Forgiving Lies

“Are we going wine tasting? Kash, you told me I didn’t need to dress up!”

“We’re not going—”

“Oh my word!” She gasped. “This place is . . . oh . . . wow. Look at this.”

I leaned onto the steering wheel as we passed the gates and slowly drove down the dirt path. I had to agree with Rachel. Damn. Pictures didn’t do it justice. We began driving past the villas and pulled into a smaller one that we would be staying in for the next few days. As soon as I parked the car, I turned to look at her and couldn’t help but laugh through my smile. Her eyes were bigger than a kid’s on Christmas morning. Her hand was covering her mouth, which was still open from gasping at everything, and she was looking back and forth between the villa and me.

“Is this where we’re staying?” She spoke softly behind her hand, like she was in awe. I just nodded and enjoyed watching her take it in. “Kash, it’s beautiful. I can’t believe we’re staying here! This whole place is beautiful.”

“Well, do you want to see the inside, or do you want to sleep in the car and just admire it from out here?”

She smacked my arm and hopped out of the truck, bouncing up on the balls of her feet as she waited for me to join her. “When did you do this?”

“I told you, you were gone for a long time today.”

Her expression was deadpan for all of three seconds before brightening again. “Come on, I want to see the inside!”

Kissing the top of her head, I led her around to a side door and let us in. Even I was shocked by what we walked in on. I’d seen the pictures of our villa, but this was insane. The villa matched the vineyard, and it was as if we’d stepped into Italy, but out back was the best view of nothing but pure country.

I could get used to this.

Rachel was turning slowly, with her mouth still wide open, so I told her to go look around and went back out to the truck to start bringing everything in. I was finishing up putting all of the food on the kitchen counter when I heard her clear her throat behind me.

Looking over my shoulder, I shot a confused look at the face she was making. “Uh . . . do you not like the rest of it?”

Her blue eyes sparkled as she fought off a grin. “Oh no, I do. It’s gorgeous here. The bedroom’s my favorite.”

I couldn’t even come back with a suggestive remark like I wanted to. She was still looking at me weird. “Okay . . . ?”

“Good to know we’re on our honeymoon. Apparently I missed something.”

My head jerked back and my brow furrowed. “Uh, what?”

“Oh, so you didn’t know either? Go check the bedroom. I’ll wait here.”

I made my way to the bedroom and stopped short when I finally found it. What . . . in the actual fuck? On the bed were rose petals in the shape of a massive heart, and above the heart, spelled out in Hershey’s Kisses, were two words. Just. Married. Um. What?

There was a letter lying on the rose petals, as if Rachel hadn’t bothered to fold it back up, and I grabbed at it.

Mr. and Mrs. Logan Hendricks,

We are pleased you have chosen The Vineyard at Florence as your honeymoon destination and hope you enjoy your stay here. In the kitchen you will find vouchers for free brunch every day of your stay, as well as complimentary chocolate-dipped strawberries in the refrigerator and some of our finest wine.

Congratulations on your recent nuptials.

Sincerely,

The staff of The Vineyard at Florence

One, I was going to kill Mason after I shook his hand for somehow pulling this off. Two, I really hoped Rachel wasn’t freaking out over this. At the moment, I couldn’t remember what she’d looked like when she told me about this; had she been mad or scared? Three . . . I placed my thumb over the name Hendricks and swallowed hard. I let the image of the girl I’d left in the kitchen be forefront in my mind and pictured the surname Ryan instead. My heart started racing as I imagined it all.

Rachel in a white dress, her blue eyes and beautiful smile directed at me as we exchanged vows. Rachel with my parents and Mason’s family. Us at the beach in Florida. Rachel’s stomach round with my hands pressed softly against it.

I let my focus come back to the bedroom of the villa and blew out a hard breath. It didn’t matter that I’d only known her a little over two months. I’d known that first day that she was a game changer, and I was sure now that I couldn’t live without her. I wanted to marry her; I wanted everything I’d just envisioned. And I wanted it now.

Letting the letter drop back onto the rose heart, I walked through the house to find Rachel shutting the pantry door; she’d put away all the food while I’d been in there. With a secretive smile, she nodded her head in the direction of the refrigerator and my body relaxed when I caught the brightness in her eyes again. She wasn’t mad. She wasn’t scared about what any of that meant; she wasn’t accusing me of anything even though she couldn’t have known that it was all Mason. I opened the door to the fridge and right in the middle was a tray of huge chocolate-covered strawberries, just as the letter had said. And off on a side counter were the wines.

Without a word, I grabbed Rachel’s hand and towed her back outside. She laughed and tugged against me, but I wasn’t letting her win this one.

“Kash, what? Did you forget stuff in the truck?”

“Nope.” I stopped suddenly, whirled around, and knocked her legs out from under her, catching her and cradling her in my arms before she could hit the ground. She gasped and glared at me, but I kissed her soundly to silence any snide remark she could have made. She wasn’t about to ruin this. “I forgot this.” I met her blue death stare and waited for it to soften before speaking again. “Mrs. Hendricks . . .” Wrong name. Wrong. Name. “Isn’t it tradition to carry your new bride across the threshold?”

Her head tilted back and she laughed. “Isn’t it tradition for the bride to be aware that she got married?”

I paused with one foot in the villa and one out. “You’re ruining it, woman,” I growled.

“Well, husband”—her laugh died down and she ran her hand down the side of my face to my neck—“we should probably continue with tradition and consummate the marriage.”

Kissing her lips once, I left my mouth hovering over hers as I took the last step into the villa. “Let’s get to it, wife.”

I didn’t miss her near-silent inhale on the last word or the way her blue eyes had taken on a darkness I’d never seen before. And I wondered if she was seeing a future similar to the one I’d been seeing in the bedroom.

“I LOVE YOUR tattoos,” she whispered softly, and I cracked open my eyes to watch as hers followed her trailing finger on my arm.

“Do you?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

I grinned and helped her by turning my arm when she reached where it rested against the bed. “Who’s the liar now?” When her brow scrunched together, I continued. “I seem to remember you telling me you hated them, along with my lip ring . . . my hair . . .”

Her soft laugh filled the room and I tried to commit the sound to memory. “I was lying.”

“Exactly, so who’s the liar now?”

She shrugged with the shoulder that wasn’t against the mattress. “But those were forgiving lies.”

“What lies?”

“Forgiving lies, the only kind I’ll tell.” Forgetting her study of my arm, she crawled up the bed and rested her head on the pillow next to mine so our noses were almost touching. “You know, like white lies.”

I pulled her closer and let the tips of my fingers trail up and down her bare spine. “So why not just call them white lies?”