Chapter 24N
The ocean stretched endless before us, its waves catching the sunlight like scattered diamonds. The resort villa was everything Martin had promised–private, luxurious, with balconies that seemed to float above the sea.
For the first time in years, I felt the weight of the world ease off my shoulders. No kidnappers, no past shadows, no whispers of betrayal. Just me, Martin, and the soft crash of waves against the shore.
It was our honeymoon.
I had never thought I’d say those words again. Yet here we were–two rings binding us together, laughter echoing through sunlit mornings, kisses stolen between walks on white sand. We took photos of everything: the beach, the candlelit dinners, even the silly faces Gwen would have teased us about.
Each picture felt like proof that happiness was not a dream but something I could finally hold.”
But no matter how many sunsets we watched or how many times Martin kissed me breathless beneath the stars, a part of me ached. Gwen wasn’t here.”
Martin noticed it in the way I grew quiet after we snapped photos, or how my gaze lingered too long at the little shells by the shore. One night, while we sat on the balcony, my head resting against his shoulder, he spoke softly.”
“You’re thinking about her again.”
“Always,” I admitted, twisting the stem of my glass between my fingers. “Every laugh I give you, every picture we take, wonder what face she’d make if she saw it. Would she pout? Would she giggle?“”
“She’d giggle,” Martin said without hesitation. “And then scold us for acting silly without her.“”
A small smile tugged at my lips. “You’re probably right. She’d say, ‘Mama, Daddy Martin, that’s not fair.“}
He chuckled, tilting his head to press a kiss to my temple. “Which is why we’ll bring her back souvenirs. Proof we thought of
her in every step. Seashells, postcards, even that ridiculous stuffed turtle you were eyeing at the shop earlier.”
I laughed, nudging him with my elbow. “You noticed?”
“Of course I noticed. I notice everything when it comes to you,” he teased, his eyes glinting in the low light.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks, but I rolled my eyes to hide it. “You’re impossible.”
“Maybe,” he said, his voice warm, steady. “But I also know this–she’s safe. She’s starting her new class. And she’ll be happier seeing you happy than seeing you cry because you miss her too much.”
I let his words sink in, the ache in my chest easing slightly. “You sound so sure.”
“I am sure,” Martin replied firmly, his hand covering mine. “Because Gwen’s like you–stubborn as hell. She won’t let distance break her. She’ll wait for us.”
I turned my hand under his, squeezing gently. “You make it sound so simple.”
“That’s because it is,” he said with a grin. “Now, come on. Less worrying, more honeymooning. I’m not letting my wife spend her first trip with me sulking under moonlight.”
I laughed, the heaviness lifting at least for that moment. He always knew how to cut through my fears, not with empty promises but with the quiet certainty in his voice.
True enough, every day began with Gwen’s voice through the phone. She’d chatter excitedly about her teacher, her new seatmate, the games they played at recess.”
Sometimes she pouted and told me she missed us, and sometimes she proudly showed me drawings she made, her little face lighting up when Martin leaned in beside me and waved.
“You’re supposed to be enjoying, not studying my homework!” Gwen scolded playfully one morning, making Martin laugh until he nearly spilled his coffee.”
Even though distance tugged at my heart, those calls made me breathe easier. Gwen was safe. Gwen was smiling. That was enough.3
The days with Martin blurred into a haze of tenderness and laughter. We lounged in hammocks under palm trees, shared cocktails by the pool, and even danced barefoot on the beach with no music but the sea. At night, when the world grew quiet, we found each other again–slow kisses, whispered promises, and the kind of intimacy that healed old wounds instead of deepening them. He traced my scars, not with pity, but reverence. I gave him my heart in return, piece by fragile piece, and he held it steady.%
“This, Martin murmured against my skin one night, his arms wrapped firmly around me, “is all I ever wanted. You. Gwen. Us.“} I believed him.”
By the time the last day of our honeymoon arrived, I thought I might cry leaving the little bubble of paradise. But Gwen’s smile, her excited voice saying “Come home soon!” kept me steady. Martin teased me as we packed, stealing kisses each time I folded clothes.%
“Excited to go back to reality, Mrs. Villareal?” he grinned.”
Jolled my eves but my lips curved despite myself. “Reality isn’t so bad anymore “N
12:17 PM p p.
I rolled my eyes, but my lips curved despite myself. “Reality isn’t so bad anymore.“>
We boarded the car to the airport hand in hand, the world outside blurring past. I rested my head against his shoulder, already imagining Gwen’s squeal when she saw us.
Maybe we’d frame some of our honeymoon photos, show her the shells we collected for her, and have a little family dinner just the three of us.
It was perfect.
Until Martin’s phone rang.
He frowned when he saw the caller ID. The butler. He rarely called unless it was something urgent.”
“Yes?” Martin answered, his tone shifting immediately to clipped concern.
“Sir,” came the butler’s voice, low and uneasy, “I think you should know–someone has spilled about your wedding. It’s already spreading. People are talking.“@
My heart lurched.
“What do you mean spilled?” Martin’s voice sharpened. “Who?”
“We don’t know yet,” the butler said. “But there are photos circulating. Guests must have taken them. The press is already asking questions.”
Beside him, my fingers tightened around his arm, my breath catching in my throat. Our secret, the peace we had worked so hard to protect–it was already slipping away.
Martin’s jaw tightened, his thumb brushing over my knuckles as if to calm me. “Keep Gwen safe,” he ordered firmly. “No matter what happens, she comes first.“}
“Yes, sir,” the butler replied, and the line went dead.”
The hum of the car suddenly felt heavier, pressing down on me. Honeymoon warmth turned cold in an instant. Martin slid his arm around me, pulling me against his chest, his voice low but steady.
“Emerald,” he murmured, “no matter what they say, no matter what storms come–I’m not letting go of us. Or Gwen. We’ve come too far.”
