Samantha shoulders Carter out of the way. “You haven’t had a panic attack in ages, babe. What do you need?”

  I flick my eyes to her, but they’re drawn back to Carter. His blue eyes are what I need, his forehead kiss is what I want, his strong arms wrapped around me are a relief . . . and that’s exactly what he gives me. A moment later—or at least it feels like that to me—and I’m truly recovered.

  Carter releases me in phases until he’s far enough away to search my eyes for clarity. He must be reassured by what he sees because he lets go. I don’t know how we got here, but I’m sitting in a chair and Carter is kneeling in front of me. Behind him stand Zack, Samantha, and Kayla. Judge Warren must’ve made an escape during my panic attack.

  “I’m okay now. Sorry,” I tell everyone.

  Samantha frowns. “Don’t do that. No need for apologies. Here.” She holds out a glass of water, and I take it, bringing it shakily to my mouth. Sam swats Carter’s shoulder. “Help your wife,” she orders, pointing at me as if we don’t all know who Carter’s wife is.

  I’m Carter’s wife!

  But Carter doesn’t move toward the glass. He smiles, eyes locked on mine. “She’s got it. My girl’s strong.”

  His faith helps me find additional strength, and I manage to drink the water on my own without spilling a drop. “Thanks.”

  I’m talking to Carter, but Sam makes a harrumph noise that means ‘you’re welcome’ and takes the glass back.

  “Do you want something to eat? A little sugar, maybe?” Carter suggests. I nod, and Zack disappears, coming back a moment later with a small plate of cheese cubes, crackers, and chocolate squares that he hands to Carter. Delicately, he feeds me a chocolate, and I chew slowly. When I swallow, he smiles and then holds out a small cracker.

  He feeds me a few more bites, each going down easier. “Better?” Carter asks.

  “Better,” I tell him gratefully. “Just tired.”

  Kayla says quietly to Samantha, “We should go. I think the honeymoon night might be a little difficult with us fussin’ about. And I can tell the reception’s going to be a bore if those snacks are the spread.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Zack tells Kayla.

  I glance up to Samantha, a silent communication telling her what she needs to know. She locks her elbow through Zack’s and pulls him. “Let’s go, stud brother.”

  He doesn’t budge and squirms his arm out of Samantha’s clutches. She doesn’t give up so easily, though, and shifts behind him, pushing him with both palms on his back. Grunting as she fights against him, she says, “Let’s. Go. Dude, what are you made of? Steel and concrete?”

  Kayla takes a gentler approach and tells Zack, “I really think Luna needs to rest.”

  Zack looks at me in question, and I nod, both that I’m okay and that I do want to rest a bit. “Okay,” he relents, though it’s reluctant. Jokingly, he pushes back a little to throw Samantha off, chuckling as she stumbles.

  I’m smiling at their antics and glance back to Carter to see if he’s as amused as I am, but his eyes are still focused only on me. I’m feeling better, but Carter is still worried about me.

  I reach up to cup his face, my thumb soothing the worry lines beside his frown. He tilts into my touch and confides, “That scared the shit outta me.”

  “I’m sorry. It just happens. Sometimes, I don’t even know why. But I really am okay,” I reassure him.

  Carter leans forward and scoops me up into his arms, carrying me bridal style toward the bedroom door. He calls over his shoulder, “Lock up on your way out.”

  I whisper, “I don’t know if I’m that okay.”

  “La-la-la-la,” I hear Zack singing.

  In the bedroom, Carter sets me down on the side of the bed and bends down, taking one foot and then the other into his hands to pull my shoes off. I put my hands on his shoulders, sighing in relief at being out of the heels. “I really hate those things.”

  “Then why wear them if you don’t like them? Your Converse are adorable on you.”

  “Can’t really wear those with a wedding dress, though.”

  Carter grunts. “You could’ve. It would’ve been cute on you.”

  “Excuse me,” Samantha says from the doorway. “I brought this.” She holds up a plate piled with cheese, crackers, and chocolate. She comes in, setting the plate on the nightstand, and then disappears into the bathroom for a moment. She returns with her bag over her shoulder and a knowing smile. “Be good, kids,” she says with a wave. “Or even better, be naughty!”

