The private plane banked sharply to the right, allowing a perfect view from the porthole window. Below, clumps of palms lined a white-sand beach that stretched for miles. Sailboats dotted the bay, with water so intensely blue Faith’s eyes nearly ached from the beauty.
“Oh, Geary!” She pulled at his sleeve. “Have you ever seen anything so stunning?”
He peeked out the window over her shoulder. “This is going to be an amazing two weeks.”
Unlike commercial resort destinations, Hildebrand’s boutique getaway equaled a one-of-a-kind sanctuary for the rich and famous, the fortunate ones who could afford to go anywhere they desired. The sort of guests who only stayed at the most exclusive, most luxurious destinations.
Faith nearly had to pinch herself. This was where she and Geary would spend their honeymoon. For the next two weeks, they would escape the pressures of their ordinary lives and focus on each other—all against a backdrop of lush Caribbean beauty.
Massive white stone and wrought iron formed the entry into St. Viceroy Negril. Their driver showed credentials to the security personnel and then steered them down a winding paved road lined with banana palms and hibiscus bushes filled with deep red, orange, and yellow blooms. As far as the eye could see, blue pools lined with rock and waterfalls stretched to pockets of tall palms swaying in the gentle breeze. In the distance, the white-sand shoreline buffeted by the bay created a postcard view.
From the backseat of the town car, Faith nestled her head against Geary’s shoulder, trying to take it all in.
He whistled. “Boy, that Hildebrand guy sure knows how to land one.”
She agreed, not with the fishing analogy necessarily, but she couldn’t even imagine owning all this. She fingered her new husband’s chin. “For the next two weeks, St. Viceroy Negril is ours to enjoy. I plan to savor every second.”
Their suite consisted of seven rooms, all beautifully appointed and decorated in white and creams with hints of light aqua and sea-foam green in the pillow prints and wall art. The building front facing the beach was an open lanai leading to a private zero-clearance pool.
The attendant handed Geary the room keys. “You need anything, mon, just ring the concierge desk. Every want will be immediately furnished.”
While Geary thanked him and handed the uniformed gentleman a generous tip, Faith checked out the complimentary tray of fruit and champagne on a bamboo table next to a window overlooking an expansive green lawn, manicured and bordered with coral-colored plumeria.
She should be exhausted. They’d danced until the wee hours of the morning at their reception, and then they rose early to catch their flight. All that should have depleted her energy level. But at this moment, her mind was running on a high level of excitement.
She raced from room to room, taking it all in.
“Honey, come quick!” She summoned him to the main bathroom. “Look at this.”
He rushed to join her. Together they marveled over the glass floor that exposed a stunning view of the underwater depths below, complete with tropical fish and shells. “Amazing,” he agreed.
Despite all her pre-wedding angst, their special day had come together without a hitch. Well, except for one of the twins spilling red punch down the table at the church luncheon. Thankfully, Geary had quietly suggested the evening party might not be a place for young ones.
The ceremony itself was perfect. Not too long, and focused on the commitment they were making to one another. Before their vows, her new father-in-law referenced a beautiful passage in Ecclesiastes about a three-part cord and urged them to intertwine their lives with God at the center, making their union stronger.
His words were just right.
The only thing missing—her own family. She’d fielded a few questions by simply stating that her mother and father had died and her brother did not live near and had been unable to attend.
Dilly hadn’t been so easily convinced. “That’s just strange that your brother wouldn’t be here on your wedding day.”
Yes, there’d been a few minor issues. Still, the day she’d married Geary Marin would go down as the single best day of her entire life.
Now they had a honeymoon and years ahead to enjoy.
Their first dinner in Jamaica was served on a white linen-covered table positioned out on the beach surrounded by tiki torches. Seven long courses, the first a coconut lemongrass soup. Next they were served roasted figs wrapped in bacon with a brown sugar glaze. The salad came next—hearts of palm placed over a bed of arugula drizzled with balsamic vinegar and sprinkled with finely diced hazelnuts.
The main course was lobster—the biggest she’d ever seen. Both the claws and the back tails extended over the edges of the platters the waiter mistakenly called plates. Little cups of butter sat warming over tea candles with live flames.
“I’d like to propose a toast,” Geary said, holding a glass of a frozen fruity concoction decorated with a spear of fresh pineapple and a tiny umbrella. “To the most beautiful bride ever.”
“Oh, I bet you say that to all the women you marry,” she teased, clinking her glass with his.
They passed on the dessert, little chocolate cakes formed in the shape of volcanoes with molten cherry chocolate sauce oozing from the top. Instead they slipped off their sandals and headed for a walk down the beach, hand in hand. Just like in so many movies she’d seen, the moonlight glistened across the softly rolling waves landing on the sand. The warm water pushed up the shore by some invisible hand until it broke across their bare toes.
“Thank you,” Geary said as he slipped his arm around her bare arm and pulled her close.
She leaned into the capacious comfort of his broad shoulder. “For what?”
“What I’m about to say is going to sound sappy,” he warned.
“Yeah?”
He gave her a slight squeeze and stopped walking, turning her so they stood face-to-face. “Thank you for agreeing to spend the rest of your life with me.” He brushed a strand of her hair back. “And for making me the happiest man alive.”
His finger touched her mouth, her bottom lip.
She pressed into him, felt the warmth of his body through the linen of his shirt. Geary Marin was a good man, not filled with pretense but solidly authentic. And trustworthy.
He’d vowed to be her protector, her Prince Charming.
She turned her face into his hand and pressed a kiss against his slightly calloused palm.
And she believed him.
“Faith.” He said her name, sweet and heady, desperate with need. Even in the moonlight, she could see his eyes were deeply shadowed with longing.
He scooped her up into his arms, leaving her legs dangling above the sand.
In response, she wrapped one arm around his neck and leaned against his shoulder. Her free hand tightened on his shirt, clinging to the strength of his embrace. This man was now her husband, her solid rock against shifting sand.
Overhead, a bright moon illuminated the night sky. Pieces of light whispered through the palm fronds, casting a hopeful glow across their path.
“I love you, Geary.” Her lips barely moved as she whispered her declaration. Goodness, did this man know how solidly her heart was wrapped around his?
His arms tightened around her, pulled her closer. “I love you too.”
Then, as if they were in some romantic movie playing out on the big screen, he carried her back in the direction of their luxury suite . . . and the night both of them had been waiting for.