Chapter 15 - THE HONEYMOON I FINALLY DESERVED
Two years after I left Provence alone, I returned.
Not with Ryan.
With Alexander Reed.
We had been married for three days.
Our wedding took place in a small garden overlooking the Hudson River.
No enormous guest list.
No elaborate seating chart.
No business partners arguing over table assignments.
Just family.
Friends.
And a man who had spent the past year proving that my happiness mattered as much as his own.
Now we sat beneath a white canvas awning at a stone hotel in Provence.
The vineyards stretched beyond the terrace.
Olive trees moved in the morning breeze.
The air smelled like coffee, rosemary, and warm bread.
For a moment, I remembered another morning.
Another husband.
Another breakfast.
The sound of a suitcase rolling across stone.
I looked at Alexander.
He noticed.
“What?”
I smiled.
“Nothing.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Katherine.”
I laughed.
“I was just thinking.”
“About?”
I looked toward the vineyards.
“Last time I was here, I didn't have a very good honeymoon.”
Alexander's expression softened.
“I know.”
I smiled.
“This time feels different.”
He reached across the table.
Took my hand.
And kissed my fingers.
“Good.”
Then his phone vibrated.
I looked at it.
He glanced down.
A business call.
Something urgent.
I felt my stomach tighten.
Old memories.
Old fears.
Alexander noticed immediately.
He turned the phone facedown.
Then switched it off.
I stared.
“Alexander.”
“Yes?”
“That could be important.”
He smiled.
“It probably is.”
“Then shouldn't you answer?”
He shook his head.
“No.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
He smiled.
“Because I'm on my honeymoon.”
My eyes filled.
He squeezed my hand.
“And I promised my wife that this week belongs to us.”
I laughed through tears.
“That's a very dangerous promise.”
He grinned.
“I'm prepared to keep it.”
We spent the afternoon doing absolutely nothing.
No phones.
No clients.
No company discussions.
We walked through vineyards.
Ate lunch beneath olive trees.
And watched the sunset from a quiet terrace.
That evening, Alexander asked me to dance.
There was no music.
Only the sound of wind moving through the trees.
I laughed.
“There's no music.”
He smiled.
“Then we'll make our own.”
He pulled me gently into his arms.
And beneath the golden Provence sky, I finally understood something.
The problem with my first honeymoon had never been Mallory's suitcase.
It had been the man who opened a place for her at our table while expecting me to accept whatever space remained.
Now I was with someone who didn't ask me to compete for his attention.
Someone who understood that love wasn't simply choosing a person once.
It was choosing them again.
Every day.
In small moments.
In ordinary decisions.
In promises kept when nobody else was watching.
Alexander kissed my forehead.
“Happy, Mrs. Reed?”
I smiled.
“Very.”
Then I looked toward the terrace.
The empty chairs.
The candlelight.
The vineyards.
And the place where, two years earlier, I had learned how painful it was to be treated as optional.
I leaned against my husband.
“Alexander?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
He smiled.
“For what?”
I looked up.
“For making room for me.”
His expression softened.
Then he kissed me.
“Katherine.”
“Yes?”
“You were never supposed to fight for a place in your own marriage.”
May you like
My eyes filled.
And for the first time, I believed it completely.
