Hanna I st epped back, staring at myself in the mirror. “That’s . . . a lot of white,” I mumbled, swiping at the skirt of my dress. Behind me, Mom and Liv gasped emotionally. “Are we sure I shouldn’t have gone for blue? Red? Something that maybe communicates ‘I have banged this man daily’ versus ‘virginal’?” Mom let out a quiet “Hanna.” “What? No one down there is going to see Will in a tux and buy that I didn’t climb all over—” I stopped midsentence, catching sight of Chloe behind me. “Are you . . . Oh my God, Chloe. Are—are you crying?” Chloe reached for a box of tissues—one of many placed around the large bridal suite—and pulled one free, using it to carefully dab beneath each of her perfectly lined eyes. “No,” she scoffed. “It’s dusty over here.” Liv paused with the curling iron held midair and looked back over her shoulder. “I realize I’m the new kid here, but something tells me that’s not normal,” she whispered. I had to bite back a laugh. My sister had only met Chloe on two other, brief occasions, and she already understood that no, when it came to Mrs. Ryan, tears of happiness were not a normal thing. “Well, that’s not exactly true,” George said to Liv, waving her off before s eparating a few of the curls she had just placed in my hair. “We could go see the most emotional documentary ever made, and she would leave with clear eyes. But the time a heel broke off one of her red patent Pradas while crossing Seventh? Waterworks.” Chloe laughed, smacking his arm. “Didn’t I fire you this morning?” “Twice,” I answered for him. “You fired him on Sara’s behalf in the elevator when he referred to you as ‘Mistress of the Dark’ in front of that priest, and a second time when he offered to help Jensen get dressed later.” Mom let out a tiny squeak of surprise. “Always so helpful, Hanna, thank you,” George said, tugging a little too hard on a lock of my hair. “In my defense, he looked very busy. I was just trying to be efficient. But as a side note: I should have been warned that Hanna’s brother was so adorable, because really? Tall, Scandinavian, and single? I think I’m the one who’s been wronged here.” Liv leaned down and met my eyes in the mirror. “Your friends are weird.”
“If by weird you mean awesome, then yes,” I said, grinning at her before looking back at Chloe. “I love that you’re getting emotional at my wedding, though. I feel like I’ve unlocked a life achievement.” Chloe dabbed her eyes and sniffed into her tissue. “God, what the hell is wrong with me? This is all just so . . . sweet.” “Did the BB finally . . . break you?” George asked with dramatic awe. “I will smack you with a hammer,” she told him with a glare. “Even in that fancy suit.” “This is awesome for me.” Sara came up behind Chloe and hugged her. “Usually I’m the one crying.” “Because you’re constantly pregnant,” Chloe reminded her, reaching back to gently pat Sara’s enormous, round belly, carrying Baby Stella Number Two. “It sure feels that way.” Sara kissed Chloe’s cheek. “But look.” She lifted her chin, meeting my eyes in the mirror. “You’ve distracted Hanna from being nervous.” “What on earth could you possibly have to be nervous about?” Liv asked, pulling a pin from my hand and giving it to George to tuck into my hair. “You and Will are both thoughtful, intelligent, and conscientious. You guys are going to be great at being married.” Our eyes met, and when she smiled at me, I had to bite my lip to ke ep from getting a little emotional myself. “If any man ever looks at me the way Will looks at you,” George added, “I’ll propose, marry, and ask for his babies right there on the spot. Will can barely wait for this wedding. I’m surprised he hasn’t convinced you to run off to Vegas.” Liv looked at him over the top of my head “I’m not. If he’d ever suggested that, our mother would have cut off all his favorite parts.” In unison, we all turned to look across the room at Mom, who was standing quietly near the window, watching the whole conversation. She gave a decisive nod, and I just about burst out laughing. George held up an authoritative hand. “Alas, I’m afraid I can’t let that happen. I’ve agreed to let Hanna marry the man of our dreams today, provided she shares all the intimate details. We need those parts.” I was getting married today. Me. I’d pinch myself, but if this was a dream, I never wanted to wake up. I looked toward the door, in the direction of Will’s room, and felt the same tug in my chest I’d felt last night. “Is it still a surprise where you guys are going tonight?” Sara asked. “Yes—do you know?” I looked at her anxiously but she only shook her head. “Oh, no,” she said, grinning. “Even if I did—which I don’t—you wouldn’t get it from me. Aren’t you the one who told him to surprise you?”
