The alarm goesoff at seven, and I want to throw it through the window. Justin groans and pulls me tighter against him.
“No,” he argues, holding me tightly.
“I have to go.” I groan.
“Stay.”
“My family is expecting me at the airport in a couple of hours.” I lean down and kiss him, long and slow and full of everything I can’t say because if I start talking, I’ll cry, and if I cry, I won’t leave.
“I love you, husband,” I whisper against his mouth.
“I love you more, wife.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Go, before I lock you in here.”
I get dressed in last night’s clothes because I didn’t exactly pack an overnight bag for my elopement. The silver dress and heels look ridiculous for seven in the morning, but there’s no helping it. I grab my bag and stop at his bedroom door, looking back at him, tangled in sheets.My husband.The most reckless, romantic, impossible man I’ve ever met.
“Merry Christmas, husband.”
“Merry Christmas, wife.”
“Three days,” I say.
“Three days,” he repeats. “Text me when you land.”
“I will.” I blow him a kiss.
I walk out of his apartment and into the corridor. The elevator takes me down to the lobby, and I step out into the cold December morning in a silver sparkly dress and heels, looking exactly like a woman doing a walk of shame. Except it’s not a walk of shame. It’s a walk of the best night of my life. I hail a cab and head home. I need to shower, pack, and get to the airport. The cab drops me at my building, and I ride the elevator up to our floor. The doors open, and I step into the corridor and stop.
And still.
Because standing right there, coming out of Emmett’s apartment, is Jo, with Emmett right behind her.
All three of us freeze.
“Morning,” Emmett says, his eyes clocking the dress, the heels in my hand, the mess that is my hair and makeup.
“Morning,” I say, keeping my voice tight because if I open my mouth too wide, I’m going to either laugh or cry or scream. I just got married, and none of those are options right now.
Jo looks between me and Emmett, and then back at me. “Where were you?” she asks, and I see the smile dancing on her lips.
“Out.”
“With?” she questions, playing the part of the concerned sister, who doesn’t know what is truly going on.
“None of your business,” I tell her.
Emmett wisely says nothing.Smart man.He knows when to stay out of St. Pierre sister business.
“I’m going to …” I gesture toward our apartment door. “I’ll see you later.”
I walk past them without making eye contact. I can feel Jo’s gaze burning into the back of my sparkly silver dress the entire way. I swipe our door open, step inside, and close it behind me.
I shower fast, pack faster, and try not to think about the fact that my husband is three miles away in a bed that smells like us, and I’m about to spend Christmas pretending I’m single.
We’reat the private airport lounge waiting to board the plane to Quebec. Pierre and Issy are curled up together like two lovebirds. Jo is beside me, scrolling on her phone. Everything is normal. Everything is fine. I am not a secretly married woman sitting in an airport lounge wearing a plastic wedding ring.
I get up from my seat. “Water?”
“Please,” Jo says. I head to the refreshment area, grab us some waters, and head back, handing her a bottle. “You got a message,” she says. “Your phone buzzed on the seat.”