We were in this together.
The next twenty minutes were a blur as we were ushered out of the registry office and walked the five minutes to the restaurant where we were going to break bread with the people most special to us.
The wedding might have been just for show, but it was a truly wonderful feeling to have so many people rooting for our happiness.
“We’re lucky to have so many people who love us,” I whispered to Parker as we took our seats in the private dining room of the restaurant Parker had picked.
“We really are. And I’m lucky I married someone who appreciates it. Thank you.”
I pressed a kiss to her temple.
Arthur took a seat next to Parker at the long table and leaned in to us both. “You’re officially family, Tristan. And I can’t think of a better son-in-law.” He was father of the bride, so I supposed that it was only appropriate that he say something to his future son-in-law. But he knew this was a marriage in name only; he didn’t have to be quite so generous to me.
“I have something for you.” Arthur pulled out a cream envelope from his inside breast pocket. “Your mother and I didn’t have a clue what to get you. Tristan’s got a house and I know it’s impossible to buy my daughter anything without her telling me how my money would be put to better use as a charitable donation. So we decided to get you something money can’t buy—more time together.”
Was he sending us to jail?
He handed the envelope to Parker. “Ten days in Mexico. You leave tomorrow night.”
A holiday? Together? Alone?
Parker’s mother, who was seated the other side of her husband, clasped her hands together, delight radiating from her smile as she leaned forward to see our reactions. “It’s the most beautiful hotel,” she said. “Rumor has it, the Obamas holiday there.”
“That’s so kind, really, but I have to work,” Parker said. “And so does Tristan.”
“Tish tosh,” Parker’s mother said. “You two need a holiday. You just got married, for goodness’ sake.”
“But—” Parker started to protest but I silenced her with a squeeze of her thigh under the table.
“We’ll figure it out,” I said.
“Honeymoon? Are you serious? I’ve seen how hard you work. And I have a thousand things to do at the charity.”
“I know.” I skirted my hands over her back, rubbing circles across the silk of her gown. “Don’t worry about it. I can take my work anywhere and we can find someone to cover you at your job.”
She opened her mouth to protest.
“Parker,” I said, a warning in my tone. “Don’t worry about this now. We can deal with it later. Let’s enjoy lunch with our family and friends.”
Her shoulders dropped beside me and I moved my hand from her back, down to link my fingers with hers. “This is our special day.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You’re beautiful.”
“You win.”
Twenty-One
Parker
My mother had taken her interfering to a new level and bought me an entire new wardrobe to take to Mexico with me, which was the only thing to explain the mammoth-sized suitcase being wheeled to our room by the smartly dressed porter. Of course Tristan insisted on carrying his own.
“You think you can stay awake until we make it to the room?” Tristan asked.
I elbowed him in the ribs. “You’re hilarious.” I’d spent the entire ten hours on the plane asleep. “I was tired.”
He grinned at me. “I think we were meant to join the mile-high club, not the passed-out-snoring club. Great start to the honeymoon, wifey.”
“I’m not a good flyer. I think the anxiety sends me to sleep.”
“On the upside, I got more work done than I expected,” he said. “Which means I have more free time now we’re here.”
“You’re not exhausted?” I asked. I could sleep right now in the corridor if I lay down.
“Well now that you mention it, it’s close to midnight and we’re being shown to our hotel room. I’m guessing they’ve got a bed in there somewhere.”
I don’t know why it hadn’t occurred to me before, but it suddenly struck me that we were about to enter a room—most probably the honeymoon suite—which meant we were going to be faced with just one bed.
“Tristan,” I said, “there’ll be a bed. One bed.”
We came to a stop and the porter let us into the room. “Welcome to the honeymoon suite. You can’t see the view at the moment, but you’re on the beach and you have one hundred eighty-degree views of the ocean.”
I smiled, hoping he wouldn’t see me stressing about the fact that one of us wasn’t going to have a good night’s sleep tonight, or for the next nine nights.
“This is your living area,” he said as we came out of the hallway into a large, bright room with a dining table and chairs at one end, a small kitchen at the other, and to my everlasting relief, two sofas—large enough to sleep on—in the middle. “You have a large terrace out of these doors, with a private plunge pool, a spa, and dining area. You also have a terrace outside your bedroom window.”