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The gown weighs me down, and I ask Damien to help me out of it, while his eyes sparkle with warm, loving, my-dream-come-true kind of emotions, and his fingers rush to peel it off. I bite down a smile. He locks his hands around me, and I remain with my back pressed to him, not wanting to spoil his surprise.
I grab a comfortable navy maxi dress, feeling ten pounds lighter. My husband—even saying it to myself, ignites happiness through me—changes into a pair of jeans and a black shirt. Back in the main cabin, he places me on his lap and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear.
“How long will the flight take?”
“Around ten hours.”
“Are we going to an island?” I pry.
“Yes.”
He slides my dress over my shoulder and places a kiss on my shoulder blade. I lock my hands around his neck, playing with the ends of his hair.
“When will you stop surprising me?”
His face rests between my breasts, and he chuckles.
“Never, it’s my way of spoiling you.”
“I love you, husband.”
“I love you, wife.”
We cuddle, and not long after, we fall asleep. I guess a wedding does that to you.
I can’t remember ever sleeping this well or this long on a plane, but with all the excitement of the ceremony and the party, it’s not a surprise.
We land, and the heat travels down my skin, breaking in layers of sweat at the first contact even if the sun isn’t as strong in the late afternoon hours.
I expect to see a car, but a helicopter waits for us, instead.
“Why do we need to take the helicopter?”
“To reach the island.”
He grins and helps me up, his hands on my bottom instead of on my thighs, typical.
My eyes wander outside the window. I lose myself in the view of the infinite blue, glistening in the sun, a thousand broken mirrors reflecting the light on their surface. Damien points to an island in front of us, the only one not surrounded by others, providing complete privacy. Like always, he thought about everything.
Tears gather in the corners of my eyes, my heart somersaulting in my chest. On the sand with big letters is written:
Thank you for marrying me.
With love, your husband.
My hand flies to my heart, all these emotions racing through me, and I squeeze his hand in mine. He says into the microphone, “You should think of a name.”
“Damien, every island has a name.”
“This one doesn’t anymore.” My eyebrows draw together, and his mouth curves into a lopsided grin.
“Why?”
“Because it’s yours. It’s my wedding present to you.”
My jaw hangs, and I stammer, “You bought me an island? Are you crazy?” A blush creeps up his high cheekbones.
“Yes, crazy in love with you.”