“Yes, but . . . it turns out the idea of a surprise is a lot better than the actual waiting,” I admitted. Organizing the wedding had been relatively easy; it was the honeymoon that had thrown a wrench into everything. We’d had it all planned out—a week at a gorgeous house in Maine, absolutely no clothes for any of those days—but then a few interviews I’d thought were long shots turned into sure things, and before I knew it I had interviews scheduled around the country and absolutely no idea where I actually wanted to be. After several discussions and what felt like a hundred scheduling conflicts, we’d decided to postpone the honeymoon. My next interview was in two days, so we’d make the most of the wedding night somewhere local . . . and head home in the morning. It would be fine. We’d take it one st ep at a time—one interview at a time—and it would work out. New job, new state, new marriage. I just needed to breathe. Will and I were going to be together; where and how were details that some other Hanna could care about later. I was about to marry the man of my dreams. Everything else would fall into place. One wedding down. One babbling, bumbling bride. One grinning, teary-eyed groom. Two platinum rings in place. A lot of drunk friends. And we were married. Just like I imagined, the wedding and rec eption were nothing but a blur. I was grateful for the constant click of cameras, because I would need those photographs to tell me everything else that happened while I walked down the aisle toward Will, my heart trying to climb up my throat and fly from my body into his. I barely noticed the flowers, or the wedding party, or the guests. I barely registered that it was a perfect fall day and that the leaves were fluttering from trees in the most idyllic way imaginable. I barely felt the press of my father’s lips to my cheek as he passed my hand over to Will’s. All I could see were Will’s intense blue eyes, and the joy that flashed across them as they flickered down to the low neckline of my gown. All I could hear was the de ep, reverent rumble of his voice as he r epeated his vow to honor, and cherish, and love me for the rest of our lives. And all I could feel was the juxtaposition of cool metal and warm skin as he slid the ring on my finger. It was all I could process . . . until he kissed me, that is. Because that kiss erased everything that came before it. You may now kiss your bride. The world fell away. It really did. It was just us in that tiny spot of land, standing in silence and staring at each other, on the verge of sealing this commitment we’d made. I couldn’t stop smiling.
His hands came up to my face and he let out this quiet, overwhelmed laugh. In his eyes I could practically see the reel of every memory we’d built together: our first run, our first kiss, the first time we’d made love, our first fight, the weekend he proposed—twice—and each moment of laughter and quiet between us since. And then my husband bent, covering my lips with his. I should have known better than to expect a gentle peck. The kiss went on, and on, to the growing hoots and hollers of our friends. But despite their shared joy, I could have left the entire celebration then and there. I could have taken Will’s hand and pulled him into a closet and kissed him for days, just sealing this most important promise for hours. After the I do’s, we walked out into the garden with its towering trees and twinkling lights to the sound of our family and friends’ cheers. My cheeks ached from smiling and I tightened my grip on Will’s hand, because he was the only thing anchoring me to the ground. Without his steady touch I was sure I’d simply float away, disappearing into the night sky like a balloon. I was grateful I’d listened to advice reminding me that in twenty years, I’d only remember him. Because it was true: his eyes barely strayed from me all night, and when they did it was because he’d pulled me close and his hands took over, roaming carefully over my arms, my back, my sides. The entire rec eption felt like one long, drawn-out session of for eplay, and by the time I threw the bouquet, I was practically vibrating to be alone with him. It was only when we were in the town car and on our way to Will’s surprise wedding-night location that we had a moment to breathe. “I can’t believe I made it through that entire thing without screwing up,” I said. I’d been smiling nonstop for hours now. My cheeks were sore and my rapid heartbeat left a constant, giddy feeling in my chest. “I don’t know about the entire thing,” Will teased, easily evading a slug to the arm. “I’m kidding.” With a finger under my chin, he tilted my face up to him. “Didn’t I tell you everything would be perfect?” “You did,” I said, stretching to nip at his jaw. “Apparently big social gatherings where I am prominently featured stress me out a little. Who knew?” He laughed. “Hey, guess what?” “What?” “You’re my favorite.” He returned the sentiment with a kiss to my lips, and one kiss turned into another until we heard the driver clear his throat from the front seat. With a self-conscious laugh, I put a little more space between us. I wasn’t going to get carried away in the back of a car on our way to the hotel; I had the entire night with him. I planned on savoring every moment. “Did you notice how much champagne Jensen had?” I asked.
