Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
GRIFFIN
Iblinked. And blinked again. Sheesh. Where was I and why was it so freaking bright? Had I fallen asleep on the surface of the sun?
I was in a hotel room.
Oh, I was in Vegas. For The Standard. So yeah, basically the surface of the sun.
Then I remembered why I was in that hotel room.
And who I was with.
And what we’d done last night.
I broke into a grin.
Wait until Cash hears about this. He’s not going to believe I married Juliette Serrant. A laugh rumbled in my chest.
But it died on my next thought. Mom’s not going to believe it either. Or Dad. Granny. Gramps. The entire family will think I’ve lost my mind.
Oh well. They’ll get over it.
They’d have to. We were married. It was already done. When they met Jules, it would be irrelevant anyway.
They were going to fall in love with her, just like I had.
Maybe we’d call this morning. No—FaceTime. They couldn’t be mad once they saw her. All my mom would be thinking about were the beautiful grandbabies we’d give her.
Giddy and ready for the day, I rolled over to wake my wife with a good morning kiss…
But she wasn’t on the other side of the bed.
Huh.
The only evidence she’d been there at all was the indent her head had left in the pillow. She’s probably in the shower. I sat up and stretched. Her dress was still draped over the chair.
But her bag was gone, and I didn’t hear the water running.
Did she leave? Why would she take her bag?
My throat tightened.
Hadn’t Aunt Tally disappeared the morning after Uncle Ashton married her? He said he woke up alone, just like this. What if Jules was in witness protection like Aunt Tally had been?
At that thought, my rib cage felt too tight for my lungs. There was no way. Two people in one family? The odds were insane.
Weren’t they?
Or maybe Jules was a runaway bride. Like that Julia Roberts movie. Only worse. She didn’t run before the wedding; she ran after. Just seduced men, married them in Vegas, and disappeared. And what if she never divorced any of them? Would that make me a polygamist?
Wait, that wasn’t right.
If a woman married more than one man, it was called something else. Oh, polyandry. So that would make me a polyanderer. No, a polyandrisser? A polyanderator? Whatever. The wronged party in a polyandry situation.
Could I be arrested?
My spiraling thoughts were interrupted by Granny Dupree’s scolding voice in my head: See, these are the things you figure out about a woman if you wait longer than three days to marry her!
I heard a click on the other side of the door.
Jules was back.
Which meant she wasn’t in witness protection or a runaway bride, and no one was going to jail.
My chest unclenched, joy rushing in so fast it knocked me over. Literally. I flopped onto the bed, pretending to be asleep.
I peeked one eye open and watched her tiptoe inside. She had two paper cups in her hands. From Starbucks. Oh, she’d gone to get us coffee.
I bit back a smile. All that worry for nothing.
She bent over to set her bag down on the table in the corner.
Dang, she was hot.
In those running shorts, she was all curves and long legs. If someone had told me five years ago, when I was at my lowest, that one day I’d marry Juliette Serrant…well, honestly, I would’ve said, “Who’s that?” But once they’d shown me a picture, my mind would’ve exploded on the spot.
There was nothing I’d done to deserve her. Not even one night of her. Definitely not last night. I did smile this time. Let’s just say, saving myself for my wife? Ten out of ten. One hundred thousand percent recommend.
When she turned toward me, coffee in hand, and I saw what the barista had written on the cup, it took all my self-control not to laugh.
Last Night’s MVP.
Debatable.
We could share the title of MVP. Or arm wrestle for it again tonight.
She leaned down slowly, carefully setting the cup on the nightstand, trying not to wake me. When she started to stand back up, I struck. My arms shot out, snaking around her waist. She screamed as I pulled her on top of me. I kissed her everywhere I could reach, my stubble making her squirm.
“Griff!” She smacked my shoulder, laughing. “Stop—stop!”
So I did. I locked my arms around her and she sank into me, her head dropping to my shoulder.
“Good morning, Mrs. Dupree,” I murmured into her hair.
“Good morning,” she whispered back, her nose resting against my cheek, her breath warm on my neck.
We lay there a long while without words, her heartbeat finding mine. So this was what bliss felt like. No wonder my parents, aunts and uncles, and Cash and Charlie were so obsessed with each other. No wonder my dad chased my mom down the hall to their bedroom.
No wonder. I sighed.
“I could stay like this forever,” she said softly.
“Me too.” I kissed her temple. “But we can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because we have a boat to catch.”
“A boat?”
“A boat.”
“What kind of boat specifically?”
“Specifically? A cruise ship.” I smiled, though she couldn’t see it.
“We’re going on a cruise?” she asked, her tone thick with excitement. “I’ve never been on a cruise.”
“Me either.” I grinned.
