Honeymoon
SLADE
From the moment the helicopter sets down in a meadow ringed by spruce trees, I already know I’ve made a mistake.
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 word glamping.
A man in a canvas vest and a broad smile meets us at the edge of the meadow and introduces himself as our experience guide, which is already not a good sign. He leads us along a soft dirt path through the spruces to our accommodations.
It’s a tent.
A very large tent, I’ll grant it. Canvas, on a raised wooden platform, with a small porch and what appears to be a wood burning stove visible through the open flap. String lights. A soaking tub on the side.
“This is wonderful,” Lila breathes beside me. “I’ve never done the luxurious camping thing before. Glamping? Is that what this is? It’s so nice.”
I look at the tent.
“If it was nice,” I say, “it would have four walls and a roof.”
She laughs and takes my hand and pulls me forward. I let her, because I would follow this woman into considerably worse situations than a very expensive tent in the Montana wilderness.
The experience guide gives us the full tour of the tent with an enthusiasm I find frankly insulting.
It’s a fucking tent.
At least there’s indoor plumbing, thank God. If I’d brought my new wife to an outhouse on our honeymoon, we’d be right back on a helicopter right about now. I’d be booking flights to Tahiti en route.
Which is probably what I should have done in the first place, if only I wasn’t too terrified of my inability to resist the sight of Lila in a bikini for two weeks straight.
Although this tent comes with a wood outdoor soaking tub, which does not bode well for me. Never did I think the “something blue” my bride would have would be my balls.
My mind flashes to me unzipping her wedding dress. Her smooth bare back beneath my fingertips. Those fucking panties that were designed to be ripped off on sight.
I close my eyes against the rush of blood to my dick. Not the time, not the place.
With some difficulty, I focus my attention on what’s inside the tent.
There’s a basket of local provisions on the camp table, stocked with pears and champagne and jars of honey and fancy crackers.
There’s also a card with the wifi password, which defeats the entire purpose of wilderness as far as I can tell.
Last but not least, there are two brand-new wool felt cowboy hats: a larger one in dark brown, and a smaller one in ivory. The dark brown one has two small letters burned like a brand into the side: SR. The smaller hat has two different letters burned into it: LR.
Slade Rhodes and Lila Rhodes.
Lila is delighted by all of it. She touches everything. The wool blankets draped across matching leather armchairs. The lanterns. The record player atop a sideboard.
She pokes her head outside, finds the the soaking tub and says oh my god under her breath.
I watch her and think about taking off her dress and hearing her say oh my god for an entirely different reason.
Then Brett gestures to the bed. The one, singular bed.
It’s a good bed, I’ll acknowledge. King sized, piled with fluffy white linens, clearly the centerpiece of the tent’s interior. One bed, though.
“There’s been a mistake,” I say.
Brett’s smile doesn’t waver. “I’m sorry?”
“We requested two beds.”
Brett checks his tablet. “I’m showing a king suite here. Our canvas accommodations are single bed only. It’s part of the intimate wilderness experience.”
“Can we be moved to a different tent?”
His smile turns stiff and nervous. “We’re fully booked through the weekend, I’m afraid. I can have additional blankets and pillows brought—”
“This is perfect,” Lila says. “Thank you so much, Brett.”
Brett retreats with visible relief.
And then I’m alone with my wife in our honeymoon suite. The one with one bed.
She sits on the edge of the bed and bounces experimentally. Her tits bounce too, and holy fucking hell, I don’t know how I’m going to survive the next few days of celibacy with her, let alone a year.
“This mattress is incredible,” she sighs, laying backwards on the duvet.
All I can think about is how much I’d like to pin her to that mattress, spread her legs, and consummate this marriage.
She’s going to leave in a year, I remind myself. You’re going to let her go. Don’t make it harder than it has to be.
I planned it this way, after all. Clean exit, no one gets hurt, no one loses anything they can’t recover from.
I look at her smiling on that bed and I’m already not sure that’s true.
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” I say.
“You absolutely will not sleep on the floor.” She pats the bed beside her. “It’s a king size.” She gives me a smile. “I know you’re a big guy, but I think you’ll fit.”
My cock jumps, suddenly all in on this line of discussion.
“You wanna unpack now?” I ask gruffly.
Unpacking doesn’t take long. I catch a glimpse of lacy, silky things Lila takes from her suitcase and puts in a drawer and make myself look away.
The sight of those lacy white panties last night took about five years off my life. That little bow, right above her ass crack? Fucking diabolical.
I wanted to undo that little bow with my teeth. I’ve been thinking about doing it for twelve hours straight.
“What’s the plan now?” Lila asks.
Before I can answer, my phone buzzes with a text message. Lila’s phone does the same.
It’s the Rhodes family group chat. Me, Tanner, Walker and Sadie, Rafe, and Josie, along with Dad. And now Dad added Lila too. Sadie’s just texted us a picture of Jonah grinning, his arms wrapped around Lucky, whose tongue is lolled out happily.
Sadie
You’re going to have some trouble getting your dog back. JoJo’s in love.
Walker and Sadie agreed to dogsit Lucky while we’re on our honeymoon, much to their son’s joy. Evidently the arrangement is working out for everyone.
Before I can text back a thank you, another text comes. This one from Dad.
Dad
Wedding photographer sent this. Happy honeymoon, newlyweds!
Another picture follows.
It’s me, kissing Lila at the altar. The picture turned out pretty damn incredible.
Front and center, Lila and I are kissing deeply, locked in a passionate embrace.
The mountains and sky radiate that amethyst glow all around us, but it’s her and I that I can’t look away from.
We look like a true couple. Like a husband and wife in love on their wedding day.
Lila and I look up from our phones at the same time, staring at each other.
“It’s a really good picture,” Lila says quietly.
That’s an understatement. It’s the kind of picture you frame and keep on your nightstand the rest of your life.
“We should take a lot more pictures on this honeymoon,” I tell her. “For proof.”
“For proof,” she repeats softly.