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“Are we there yet?” Laurel asks. She’s wearing a blindfold, and it was a major hassle to hide from her where we were going—international flights don’t make it easy to keep the surprise. Customs, the airports, it all screams about the location. I’m half sure Laurel has already figured it all out and is simply humoring me.
“Almost.” I help her out of the car and into the house. Once I close the door behind us, I lower her hands, already at the knot of her blindfold. “Be patient for just one more minute.”
I scoop her into my arms, savoring the excited squeal, and head upstairs. Zach Tang told me the view is best from the bedroom with green walls and the four-poster bed. His family owns this property.
Project Viper and Acid Churro Dreams seem to be destined to be at each other’s throats and in each other’s business for all eternity. I don’t think they consider us a threat at all, and I guess we’re all kind of friends, but it still weirded me out how casually Zach volunteered this place when I, during dinner at Shane’s house with both our bands present in full numbers, grouched under my breath about bad timing. I got the message from my realtor that things weren’t hopping as they should. I couldn’t finalize the purchase of my own place here in time, so I had to accept his offer to not ruin my honeymoon surprise.
I set Laurel on her feet in front of wide double doors leading to a balcony and push the curtains aside. “Twenty more seconds.”
“Jace, I’m going to tie you up with this thing’’—she tugs at the blindfold—“for hours and hours if you don’t hurry up.”
“Oooh. Is that a promise?” I unlatch the doors, slide them open, and take her hand. “Come here.”
I take off the blindfold and wait.
Laurel blinks and rubs her eyes, then does what I hoped she would—draws a loud gasp. Hands on her chest, she walks out onto the balcony and looks around. The sun is setting, and the evening is warm and soft with orange hues. The Mediterranean Sea glistens just across the street. Dark blue waves lick the sand. Birds dart along the shoreline. Cars crawl along the road underneath the balcony, and a few people are strolling on the beach. The world is relaxed here. Perfect for a romantic getaway. I’m happy I pursued my questionable idea.
“Jace,” Laurel breathes out. “You did not.” An excited smile blossoms on her face, banishing the exhaustion from the flights and the wedding festivities before that.
“I did not what?” I stand beside her and feign that I have no idea what she’s talking about.
“We’re in Malta, aren’t we? You bought a villa in Malta?”
I shrug, cooler than cool. “Not yet.”
She tilts her head. “Not yet? Whose place is this?”
“Zach Tang’s.” I coax her into my arms. “Ours will be on the other side of the island in about a month.”
She sighs into my shoulder. “You’ve got to stop spending outrageous amounts of money to impress me.” She still sounds happy though.
“Where’s the fun in that?”
We stand in silence for a few minutes, listening to the waves and some dance music floating over from the neighboring house.
“I’m going to have to fix that noise while we’re here,” I say.
Laurel pushes away and grabs my nose. “Do. Not. Take your amp out right now. Gosh. Only you’d bring a guitar on a honeymoon.”
“Notonlyme, but since you want to be like this, don’t ask to borrow it.” I kiss the bottom of her palm before flicking her hand away. Gently. “Besides, my little squeaker of an amp won’t help this.” I wave at the offending residence. “We’ll have to go shopping, or see if we can have someone deliver us a real beast tomorrow morning.”
“You want to get arrested for public disturbance on our honeymoon?”
“Been there, done that. The public disturbance arrests, I mean. Not the honeymoon part.”
Laurel squints at me. “I married a criminal?” She knows I’ve never been married before, but I haven’t had the chance to tell her about my teenage escapades yet.
“Not a criminal. A rebel.”
She hooks her finger over my collar. “Either way, tomorrow morning we’ll be dead asleep. I can feel the jet lag crawling over me.”
“Or we’ll be busy.” I follow as she tugs me back inside and scoop her into my arms once more. I love holding her, twirling her, swinging her, having her cling to my neck and laugh with abandon.
I love drowning in her eyes, swallowed by the warmth and love and her unconcealed need for me. Laurel clasps my neck and reaches for my lips with her mouth. I hold her tighter and give her what she wants, my head swimming with elation, crowded with snippets of everything that happened in the last twenty-four hours.
We went for the full package—the white dress and the tux, matching bridesmaids (Jacie was the cutest in her infant version of a green gown with a frilly skirt and the loudest binkie sucking noises), an elegant reception, an irreverent afterparty with friends, blisters on our feet from awful shoes, not enough food and too much cake. What dominates my memories are the vows. The promises Laurel and I made to each other. To everyone else they might have sounded somewhat too traditional or boring, but to us they meant a lot. Us offering them together made them more significant too—two people, one promise.
From now on and forever, with kindness and patience and love.
