Every time I remembered that Will was my husband now, tiny bombs went off inside my chest.

I pressed my face to his shoulder, breathing him in as the elevator began to climb. He smelled amazing; the scent of orchids that had filled the entire reception clung to him. I felt light-headed for a moment. Gone were any nerves and exhilaration, and sheer fucking want raced through my veins.

I did a quick check to make sure nobody was paying attention, and then pushed up onto my toes so I could whisper into his ear.

“I know we head home early tomorrow,” I said, already dreading the alarm that would go off at eight in the morning to get us to the airport on time. “So we need to make the best use of our time. Bed, floor, couch . . . I want you to take me everywhere.” I paused, adding even more quietly, “I want to feel you everywhere.”

Will straightened with a quick intake of air and looked around us. “Christ, Hanna.”

“What? I’m whispering.”

Will bit back a laugh. “Have you ever actually heard yourself whisper? It’s like a stage whisper, done only for comedic effect and meant to be heard by the people all the way in the back.”

I shook my head. “No way.” Pointing to my chest, I added, “Super subtle.”

Will’s continued laughter was cut short as the doors opened on the second floor, and everyone shifted to let an older couple step out. I hated to admit it, but if the looks everyone gave us over their shoulders were any indication, Will was right . . . they’d heard everything.

As we started moving again, Will leaned in and pressed his mouth to my ear. “But honestly, I like the sound of all of this.”

“I have a list and want to make sure we get to everything.”

“You have a list.”

I looked at him, blinking. “You don’t?”

“Hanna,” he said, laughing. “You are amazing.”

A chime signaled we’d reached our floor and the doors opened. I’d barely taken a step forward when he reached for me, swooping me up in his arms and laughing as my surprised screech rang up and down the empty hall.

“You’re carrying me?”

“I’m carrying you.”

I looped my arms around his neck. “I thought you weren’t a fan of traditions.”

I could hear his footsteps against the plush carpet, but couldn’t seem to drag my eyes away from his face. I was fascinated by his mouth and his lashes and the way my fingers slipped so easily through the back of his hair.

“Some traditions must be based on research,” he said, smiling down at me. “Everyone who has ever done this before me surely discovered how heroic it feels.”

I gazed up at him. “I’m not tiny, and there are about forty pounds of pearls on this dress. Look at you: you’re not even winded. I am impressed.”

Shrugging with me in his arms, he added more quietly, “Also, your tits look amazing all squeezed together like that. It’s win-win.”

I barked out a surprised laugh. “The truth comes out.”

Will stopped in front of a room, somehow managing to slip the keycard into the lock and turn the handle, letting the door swing open in front of us.

“Well, Mrs. Sumner-Bergstrom, here we are.” He paused, pressing a soft kiss against my mouth to mark the moment, and then carried me over the threshold.

It hit me all over again: We were married. Will was my husband—my husband.

For the past three months, no matter how busy our lives were—at work, at home, with friends—some wedding-related question would manage to work its way into every conversation. I was glad I’d taken everyone’s advice, reminding myself that it was just a day, and so much of it would go by in a blur. I didn’t remember much about the flowers or place settings at the reception, or even what we ate. But I did remember Will’s face when I saw him for the first time at the end of that aisle, waiting for me. I remembered how happy he looked as he watched me come toward him, how every bit of self-consciousness I felt about my dress or my boobs or being in front of all these people just slipped away when I saw his eyes roam the length of my body. I would have raced down the aisle naked if he’d asked me to. His voice shook when he said his vows, and I’ll never forget the tears in his eyes when he said I do.

“I’m ready to have sex now,” I told him, unwilling to wait another minute.

Will smiled and shook his head, taking the final steps that would lead us into the suite’s master bedroom. “Life will never be boring with you around, Plum.”

I’m sure our room was gorgeous—plush carpet, wide windows, and beautiful furniture, just like the rest of the hotel—but I never saw any of it, unable to pull my lips from the side of his neck while he lowered me to the bed, my dress crinkling between us.

Will reached over and switched on the crystal lamp next to the bed, and there he was, hovering above me.

“I love you,” I said.

“I love you, too.”

I was so ready for this wedding night . . . but he wasn’t moving. I waited, blinking off to the side before peering back up at him again. “Everything okay?”

“Everything is fucking perfect.”

Another moment passed. I took in his soft smile, the way his eyes moved over every part of my face before focusing on my mouth. “Then . . . what are you doing?”

“Looking at you. Looking at my wife.”

“That’s not really getting us any closer to having sex.”

Will laughed and shook his head. “We’re married, Hanna,” he said, and it sounded like he was still marveling at it, too . . .