I don’t know what I was expecting, but I wasn’t expecting him to agree with her. “Oh. Well . . . I should have brought it up to you, then. I didn’t think the conversation would be this easy.”
“I’m your husband. My goal is to make things easier on you, not more difficult.” He kisses me, but the kiss is interrupted by my phone going off.
It’s another text from my mother. Before I can finish reading it, Graham takes the phone from me. He types out a text to her.
Graham agreed to sign a postnup. Have your lawyer draft it up. Problem solved.
He sets the phone on the railing and, similar to the first night we met, he pushes the phone over the edge of the balcony. Before my phone lands in the bushes below, Graham’s phone receives an incoming text. And then another. And another.
“Your sisters.”
Graham leans forward and gives his phone a shove, too. When we hear it land in the bushes below, we both laugh.
“Much better,” he says. He stands up and reaches for my hand. “Come on. I have a present for you.”
I grab his hand and jump up with excitement. “Really? A wedding present?”
He pulls me behind him, walking me into the bedroom. “Have a seat,” he says, motioning to the bed. “I’ll be right back.”
I hop onto the center of the bed and wait giddily for him to get back with the gift. It’s the first gift I’ve ever received from my husband, so I’m making a way bigger deal out of it than it probably needs to be. I don’t know when he would have had time to buy me something. We didn’t know we were getting married until half an hour before we came here.
Graham walks back into the room holding a wooden box. I don’t know if the box is my present or if there’s something inside of it, but the box itself is so beautiful, I wouldn’t mind if the actual box was my present. It’s a dark mahogany wood and it looks hand-carved, with intricate detailing on the top of the lid.
“Did you make this?”
“A few years ago,” he says. “I used to build stuff in my father’s garage. I like working with wood.”
“I didn’t know that about you.”
Graham smiles at me. “Side effect of marrying someone you’ve known less than a year.” He takes a seat across from me on the bed. He won’t stop smiling, which excites me even more. He doesn’t hand me the present, though. He opens the lid and pulls something out of the box. It’s familiar. An envelope with his name on it.
“You know what this is?”
I take the envelope from him. The last time we were at this beach house, Graham asked me to write him a love letter. As soon as we got home, I spent an entire evening writing him this letter. I even sprayed it with my perfume and slipped a nude pic in the envelope before I sealed it.
After I gave it to him, I wondered why he never mentioned it again. But I got so caught up in the wedding, I forgot about it. I flip over the envelope and see that it’s never even been opened. “Why haven’t you opened it?”
He pulls another envelope out of the box, but he doesn’t answer me. This one is a larger envelope with my name on it.
I grab it from him, more excited for a love letter than I’ve ever been in my life. “You wrote me one, too?”
“First love letter I’ve ever written,” he says. “I think it’s a decent first attempt.”
I grin and use my finger to start to tear open the flap, but Graham snatches it out of my hands before I can get it open.
“You can’t read it yet.” He holds the letter against his chest like I might fight him for it.
“Why not?”
“Because,” he says, putting both envelopes back in the box. “It’s not time.”
“You wrote me a letter I’m not allowed to read?”
Graham appears to be enjoying this. “You have to wait. We’re locking this box and we’re saving it to open on our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.” He grabs a lock that goes to the box and he slides it through the attached loop.
“Graham!” I say, laughing. “This is like the worst gift ever! You gave me twenty-five years of torment!”
He laughs.
As frustrating as the gift is, it’s also one of the sweetest things he’s ever done. I lift up onto my knees and lean forward, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I’m kind of mad I don’t get to read your letter yet,” I whisper. “But it’s a really beautiful gift. You really are the sweetest man I know, Mr. Wells.”