My oldest brother might have the air of the Responsible Sibling, but he did play in a band with Will, after all. I was pretty sure Jensen wasn’t quite as innocent as he always claimed to be. “I saw him talking to that redhead who works in your lab,” Will said, nodding. “Think he might have a hard time finding his way home alone.” He leaned over to press a kiss to my cheek, my chin, before making his way to my jaw. “Maybe I won’t be the only one getting lucky tonight.” I grimaced. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just make a reference to my brother getting laid on my wedding night.” Will laughed against my throat, his warm breath bringing goose bumps to the surface of my skin. “We both know my brother doesn’t have sex, because, gross,” I added, trying to swallow back my anxious chatter. “Why don’t you just start talking about how handsy my dad was with my mom tonight?” Will pulled back, staring down at me in amusement. “How much champagne did you have tonight?” he asked, fingers curling around my hip. “You’re not asle ep on the floor, so I’m guessing it wasn’t a lot.” “Liv cut me off at half a glass. She said it was her gift to you and that you could thank her at Christmas.” Will laughed and we both turned toward the window as the car slowed and then rolled to a gentle stop. He slid across the seat and then turned back to me with a grin. “You ready?” he asked, and I wondered if two words had ever been packed with so much meaning. Was I ready? Not in a million years. I was barely pr epared to handle Will Sumner on an average day, never mind in a hotel room, in a tuxedo, on our wedding night, and with that look in his eye . . . It was a look that suggested I was something to eat. It was a look that told me I didn’t stand a chance. The door opened and Will st epped out, quickly turning to offer me his hand. I followed, and was instantly greeted by the sights and sounds of Rowes Wharf and the city just beyond. “So this is what you’ve been planning,” I said, looking from the boats rocking gently in the harbor to the beautifully illuminated building in front of us. “You k ept this place a secret from me, you little sneak.” He grinned. “You said to surprise you.” “How in the world . . . ?” I started, but just shook my head, hit by a wave of nostalgia so big it took my words away. I’d been to the Boston Harbor Hotel as a child and always wanted to come back, but had no idea how he knew any of this. “Did my mom tell you about this place?” “Well, she did help me organize things a little, but no, she didn’t tell me. You did,” he said, placing his hand on my lower back and leading us both to the lobby doors. “I tell you approximately three hundred random things a day. I have no idea how you manage to retain even a fraction of them.” Our bags had been delivered earlier in the day, so once we had our room keys, we headed straight for the elevators. Pressing the call button, Will bent to place a lingering kiss against my cheek. “Your dad brought you here for afternoon tea when you were eight, and your mother made you wear a terrible dress and tights that
k ept—if I have my Hanna-isms correct—cre eping into your fancy parts? I might be paraphrasing, of course.” I laughed at the memory. “I hated that dress. It was Liv’s, and the zipper was all jagged and would snag in my hair.” He gave me a slow nod to tell me he remembered all of this . . . and my insides warmed. “There were rose petals on the tablecloths.” “Pink,” he added, rubbing slow circles on my back with his palm. I nodded, eyes locked on his before dropping to his gorgeous mouth. I wanted to kiss that mouth, taste it, stretch out across a giant bed while it tasted me. We’d made love just last night and yet it still felt like it’d been too long. “I feel like I barely got to talk to you today,” I whispered. “How weird is that? It was our wedding, we were next to each other all night, and yet it feels like