He moves the hair away from my shoulder and leans in, whispering to me as the goosebumps pebble my flesh. “Because you’re the pillar of patience, I’m rewarding you.”
“Smartass.”
“Look, baby, it’s where we’re going when we leave here.”
“I don’t understand.”
“What don’t you understand? Allow me to demonstrate.”
He pulls up the picture of the luxury bed in a swanky hotel room and hits the editing tab before drawing an arrow to the middle of the bed and writing MRS. HOUSEMAN next to it.
“I see. And, where are you?”
“My arrow would be inappropriate.”
“And where exactly is this?”
“Paris, and that’s after Fiji.”
“You’re taking me to Fiji and France?”
“And Spain.”
“What?!”
“And Greece.”
“Oh my God!” I turn in his arms, and he grins down at me. “You’ve been plannin’ this how long?”
“A month. Still want to replace me?”
“I was kidding. When do we leave?”
“Midnight.”
Tears threaten as I try to collect myself. “You really aren’t a bad husband.”
“I know.”
He tugs me behind him, leading us to our ringside seats. Once settled, I look to our left and see the rest of the row is mostly empty.
He laces our fingers, brushing my wedding ring before he lifts his eyes to mine. “I’m sorry I’ve been working so hard. I promise you I’ll slow down soon.”
“I’m so happy you’re thriving. Please don’t think I’m not. I just miss you sometimes.” Theo is one of the most sought-after modern composers in the country. His knowledge of music and his incredible talent have taken him to great heights in the four years since we graduated. He’s made a small fortune with his advertising jingles and his very first large purchase was upgrading my wedding ring. He says it’s the accomplishment he’s most proud of. I told him it was too much, but I can see the amount of pride in his eyes when he admires it on my hand.
And me? Well, I still haven’t figured out what I want to do with the rest of my life career-wise, but I do my part, even though I’m now married to a wealthy man. He doesn’t hold it against me that I change aprons and hats every few months, though he did very much like my stint as a sex toy rep. That was just for some side money for my newest business venture, which I don’t have the heart to tell him I’ve changed my mind on just yet. Maybe I’ll be a butcher, or a baker, or a candlestick maker, but he’ll be my maestro, always, and that’s truly all I give a shit about. I turn to my husband under the blaring house lights in the Vegas arena thinking about how far we’ve come since that drunken night next to the bushes and tears spring to my eyes.
“Jesus, Houseman, you make me pathetic.”
“Yeah, well,” he whispers warmly, “you make me happy.”
“I meant that too,” I sniff. “I love you…a ridiculous amount.”
“I know.”
“Forever.”
He squeezes my hand. “And ever, Crazy.”