“When did you plan it?” she asked, voice full of awe.
“Right after epic marital bonding session two, while you were asleep, regaining strength.”
She snickered. “Where are we going?”
“Cozumel. Tulum. Playa del Carmen.”
“The beach?” she groaned as if she might die of happiness. She popped up to look down at me. “When are we—”
“Jules—why have you been crying?”
Her smile faded. “I haven’t. This is just what I look like without eye makeup on.”
No. I’d seen her without eye makeup at the Narrows. This was different—her face was swollen and red, like she’d been crying hard.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” I said. “You’ve been crying.”
“They were just happy tears.” She buried her face in my neck.
“Everything’s absolutely perfect. Of course, it is.
I’m here with you.” Her hand found mine and our fingers twined together.
“And we’re going on a cruise.” But she couldn’t keep her voice steady, and her throat sounded thick, like she might start bawling any second.
My wife was crying the morning after our honeymoon night. Just awesome.
My chest felt like it was caving in. Of course. What did I expect? That I could marry a supermodel and she’d be satisfied with basic, old, inexperienced me?
I let go of her hand. “Last night was that bad, huh? Just… be honest. I’ll work on it… whatever it is.”
Her hand found mine again and she squeezed.
“Griffin, no.” She laughed and pushed back up to look at me.
Her eyes were swimming. “Last night was…” A tear escaped.
I wiped it away with my palm. “Incredible. Really. The best night of my life.” She smiled through a hiccup.
“Please don’t think that. I’m just emotional. Getting married this fast… It’s a lot.”
Oh. She was overwhelmed. Or she was covering, and my doubts were spot on. Either way, forget yourself and focus on her.
“Okay,” I whispered, my thumb stroking her cheek. “Are you regretting it?”
“No.” She shook her head emphatically. “I’m so happy.” Her tears told a different story. “You’re more than I ever could’ve hoped for.”
“Me too.” I trailed a finger along her hairline.
“Did you change your mind about moving to Phoenix with me?” The plan was for her to commute to Vegas for photo shoots.
“We can figure something else out if that’s not going to work.
” My contract required me to live within fifty miles of Phoenix.
There was no wiggle room. But I’d get a different job for her, no question.
“No. Definitely not. I’m so ready to go. Get me out of here, please.” Her excitement was dialed up too high. Like she’d twisted the volume and snapped off the knob. “Kinda wish you lived further away, actually.”
I stared at her, a sick feeling in my stomach that something wasn’t right. But I said nothing.
“I’m fine. I promise.” She pecked me on the mouth. “You’ll never guess who I met at Starbucks. I’ll give you a hint… it was a boy, probably around ten.”
“Roger?” I asked, playing along just to make her happy. “No. Roscoe. Roscoe Bertram Chatsworth III. ‘Bertie’ to his inner circle—which is just his golden retriever and a kid named Oliver who wears loafers. He’s been to boarding school… voluntarily.”
She laughed. “No. His name was Weston. And he had red hair. Can you believe that? What’re the chances?” Her eyes widened playfully, but it felt forced. Every laugh, every expression, every word. “I think it’s a sign.”
“A sign?” I said, forcing myself to breathe. “What kind of sign?”
“A sign that we’re going to be ridiculously…” She kissed me again quickly. “Obnoxiously…” Another kiss. “Perfectly happy. Like, people are going to be disgusted when they see how in love we are.”
“Yeah.” The word came out flat.
Her fingers slid into my hair as she smashed her mouth to mine.
I kept mine closed, but she seemed to want in, her tongue tracing along my lips, asking for more. She was just trying to make me feel better. But the last thing I wanted was for her to do things she didn’t want to do just to make me happy.
I turned my head away, but caught her hand. “I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.”
“Griffin,” she said, her voice tightening.
She pressed her palm to my face, turning it toward her.
“I’m so excited to go on this cruise. There is nothing I want more than to be with you, every day, for the rest of my life, exactly as you are right now and exactly who you were last night.
” For the first time that day, it felt like she was telling the truth.
I let out a long breath. Then I waggled my brows. “So, do you wanna do the hippity dippity right now? Because we don’t have to catch our flight for another four hours.”
“The hippity dippity?” Her adorable nose scrunched. “What the heck is that?”
I grinned. “It’s the Dupree term for love-making. Believe it or not, my granny made it up.”
She cackled, head falling to the side, her torso shaking with honest-to-goodness laughter. “The hippity dippity.” She slapped me on the chest, gasping for air.
I laughed beneath her, the worry slipping away with each exhale.
After about twenty seconds, she breathed, “Ahhh. That felt good.” She took a large cleansing breath. “And yes, I’d love to do the hippity dippity. I’d like that very much.”