Feels Like Home (Southern Bride 5)

The door to the back opened, and Anson walked in with the tray of steaks. Drake followed with the veggies.

“Perfect! Let me get it all set up on the table and take a picture! Mindy, grab the flowers.”

Drake groaned. “Seriously, Sis? I’m starving—why can’t we just eat?”

“It’s one picture, Drake.”

“Or six,” Anson mumbled as he placed the tray of steaks on the table. I took the veggies from Drake and set them down as Mindy placed the flowers beside them. I stood back, got my angle right and snapped a picture.

Or six.

Anson’s deep voice whispered into my ear, “Hey, Baby, wake up, we’re here.”

With a yawn and a deep stretch, I opened my eyes to see the most beautiful view I’d ever seen in my life.

“I’ll never get over how heavy you sleep. I carried you off the plane and into the limo and you didn’t even wake up.”

I smiled dreamily at him and then looked back at the view. “Well, if someone hadn’t kept me up the whole flight making love to me, I wouldn’t have been so tired.”

“There was no way I wasn’t making love to my wife until we got here. No way in hell.”

The private plane we had taken to fly from San Antonio to Italy was beyond amazing. That was our wedding gift from Robert and Jane.

Anson got out of the limo first and then held my hand as I stepped out. A five-story white stone hotel sat on the banks of a lake. Not just any lake—a beautiful blue lake surrounded by mountains and lush green trees. The lake was so blue that if it hadn’t been for the mountains, you wouldn’t know where the lake ended and the sky began. It was breathtaking, and I knew Anson would be inspired by this view.

“It’s even more beautiful in person,” I said softly as I pressed my fingers to my mouth to keep from crying.

“Mr. and Mrs. Meyer, it’s such a pleasure.” A man approached us with a wide smile on his face. He spoke perfect English, with a thick Italian accent. “Your suite is ready for you. We’ve got a private entrance you can use, or you may walk through the lobby.”

“The lobby is fine,” Anson said.

“Yes, yes. Follow me, please.”

The next thing I knew, I was standing on a sun porch, a glass of water in my hand, a smile so wide my cheeks ached, and my husband holding me in his arms as I leaned against his broad chest.

“I never dreamed I could be this blessed.”

He kissed the top of my head. “I think I like this destination you picked to start our lives together as a married couple. You know this used to be a resort for European royalty.”

“Really?” I asked as I took a sip of my water. “I heard they have a beautiful garden here. I cannot wait to explore every inch of this place.”

I felt his chest rumble with a slight laugh. “What should we do first?”

“First?” I asked as I let my eyes settle on the crystal blue water that reminded me of my husband’s eyes. “First, I think my husband needs to make love to me in that amazing king-size bed.”

Anson turned me around and used his finger to tilt my head up. Our gazes locked, and he stared into my eyes for the longest time.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For?” I asked with a chuckle.

“For forgiving me. For loving me. For being my partner in so many different ways.”

He placed his hand on my little baby bump and said, “For giving me our son.”

“Or daughter,” I countered with a raised brow.

Anson laughed. “Or daughter.”

He leaned down, his mouth a breath away from my own. With a blinding smile and a spark in his eyes, he whispered, “Now, about that king-size bed.”

Anson

“DUDE, YOU’VE GOT to stop pacing. It isn’t like you haven’t been through this before when y’all had Millie,” Drake said as he held his three-year-old daughter, Brianna, in his arms.

With a sigh, I ran my fingers through my hair and nodded. “I thought the second one was supposed to move along faster. I feel like she’s been in labor forever.”

Drake laughed as Emmie walked over holding Blake—Drake and Mindy’s 1-year-old son—in her arms. “Brianna gave Mindy hell when she was born, and Blake followed suit.”

“I just want her to be okay.”

Emmie gave me a reassuring smile. I knew she was worried as well. It was her daughter giving birth to our second child. Hugo, Bristol’s father, was also a basket case of nerves.

This past weekend had been insane. I had co-written four songs with two people during a weekend-long songwriting session. When Bristol walked into the studio with a smile on her face and said, “I think it’s time,” I had nearly jumped over the tables to get to her.