Page 84 of The Marriage Clause

I glance over his arm.

Private vineyard tasting. Couples massage. Sunset yacht charter.

I choke on nothing.

He closes the folder immediately.

"Don't," he says without looking at me.

"I didn't say anything."

"You were about to."

"Yes," I admit. "I was."

His eyes close for half a second like he's preparing for battle.

The manager smiles brightly. "And of course, the honeymoon suite has already been prepared."

The air leaves my lungs in one violent, silent rush.

Everett goes still beside me.

The manager, blissfully unaware that he just dropped a grenade in the middle of the foyer, keeps smiling.

"If you need anything at all, monsieur, madame, simply call."

Then he disappears.

Leaving me alone.

With my husband.

In the foyer.

Of a honeymoon villa.

With one suite apparently prepared for us.

I clear my throat.

Everett loosens his cuffs slowly, not looking at me. "I'm going to guess this was my sister."

"Your sister is a menace."

"Yes."

We stand there a second longer than necessary.

Then I say, because apparently my self-preservation left somewhere over the Atlantic, "Maybe there's more than one bedroom."

Everett's gaze slides to mine.

Slowly.

"This is a villa," he says. "There are definitely more bedrooms."

"Right. Of course. Obviously."