  A moment later, the door opens and closes solidly. We’re alone and married. Expectations fall heavily onto my shoulders. “Carter—”

  “Stay here,” Carter orders before he disappears into the bathroom too. I hear water running and smile, realizing he’s filling the bathtub. When he comes back, he pulls me to my feet, guiding me to the tub’s side. Carter looks me up and down thoroughly. “You look gorgeous in this. I want to remember every detail.”

  I turn slightly, showing him the back. “This is my favorite part.”

  Carter smiles. “Not the dress, Luna. I want to remember every detail of you today.”

  And now I’m smiling too.

  Carter helps me take the dress off with delicate fingers, and though I love it, I want it off too. It feels naughty to be naked while he’s fully dressed in a suit, but he helps me into the tub and I sit down in the hot water. “You getting in with me?” I ask.

  “Don’t have to tell me twice.” He yanks his shoes off, pulling at his suit to get it off as quickly as possible.

  It’s endearing, seeing how urgent he is, and I laugh as he nearly leaps into the tub with me, making waves as he plops down. He stretches out, pulling me between his legs, and I lie back against him. “You’re a lumpy pillow,” I tell him. He shifts a bit, trying to make me more comfortable. “Didn’t say I didn’t like it,” I tease.

  He wraps his arms around me, one lying across the top of my chest and the other beneath my breasts. I sink into him, feeling so much better. “Thank you,” I say quietly. “For being there.”

  Honestly, I’m a little embarrassed by my panic attack. Sam was right, I haven’t had one in a long time, but today was a lot.

  “You don’t need to apologize, Luna. I’m sorry if I pushed you too far.” Carter’s quiet apology is accompanied by a kiss to the top of my head.

  Quietly, I think about my reaction, and as I figure out what I’m feeling, I tell Carter, “It’s not too far. I think what we did just kinda hit me all at once. How are you not freaking out?”

  I feel a rumbling hum against my back as he speaks. “You’re a good person, Luna. That makes this easier, I think. You don’t understand how rare and special you are, but I’m honored to be your husband—even like this—and see you discover yourself. Marriage aside, I’m just glad to know you now.”

  Hot tears fill my eyes. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt more seen. I swallow thickly, not sure what to say to that. But I don’t need to say anything. Carter pulls me in tight for a squeezing hug and then grabs the shower gel and a poufy sponge from the deck of the tub, using them to wash me—gently and thoroughly.

  Other than the panic attack, my wedding day is turning out pretty good.

  “We should’a brought the snacks in here,” I murmur, completely relaxed and at peace in Carter’s arms. “Seriously, your sister was right. The reception spread sorta sucks.”

  “Want me to get them?” he asks, but I shake my head.

  “Stay here. I’m comfy despite your being a rock-hard pillow. And we can eat later.”

  With a chuckle, he gathers me back into his embrace. He loops his finger through a strand of my hair that escaped my hairdo hours ago, twirling it over and over, and we . . . relax. As husband and wife.

  I tune in to my heart, checking to see if it’s racing again, but it doesn’t change. There’s no panic this time.

  Mr. and Mrs. Carter Harrington.

  That has a nice ring to it, actually. I fidget with the new band on my left ring finger, expecting it to feel odd. But it feels okay, comfortable even.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-THREE

  CARTER

  It’s technically not our honeymoon since we’re supposed to have already been married, but I wish I could hole up at my place with Luna. Our place. She’s keeping her apartment, planning to use it as a getaway to work and paint, but for the last week, she’s been here with me and it’s been amazing.

  Waking up every morning in each other’s arms.

  Having coffee together.

  Kissing her goodbye as I go to the office, usually with her curled up on the couch, lost in her tablet as she creates Alphena’s world.

  And after a busy day, coming home to her, opening the door knowing that she’s going to slam into me for a hug.

  Her asking how my day was and telling me about her day at the museum.

  Cooking and eating dinner while we talk about everything and nothing.

  Falling into bed and each other, only to wake up and do it all again the next day.

