Too overcome with excitement to sleep but every bit in a dreamlike state, Easton carried me over the threshold of what could only be described as a honeymooner’s paradise. Nested into a ridiculous four thousand square feet, our private, two-story, adobe-style villa at the resort felt constructed from a dream. It was clear Joel came through again in a major way—plush furniture, the best linens, a fireplace, a jacuzzi, an outdoor hot tub, and windows that gave way to spectacular views.
Not that it mattered where we were the second we were alone.
Within a minute, maybe two, of closing the door, Easton laid me down on a soft white bed and proceeded to kiss every inch of my skin before we consummated our marriage in the most incredible way. Wedding rings clinked together next to my head on the mattress, and my husband’s love-filled eyes bored into mine. We quickly lost all sense of time as he brought me to completion over and over again before he succumbed himself. Early morning light fully invaded our piece of desert paradise before Easton and I finally spent ourselves to the point that exhaustion took over. After a shower, I barely remember being ushered back into bed before Easton blacked out the sunlight, and I sank into a blissful coma.
Staring at the black titanium band on my finger, I’m warmed by the memory of rousing to his kiss as he pressed worshipful lips to my occupied ring finger before pressing into me, whispering, “Good afternoon, Mrs. Crowne.”
Glancing over at Easton now, I soak in the gravity of what my ring means, unable to summon any regret. Thick hair whipping around his face, Ray-Bans shielding his eyes from the desert sun, Easton navigates the winding road, both hands on the wheel. My eyes pause on the thicker black band on his left hand as I mentally pinch myself. Though I wanted to stay in bed for more consummation, Easton insisted on driving me through the backdrop he’d chosen for our honeymoon. Forcing my gaze away from my husband, I marvel at the terracotta-smeared mountains and clustered boulders of a similar shade that make up the Sedona landscape.
Breathing in the reality that today, I woke up Easton’s bride, I can’t help the joyful tears that fill my eyes as I slide my thumb along my newly christened ring finger.
“It’s so beautiful, Easton.”
And hot.
But a different kind of heat than Texas hellfire. The AC on full blast in the cabin making it bearable. It’s the feeling of serenity here that has me melting into the seat, relaxed, the atmosphere unlike any I’ve ever known. Being in this part of the desert is like existing underwater, tranquil and slow-moving. Like the outside world exists, but it’s muffled and seems unimportant. As if all of the rest of the world’s chaos doesn’t apply here.
“This is a dream,” I declare over the music. Easton doesn’t reply but lifts my left hand as he has a dozen or more times since we woke, pressing another gentle kiss to my ring finger. The pleasure he takes in the act is clear in his features when he does it. Easton turns the radio dial to settle on another song. We’d turned off our phones last night before we boarded the jet and have taken every precaution since to keep ourselves concealed and under the radar.
We only let the top down when we are miles into the drive on the two-lane road. Our surreal surroundings only add to the fuzzy haze of the hours preceding this. Less than twenty-four hours ago, I was slumped against my apartment door, questioning my fit into Easton’s life.
Thumbing my ring now, I decide the fit is fucking perfect.
Feeling utterly at peace in my surroundings and my position and place with the man by my side, I appreciate him more due to the fact he didn’t want me to miss this, even when we have the divine right to be naked hermits. Still, I fight to keep my eyes on the spectacular terrain instead of the view next to me.
“Space Song” croons through the cabin as Easton drives quietly at my side. Turning to him, I realize he hasn’t replied to me because he’s lost somewhere in his music subspace, far beyond my reach. Silently, I wait for him to come back to me, knowing whatever magic going on inside his head deserves the attention he’s giving it. A few minutes later, he speaks up.
“Sorry, did you say something, Beauty?”
I grip his hand and kiss along his knuckles. “Nothing important.”
“What was it?”
“I said this is a dream, and I love it here, but then I noticed you were doing your thing.”
“What thing?”
“You know, when you blast off into a musical coma at random.”
He chuckles. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m not getting in the way of that for anything.”