark, the scent of the ocean blowing through the open windows of the luxury Jeep that picked us up.

“This feels like some kind of Alice in Wonderland scenario. No way are we here.” Warren’s thumb strokes the back of my hand where we’re connected as the driver winds us through palm trees up to the front of a stoic white stone mansion.

“I think I’m suffering from whiplash,” I confirm because there was no way we were in Hope Crest this morning, and now here we are.

“Even if you pinched me right now, I wouldn’t believe I wasn’t dreaming.”

We both peer up at the house through the open-top Jeep, taking in its stucco facade and ornate shrubbery. Enormous flowering bushes are trimmed neatly, lining up to pull the eye to the front door painted the color of a sea-green ocean wave. Palm trees dot the yard, and a pair of white Adirondack chairs sit to the left side of the lawn, looking down a sloping hill straight into the ocean.

As the car rounds the circular driveway and stops, we get out hand in hand, a man appearing out of nowhere to start unloading our bags.

“Hello.” I smile warmly at him. “Thank you.”

He nods in greeting at me. “I’m Ralph, the house manager. I’ll be tending to anything you might be needing during your stay. Miss Mauer assured me you’d let me know if there is anything you need.”

Cass is too sweet for doing this, even if it’s completely unnecessary. “Oh, thank you, that’s very kind. I’m sure we’ll be very boring. Neither of us get to lounge by a pool much, so I assume we’ll be doing a lot of that.”

Warren shakes his hand. “Thank you very much, we’re very excited to be here.”

“Let me show you the house.”

Because we’re on our honeymoon and because I can use staff watching us as an excuse, I grab Warren’s hand as Ralph shows us inside.

The mansion, because that’s what this place is, is done in beach coastal decor but elevated, as if the finest of “summer people” reserve this house as a vacation home. White wainscoting everywhere, beiges and light blues, overstuffed couches, fresh hydrangeas on every surface. Palm tree print wallpaper with light wood floors, a scent through the whole place like the saltwater is right upon us, and something that smells close to chocolate chip cookies coming from the kitchen. I can’t wait to get into what the chef—yes, Cass hired a chef for the week—has prepared for us. We haven’t seen three-fourths of the place, and already I am in love with it and equally relaxed.

Once Ralph gives us a quick tour of the downstairs, which consists of a sitting room, a media room, a dining room, a professional-sized kitchen with appliances to boot, a screened-in porch, the pool deck and patio with stairs leading to the beach, and a billiards room, he leads us upstairs to the primary bedroom we’ll share.

“If you want to freshen up, we have a little late-night dinner and dessert I can bring up. Or you could let me know if you want it in the dining room. I’ll leave you to it.” He smiles and excuses himself.

I take one look at Warren, grin, then launch myself at the bed loaded down with about twenty overstuffed pillows.

“This feels like that scene in Home Alone where Kevin jumps on his parent’s decadent bed.” I roll around, stretching my sore limbs from sitting on the plane for so long.

Warren’s eyes light as he watches me, leaning against one of the four posts on the California king canopy bed we’ll share.

“This is a fucking joke.” He snorts, directing his gaze to the other side of the room.

Walking there, he throws open the balcony doors. This bedroom is bigger than the first floor of my house, the entire wall opposite the bed is made of glass, including the doors my husband just opened, and it’s as if the ocean tide might wash up right at the foot of the bed.

“They’ll have to pull me out by the ear to go down and eat dinner. This bed is just to die for. I’m parked for the night.” I groan, mashing my head in a pillow.

At the back of my mind, I wonder if Warren will have a problem sharing a bed tonight or this week in general. He hasn’t tried to touch me, but we’re on our honeymoon, and if anything is supposed to happen on a honeymoon, it’s sex.

My question is answered when I feel the mattress dip beside me, and I blink my closed eyes open to see him lying next to me.

“Are you happy?” His eyes search mine with genuine concern.

I can’t help myself from reaching out to touch his face. “It’s definitely not where I thought I’d end my day, not by a longshot. But yes. I’m happy to be here with you. Are you happy?”

If he says he regrets making this marriage more than it started out as I’ll be crushed. I probably won’t ever recover. But Warren is the one who said we should come here, so he must want to work things out. Hopefully? Dear God, I’m banking on it.

Before I realize he isn’t answering me with words, those big hands are tangling in my hair and pulling my lips to his. I meet his kiss with just as much fervor because I’ve been horny as hell ever since we’ve gone without.

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