  I don’t know what the difference is between this and a real marriage, at this point. All I know is that Luna is on my mind all day when I’m away from her, and when we’re together, I want to do everything I can to make her happy. I enjoy seeing her smile. I love seeing her coming out of her shell more and more each day, letting her guard down around me. Listening to her talk about plot points of the story she’s working on and the tour groups she had are more fun than I ever would’ve thought, especially when she starts acting out the book scenes, with her starring as Alphena, of course.

  Luna makes my days interesting and my nights hotter than I’ve ever dreamed, giving me a fresh purpose.

  Right now, though, I straighten my tie, staring into the blue eyes in the mirror. Today is the culmination of what all this is for. “You’ve got this, Harrington. It’s just another deal.”

  If only that were true. Elena’s ready to work with Blue Lake if I can get past this finance guy today, and if he’s smart and recognizes how far over his head he is, he’ll be thrilled to hand off responsibility to me. Because I can handle it. I’m the best man for the job.

  “I’m the best man.” Saying it aloud gives it meaning and weight.

  “I knew you were arrogant, but your hype sessions are a tad egotistical,” Luna teases from the doorway, holding her finger and thumb up a big inch apart.

  I lean back on the counter with my arms crossed over my chest as I fight back a smirk. She caught me being cocky fair and square. “What would you suggest instead”

  She walks toward me, tilting her head the way she does when she’s thinking, and then hops onto the counter next to me. I can’t wait to hear what she comes up with. “My hype sessions are usually lots of . . . don’t freak out, remember to breathe, nobody’s staring at you, smile. You’re welcome to use whatever feels right to you.”

  She puts her hand over her heart, her face serious, but her eyes are dancing with humor.

  I move in front of her, and she automatically opens her legs for me. I step between them, liking the way her knees squeeze me. “I think I’ll go with the smile recommendation. Elena seems charmed by it.” I flash Luna a full-strength grin. “What do you think?”

  She laughs, rolling her eyes. “Well, it seems to have worked on me.”

  I plant a sweet kiss on her, wanting to feel her laugh, taste her smile. “I’m glad.”

  She leans into our kiss, then pulls back reluctantly. She straightens my already perfect tie and then sweeps her hands over my chest to smooth my shirt. “You need to go.”

  I don’t want to leave. I could stay here, crawl back into bed and into Luna. But she’s right. I can’t be late for this meeting. Grumpy about being responsible, I growl, “Okay, I’m leaving, but I’m not happy about it.” I kiss her one more time and reluctantly pull away. “I’ll be back this afternoon.”

  “I’ll make a celebration dinner!” She claps her hands in excitement, and I raise a brow. She laughingly clarifies, “And by make dinner, I mean order in.”

  One of the things I’ve learned about Luna is that she can’t cook for shit. She tries, but she admits she spends more time working than cooking and usually orders take-out. “Maybe the Indian place again?”

  She grins, nodding. “I’ll set a timer so I remember to call it in.”

  I can’t fight back the deep chuckle she draws out of me too easily with her animated expressions. What’s more, I don’t want or need to. She doesn’t mind when I’m goofy, something I don’t know if I’ve ever actually been.

  “Good to meet you, Mr. Oleana. I appreciate your taking time to meet with me today.” I hold my hand out, shaking the older gentleman’s hand.

  I’ve done my research on him. He’s an old-school, conservative fiscal manager who has worked with the Cartwrights for years, just like his father did before him. He looks the part too, in a classic navy suit with a white shirt and red tie, thick, black-framed glasses, and wingtip shoes.

  To the uninitiated, he might seem like a mere accountant. The devil is in the details, though. His suit is custom-tailored, his tie one hundred percent silk, his shoes made of fine leather, and the watch I saw on his wrist is a vintage Rolex. Mr. Oleana might be traditional, but he likes the finer things.

  “Nice to meet you as well, Mr. Harrington. Though I daresay I’ve met you once or twice before through Blue Lake’s dealings . . . but you were a lad then. Barely knee-high to a grasshopper.” He laughs as though sharing a private joke with Elena, who’s sitting next to him at the conference table, as he holds a palm toward the floor, indicating I must’ve been around twenty-four inches tall.

