The zipper gives.
He draws it down slowly.
His knuckles graze my spine the whole way and I stop breathing somewhere around the time he gets to the middle of my back and don’t start again until the zipper reaches the bottom and his hands go still at my tailbone.
The dress falls open.
I know what he’s looking at.
I know he’s seeing the sheer white fabric of my bridal lingerie. That the unzipped dress shows my panties. These happen to be made with white silk laces that criss-cross across the rear, tied in a neat little bow at the bottom just above my butt crack.
I may or may not have picked the most delightfully slutty set of bridal lingerie I could find. It was entirely for my own private amusement, since I didn’t really think he’d get a look at it.
Slade isn’t saying anything about it, though. He isn’t moving either. I’m not entirely sure he’s breathing.
Holding my dress up so it doesn’t slide down my breasts, I turn around slowly.
He’s looking at my body.
His eyes have gone nearly black, the green almost entirely swallowed. He’s got a forefinger and thumb gripping his jaw, elbow braced on the doorframe, like he’s physically keeping himself in place. His other hand is at his side, forearm corded, fingers curled into a fist.
He wrenches that dark gaze away from me and fixes it on the wall behind me instead.
“You should get some sleep,” he says. Guttural. “It’s been a long day.”
I look at his face. The clenched jaw, the deliberately averted eyes. The white knuckle grip he had on the doorframe a moment ago.
“A very long day,” I agree. And it will be a longer night. “Thank you for everything.”
“Don’t thank me,” he says roughly.
He steps back. The door closes between us.
I stand in the middle of the hallway in my open dress and thigh-high stocking-clad feet and stare at that closed door.
He wanted me. I know he did. He wanted me as much as I want him.
I should be grateful he’s strong-willed enough to keep to our agreement. That he’s strong enough for the both of us.
But all I can think is how lonely it feels to spend my wedding night alone.
Chapter 19
Honeymoon
SLADE
From the moment the helicopter sets down in a meadow ringed by spruce trees, I already know I’ve made a mistake.
Not the marriage. The honeymoon.
The honeymoon I booked through a luxury specialist travel agent, because I don’t know shit about taking vacations, let alone a honeymoon. I wanted somewhere that felt removed from ordinary life, somewhere Lila would find beautiful, somewhere that would make this feel real enough to satisfy her family’s scrutiny if it came to that.
The travel agent found a place called Sunstone Valley that she assured me was the finest luxury glamping experience in Montana.
I should have looked more carefully at the wordglamping.
A man in a canvas vest and a broad smile meets us at the edge of the meadow and introduces himself as our experienceguide, which is already not a good sign. He leads us along a soft dirt path through the spruces to our accommodations.