we spent most of the day talking to other people.” “I felt the same way,” he said, and the low rumble of his voice vibrated down my spine. “Between the guests and the pictures, your family, my family, and the guys all stealing you for dances . . . I just stared at you all night.” I pulled him down for another kiss and felt him hum against my mouth. “Would you be interested in some alone time now?” I asked. “I’d like to show you how much I like your surprise.” “I’m a little torn between wanting to stare at you in this dress some more, and wanting to tear it off you.” The elevator doors opened and we st epped inside, shifting to the back to make room for a few others, who smiled at us and murmured their congratulations. Every time I remembered that Will was my husband now, tiny bombs went off inside my chest. I pressed my face to his shoulder, breathing him in as the elevator began to climb. He smelled amazing; the scent of orchids that had filled the entire rec eption clung to him. I felt light-headed for a moment. Gone were any nerves and exhilaration, and sheer fucking want raced through my veins. I did a quick check to make sure nobody was paying attention, and then pushed up onto my toes so I could whisper into his ear. “I know we head home early tomorrow,” I said, already dreading the alarm that would go off at eight in the morning to get us to the airport on time. “So we need to make the best use of our time. Bed, floor, couch . . . I want you to take me everywhere.” I paused, adding even more quietly, “I want to feel you everywhere.” Will straightened with a quick intake of air and looked around us. “Christ, Hanna.” “What? I’m whispering.” Will bit back a laugh. “Have you ever actually heard yourself whisper?
It’s like a stage whisper, done only for comedic effect and meant to be heard by the people all the way in the back.” I shook my head. “No way.” Pointing to my chest, I added, “Super subtle.” Will’s continued laughter was cut short as the doors opened on the second floor, and everyone shifted to let an older couple st ep out. I hated to admit it, but if the looks everyone gave us over their shoulders were any indication, Will was right . . . they’d heard everything. As we started moving again, Will leaned in and pressed his mouth to my ear. “But honestly, I like the sound of all of this.” “I have a list and want to make sure we get to everything.” “You have a list.” I looked at him, blinking. “You don’t?” “Hanna,” he said, laughing. “You are amazing.” A chime signaled we’d reached our floor and the doors opened. I’d barely taken a st ep forward when he reached for me, swooping me up in his arms and laughing as my surprised screech rang up and down the empty hall. “You’re carrying me?” “I’m carrying you.” I looped my arms around his neck. “I thought you weren’t a fan of traditions.” I could hear his footst eps against the plush carpet, but couldn’t seem to drag my eyes away from his face. I was fascinated by his mouth and his lashes and the way my fingers slipped so easily through the back of his hair. “Some traditions must be based on research,” he said, smiling down at me. “Everyone who has ever done this before me surely discovered how heroic it feels.” I gazed up at him. “I’m not tiny, and there are about forty pounds of pearls on this dress. Look at you: you’re not even winded. I am impressed.” Shrugging with me in his arms, he added more quietly, “Also, your tits look amazing all squeezed together like that. It’s win-win.” I barked out a surprised laugh. “The truth comes out.” Will stopped in front of a room, somehow managing to slip the keycard into the lock and turn the handle, letting the door swing open in front of us. “Well, Mrs. Sumner-Bergstrom, here we are.” He paused, pressing a soft kiss against my mouth to mark the moment, and then carried me over the threshold. It hit me all over again: We were married. Will was my husband—my husband.