  Oh, so that’s how we’re playing this, then? I’m just a young whippersnapper?

  His angle is that I’m far too young to take over the Cartwright holdings. I’d expected that to be one of the potential concerns, so I’m ready with a quippy answer. “Maybe so. I don’t remember much about those days. Guess you can probably relate.” I chuckle as I tap my temple.

  “Ooh, he’s got you there, Pat.” Elena gleefully claps her hands, her eyes flicking back and forth as though our verbal volleys are a tennis match.

  “Excuse me?” Mr. Oleana frowns, the marionette lines surrounding his thin lips getting deeper and more pronounced.

  “Oh, don’t be a grumpy ass. You called him a young’un first, so he called you an old fart. Seems like a fair turnaround to me. Now, boys . . .” She looks between us both, daring either of us to disagree with the word. When we’re both silent, she nods once in approval. “Let’s get on with chitty-chatting about my money because the Lord knows, I’ve got other things to do today.”

  “Fine,” he grumps, tapping his papers on the table. Like actual papers with charts and graphs on them and what appear to be quarterly reports. The man must kill an entire forest a month with the way he conducts business.

  I pull my tablet out of my bag, opening it to the presentation I put together to assure Mr. Oleana that I’m the man for the job and then opening another app to take notes.

  The difference of a few decades in living color—black and white papers versus full-color technology.

  But what he does has been working for Elena, and I don’t want to belittle that, even if I’m certain I can improve on it moving forward. “I’m looking forward to hearing how you’ve managed such a large and diverse portfolio for so long, especially as a one-man show, Mr. Oleana. That’s quite impressive.”

  He narrows his eyes, not believing my bullshit for a second. But when I hold his gaze, he relents. “Fine. Call me Pat, and let’s get this thing done. There’s a beach calling my name.”

  “A beach?” I echo.

  Elena pats my arm, leaning over to fill me in. “He’s retiring to live near his grandkids out on the coast.”

  I’m surprised. It must take a lot for a man like Pat to hang up his tie and coat to put on flip-flops and a sunhat. I sure as hell can’t see my dad doing that anytime soon. But . . . “Why not continue managing the Cartwright portfolio from there?” I gesture to my tablet, the one-stop shop that lets me work anywhere, anytime, and would do the same for him.

  He shrugs. “It’s time. Me and Elena go way back. Hell, we used to play on the floor while our dads had lunches and meetings.”

  He looks at her, and together, they say, “Bo-ring!” They seem to share such a bright familiarity, and I wonder if there was ever more than friendship between the two of them, back before Thomas came into the picture.

  I smile politely as they laugh.

  “What was I saying?” Pat asks.

  “You were explaining why you’re not going to manage Elena’s portfolio from the beach,” I prompt, biting back a comment about his forgetfulness and whether it’s age-related.

  He nods several times, giving himself a moment to collect his thoughts. “Have you ever done the same thing for so long you could do it in your sleep?” he asks. Not waiting for my answer, he continues, “That’s what this is for me. It has been the joy of my life to make sure the Cartwright estate is safe and properly managed. And for a long time, I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. That’s why I’ve kept on. But it’s time for me to retire, and my kids don’t have a mathematical bone in their bodies, so I don’t have anyone in my family to pass the business on to. But I can’t leave Elena in the lurch, not after we’ve been through so much together.”

  Elena smiles, but her eyes look glassy and wet. “Don’t go making me cry, Pat Oleana. I’ll have your ass on my wall as a trophy if you ruin my mascara.”

  He chuckles and pats her hand. It looks more friendly and platonic than flirtatious, though. “You’ve worn waterproof mascara since the day you turned twenty-five and cried black rivers down your face when Thomas told your daddy that he would never ask you to change your family name and in fact, changed his to join your family.”

  Wait, what?

  I don’t know if I say something or make a noise, but Elena waves a hand at Pat and then explains to me, “Did you not realize that? Cartwright’s my given name from my daddy.”