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The tears that were heating my eyes splash over onto my cheeks at his own mother’s words. It’s like he finally gets it. He can sort of begin to understand what she went through from a totally different perspective now.

And to me, that’s real growth. That’s what I want out of a relationship. For him to realize that I’m not a prize to be won but a wife to love, respect, and cherish. For him to own up to his mistakes and fix them. For him to prioritize me and choose me.

His words push me to action. His arms are already around me, and I push to my tiptoes to catch his lips with mine. He presses his softly to mine for a second that’s far too short before he pulls back.

He presses his lips to my forehead. “Are you sure about this?” He leans down and brushes his nose along mine.

“I’m scared, but you’re worth the risk,” I whisper, and he claims me with his mouth, his lips colliding with mine and opening quickly into a reunion we’ve both been waiting for.

He wastes no time as he sweeps me up into his arms and carries me through the suite toward the bedroom. He sets me on the floor and spins me around to unzip my dress. He lets it fall to the floor, so I’m left only in the bra and panty set that I had beneath the dress along with the heels I wore today. I kick them off before I turn back around to face him.

I finally allow my fingers to push the buttons of his shirt through their holes, my ring sparkling and glinting as it catches the natural light streaming in from the windows. I get his shirt unbuttoned, and I trail my hands up his chest.

That’s when I spot it.

Fresh ink.

I’ve never seen a brand new tattoo, but the ink is raised a little higher than the rest of his ink, and there’s a little bit of redness around the lines.

He added six numbers.

Seven twenty-two. My birthday.

Seven twenty-eight. Our wedding day.

When I glance up with surprise and catch his eyes, he’s staring down at me, and he’s breathing hard.

“When did you get this?” I ask.

“The night you left.”

“Four days ago?” I ask.

He nods, and my fingertips lightly graze around the skin, not close enough to touch.

“Does it hurt?”

He shakes his head. “I got it because I knew it would hurt less than the pain of losing you.”

I’m not going to cry again.

I’m not.

I force myself to draw in a breath, and I bypass the tattoo, moving to his shoulders, where I push the shirt off. He pulls it the rest of the way off and tosses it on top of my dress, and I reach for his abdomen. I allow my fingers to tease each crease there, but when I move my hands lower toward his belt, he grabs my wrist to stop my progress.

Instead, he flicks my bra strap with practiced skill, and it practically falls right off me. He pushes my panties down next, and then he nods toward the bed as if to tell me to get on it.

I sit at the edge, and he kneels down, nudging my thighs open as he shoulders his way between them. He presses kisses along my thigh, and my fingertips dive into his hair, the hair that’s usually buried under a hat but that he styled today. My ring catches the light again, and I’m sure I’ll get used to that someday, but today isn’t that day.

I want to hold him there, to revel in this moment because I know in another moment, my brain will go haywire as pleasure takes over. But right now, I feel so close to him, so connected. So in love.

“I love you,” I whisper.

He glances up at me from in between my legs, and the adoration there is nearly blinding. I reach down and take his jaw between my hands, and I lean forward and press my lips to his.

We kiss like that, softly, tenderly, for a few beats, until he pulls back. “I love you, too.”

I stare into his eyes, and it’s like something fuses our souls together in that moment.