For the past three months, no matter how busy our lives were—at work, at home, with friends—some wedding-related question would manage to work its way into every conversation. I was glad I’d taken everyone’s advice, reminding myself that it was just a day, and so much of it would go by in a blur. I didn’t remember much about the flowers or place settings at the rec eption, or even what we ate. But I did remember Will’s face when I saw him for the first time at the end of that aisle, waiting for me. I remembered how happy he looked as he watched me come toward him, how every bit of self-consciousness I felt about my dress or my boobs or being in front of all these people just slipped away when I saw his eyes roam the length of my body. I would have raced down the aisle naked if he’d asked me to. His voice shook when he said his vows, and I’ll never forget the tears in his eyes when he said I do. “I’m ready to have sex now,” I told him, unwilling to wait another minute. Will smiled and shook his head, taking the final st eps that would lead us into the suite’s master bedroom. “Life will never be boring with you around, Plum.” I’m sure our room was gorgeous—plush carpet, wide windows, and beautiful furniture, just like the rest of the hotel—but I never saw any of it, unable to pull my lips from the side of his neck while he lowered me to the bed, my dress crinkling between us. Will reached over and switched on the crystal lamp next to the bed, and there he was, hovering above me. “I love you,” I said. “I love you, too.” I was so ready for this wedding night . . . but he wasn’t moving. I waited, blinking off to the side before peering back up at him again. “Everything okay?” “Everything is fucking perfect.” Another moment passed. I took in his soft smile, the way his eyes moved over every part of my face before focusing on my mouth. “Then . . . what are you doing?” “Looking at you. Looking at my wife.” “That’s not really getting us any closer to having sex.” Will laughed and shook his head. “We’re married, Hanna,” he said, and it sounded like he was still marveling at it, too . . . “Say, I was wondering what you were doing in this tuxedo.” I wrapped his tie around my fist and tugged on it, bringing him closer. “Unless you’re just a really, really snappy dresser. But then, you have this ring on your finger, too . . .” “I want to be sweet with you,” he said, palm curving over my shoulder and slipping down between my breasts. There was a weight there, a pressure to his touch I could feel even through the thin layers of
fabric. Despite the softness in his voice, it screamed of possession, of lust. “I feel like I should be sweet tonight.” The delicate lamp threw shadows across his face and I pulled on his tie again, stopping when his mouth was just above mine. “You’re always sweet to me, Will. You make me feel loved and respected and cherished, every single day. I love that side of you.” His smile widened, and I could hear the edge of laughter in his voice when he spoke into the darkness. “I’m sensing a big but in there somewhere, Plum.” “But we have eight hours before we need to be up.” His brows lifted in amusement. “Eight whole hours.” “That’s right. So you can be sweet the second time.” It was all he needed to hear. Watching Will lose his restraint was like watching a fuse burn down. He lunged forward and any space that s eparated us was gone just like that. The heat of his body radiated along mine and I groaned, pushing his jacket off. “Clothes,” I mumbled between kisses, between the taste of his tongue and the sharp bite of his teeth. “Off.” I pulled on his shirt, fingers fumbling with buttons and his tie, in search of skin. Will nodded, helping me free him of his shirt before sitting me up just enough to unzip my dress and pull it down. I wanted to tell him to be careful, to remind him how many hours I endured shopping with my mother for this dress, that the fabric was delicate and could easily tear. But I’d never cared less about clothes in my life. I suddenly felt frantic, like when school and work got to be too much and I thought my muscles might burst from my skin if I didn’t get out and run, just move. It took some maneuvering on both our parts, but with a final tug Will managed to pull the fabric over my hips and down my legs. I bolted up onto my knees, lips seeking skin and greedy hands trying to drag him back down to me. “I love you so much,” I said between kisses. “Today was so perfect, this . . . tonight . . . all of it. You.” I could feel his smile against my mouth, our kiss clumsy with teeth and whispered words and so much happiness that we were finally here, together. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” he said, a gentling hand on either side of my face as he held me. “Since the night you came to my apartment?” I asked, but he was already shaking his head. “Earlier. Maybe since that day on the trail? In your brother’s baggy sweatshirt and—” “And my terrible bra?” I said, laughing against his jaw. “It will never stop being funny that you had Chloe take me shopping. You must have been mortified.”
