Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 147733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
He pulses inside me and my body clenches around him as he thrusts again, driving to the very limits.
“Miles, yes!”
Together, we go down shaking.
Together, we collapse as he drops his head to my shoulder and slowly, almost angrily pulls out of me.
Together, we hold each other, stroking each other’s hair, staring into each other’s eyes like we can see eternity ahead.
“Jennifer Cromwell, I love you more than life itself.” His lips meet mine again.
“And I love you because you are my life,” I whisper, remembering Gram’s letter.
Call it sickeningly sweet. Cheesy.
I don’t care.
It’s branded in my heart.
Most importantly, it’s ours.
On the plane the next day, I decide to let him in on my secret and hand him Gram’s letter.
“What’s this?”
“Gram’s attorney delivered it before the wedding. The letter is for me, but I think you should read it too. What she did was as much for you as it was for me.”
“What did she do?”
“Played cupid, bless her heart. She made sure we’d butt heads and fall madly in love.” I’m almost giddy when I imagine the pointed smile on Gram’s face as she schemed this up.
He leans over, smiling, and kisses me. “Thank God she did. Don’t know what the hell I’d be without you.”
I’m quiet for a minute, trying to figure out how to say this.
It’s our honeymoon. I don’t want things to get too heavy. But I’ve thought about it ever since I read the letter.
“I have to tell you something.” I look at him intently.
He laces his fingers through mine. “As long as it’s good news. Nothing else allowed on our honeymoon, kitten. I’m sure it’s a law in the Turks and Caicos, too.”
My smile goes lopsided as he brings our intertwined hands to his lips and kisses my fingers.
“It’s been on my mind a lot lately. You’ve lost so much in your life. I know that, and I know you think everyone leaves you behind, but they don’t. You were friends with my grandma. When she left, she gave us this.”
His grip on my hand tightens.
“Your dad taught you to paint. He can’t be here anymore, but you’ll always have your art. I never knew your mom, so I can’t guess what she left you. But I’m sure she’s always with you, whether you know it or not.”
“She showed me what love should be,” he answers slowly. “They both did. I never forgot that, even when everything went to hell...” He pulls me into his lap. “Now, if you’re done with the sappy shit, Mrs. Cromwell.”
His mouth covers mine with a kiss that’s warming and dirty and too enticing.
“Be nice. The flight attendant will get upset.”
“It’s a private plane. The flight attendant makes twice the usual commercial salary to put up with me breaking the rules.”
I giggle and he kisses me.
A couple days later, I wake up in our suite and see the balcony doors are open.
Miles sits in the sunlight outside with a canvas on an easel in front of him and a standing palette beside him.
His bare torso is beautiful in the sunlight. He’s working shirtless with a cup of coffee beside him.
I laugh as I pad over.
“Good morning, Mrs. Cromwell.”
“I’ll never get tired of hearing that.”
“I’ll never get tired of saying it.”
“You’re painting here? Really? Talk about dedicated.”
“I’m working on my wife’s wedding gift. Want to come help?”
“Sure!” Too curious, I lean over the bed, find my discarded nightgown, and pull it over my head.
Then I go to the balcony to help Miles with his painting.
I should know better by now, but I’m still not prepared.
It’s me.
Me, shimmering like this fairy-tale goddess walking out of a sapphire ocean onto the beach of Turks and Caicos that looks so much like the pristine white sands below us.
“I can’t believe you like to paint me,” I whisper, wringing my hands.
“Believe it, kitten. You’re beautiful, you’re mine, and you’re useful. Not every artist has his own model. I’d be a fool not to take advantage of it constantly.”
I smile. He leans forward and kisses me.
“Do you like it?” he asks.
“Yes, it’s more PG-rated than the last one.” But honestly, I’ll always adore everything he paints.
“There’s a reason it’s tame. This one is going in our bedroom. I’m almost done. You want to do the last stroke?” He holds out the paintbrush.
I look from the brush to the painting, then to the palette standing beside him.
Oof.
I have no idea how to finish it or what this last stroke even is. “Not sure... I’m a little afraid I’ll mess it up.”
“You won’t. Let me show you.” He hands me the brush.
I take it gingerly.
His fingers fold over mine, gently guiding the brush to goddess me’s ring finger. The last stroke starts as a squiggle. I’m sure it’s going to ruin everything.
But when we remove the brush, goddess me has a bee-shaped wedding ring on her finger.