That morning, I woke not to an alarm—but to someone, or rather a someone, staring at me from too close a distance.
“Hello,” Hugo whispered.
I nearly hit him with a pillow—fortunately, I remembered we were in a luxurious villa on our honeymoon.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I croaked.
“I’m just making sure you’re real,” he said, brushing my hair—still somewhat messy. “Not a dream from eating too many oysters last night.”
“And your verdict?”
“You’re real,” he replied, smiling. “And your hair… it’s spectacular. Like modern abstract art.”
I nudged his face gently. “Never say that in public.”
“Alright. But… you’re still captivating,” he whispered, and kissed the tip of my nose before I could dash to the bathroom.
An hour later, we stood on the villa’s balcony. I wore a casual dress and straw hat, while Hugo wore a white linen shirt and shorts. It should have been the perfect honeymoon vista.
But of course it wasn’t—because Hugo pulled me to the poolside just as a server a