“You had to ke ep holding your boobs and it made me so sad for them. I wanted to offer to hold them for you—offer my support—apologize for how mean you were being to them,” he said, swiping a thumb over my nipple. “God, I would have lost my mind,” I said, my giggle turning into a soft moan as he increased the pressure. There was one kiss, then a second, one to each corner of my mouth before he tilted my head, thumb pressed to the bottom of my jaw. He moved lower and I heard him swear when he realized what I was wearing, his finger coming up to touch the delicate lace barely covering my breasts. “Chloe,” I said, no further explanation needed. He swallowed and reached up to wipe his forehead with the back of his arm, then took a long, heavy breath, eyes never leaving where my breasts were barely restrained by the soft material. “Remind me of this when her birthday comes around,” he said. “I’m basically spilling out of it,” I told him. “Exactly my point,” he said, gently coaxing me back and pressing me to the bed. My legs fell open and he moved to his knees, hips between my parted thighs and his silhouette framed by the large windows. I looked up at him, struck in that moment by how much bigger he was than me, the way his wide shoulders and broad back were enough to blot out the city lights behind him. I reached up, feeling the shape of him still in his pants, and squeezed, a little too tight, just the way he liked it. With a grunt he lowered his head, leaning to lick at the hollow of my throat. The ceiling blurred and I closed my eyes, lost to the sensation of his mouth and teeth, the scrape of his chin, the pressure where his fingers worked to make room for himself inside my body. I gasped, arching my spine against the bed and dragging my nails down his shoulder and across his back, hard, but not too hard. Not sure if he was ready yet. Will liked for it to hurt sometimes, asked for it. It was that thing that pushed him over the edge when he was so close he couldn’t catch his breath or think or even ask for what he wanted. He only knew he wanted more. Will must have seen the question in my eyes because he swallowed and took a shaky breath. “Make it hurt,” he said. I twisted my fingers in his hair, desperate and de ep and just rough enough that his hips shot forward in surprise. I rolled Will to his back and lifted my leg to straddle his hips. In the soft light I registered the surprise on his face and the way he dragged his teeth over his bottom lip when I reached up and unfastened my bra. Cool air spilled across my breasts and my nipples hardened. Will freed himself of his pants and maneuvered my panties down and off my body. His skin was warm beneath me, his thighs firm and covered in soft hair.
His hard cock rested against his stomach. I pushed up onto my knees and positioned him where I wanted, smoothing him against me, teasing him. “Do you want this?” I asked. He nodded against the pillow, thumbs pressed into my hips, fingers gripping my ass. I lowered myself slowly slowly until he was fully inside. Will groaned helplessly, thrusting up into me while I moved over him. His hands reached to cup my breasts and lifted, squeezed them together before he sat up and took a nipple into his mouth. “Will.” He moaned around me, sucking harder before releasing it, his tongue drawing circles around the tip. He was so de ep, and all I could think about or feel or hear was him. His stomach was slick with sweat where it moved against mine, his thighs firm against my ass. His fingers where he held me down and lifted me up slipped as he held me tighter, tried to move us faster. With a groan, he flipped us over, throwing me to my back, his head down and hair fallen over his forehead. He watched where he moved inside of me, in and out. Harder. Faster. An eternity, but never long enough. “Fuck, Plum,” he said, kissing me until it was too much and my mouth was practically raw. With one hand he lifted my leg and pushed it to my chest. “Jesus fuck,” he said, pistoning his hips faster now, each thrust pushing against something inside me that had me seeing stars. I reached up, fingers grappling for the headboard, needing something to hold on to. Each snap of his hips pushed me further up the mattress and de eper inside that place in my head where static roared and the growing tension inside my lower belly—the friction and heat between my legs—became impossible to ignore. “Will,” I breathed, gasping against his open mouth. I was going to come and I needed to come with him, feel him coming inside me and then again and again, on my breasts and my stomach, my lips. Will reached for the edge of the mattress and pushed my leg farther into my chest and that was it. Heat exploded between my legs and ricocheted through every part of me. My toes curled, and I was coming so hard I couldn’t cry out or even say his name. He rocked into me one last time, so de ep it took the breath from my lungs and I could feel him, muscles tense as he came inside me. Will fell back to the bed and pulled me with him, cradling me into his side. “Holy shit.” I blinked up at the ceiling, waiting for my breathing to return to normal. My bones were rubber; air cooled my fevered skin. I looked over to Will before reaching for the clock on the side of the bed. Six hours, twenty-two minutes to go. Not bad.
Sitting up, I filled two glasses from a bottle of chilled water on the bedside table, emptied mine in a single long draft, and climbed up onto Will’s lap. His eyes moved down my naked body before he took the other glass from my hand. I watched him drink, marveling at his throat as he swallowed, his bare chest, his messy hair. This body? Was mine. Once he’d finished, I took the empty glass and pushed him back down to the pillows. “Now,” I said, raising a single brow, “about that list . . .”