“And you’re mine.”
Happy bliss trickled through every inch of her. She’d never been so content, so at-one with everything, not only in the world around her but inside of herself too. Being married to Wesley made life seem a little more complete than it had before.
Wesley kissed her again, but the photographer interrupted.
“Would you like a few more shots around the town?” he asked, lifting the camera attached to a strap around his neck.
Ideally, Hazel would have preferred a nice photo shoot, perhaps in the neighboring trees or along some of the idyllic stone stairways or even back at Mountain Cove by the lake. But the other arrangements they’d rushed to make pressured her mind, and the photographer knew of the hurry they were in.
“I think we have plenty, thank you,” Hazel replied. “Thank you.”
“All righty then.” He inclined his head and placed the cap on his camera. “I’ll get these images to you shortly, Mr. and Mrs. Bassett.”
The inclusion of her new name with his was like a rush of wind inside of her. It gusted with resonance and widened the grin already on her face.
“Ready to get out of here?” Wesley muttered with his nose pressed to her temple.
She hated being so rushed, but it was necessary—and she wasn’t only thinking of the wedding night they would be spending at the Basin Park Hotel. Just one thing was still out of place in her life now. The one thing she’d been searching for for so long. Not more than two weeks ago, Hazel had found a receipt in the Bassett’s attic that hinted at her birth family’s whereabouts. At the age of two, she’d contracted yellow fever following an earthquake that took place in a remote village in Brazil. In an attempt to save her life, the Stricklands had brought her to the United States and ended up adopting her after her family disappeared. When she was ten years old, they told her the truth about her heritage, and in learning of her birth family and their destitute circumstances, Hazel had been trying to locate them ever since.
Every effort to find them had failed. She’d even hired investigators to follow what little trails she had, but every time the trail died off. Hazel refused to believe her family had vanished. She wanted to find them. She’d dedicated her life to making enough money to help support them should she ever discover where they were. What good was her billionaire status if she couldn’t use her success and good fortune to help them?
The only thing her birth mother, Elina Silva, had left for her when she’d asked the Stricklands to save Hazel’s life had been a hat. When Hazel discovered an almost identical hat in Wesley’s mom’s hat shop here in Eureka Springs, that had thrown everything into motion.
Then, last week, she’d discovered her birth mother’s name combined with her birth father’s name on a receipt from a warehouse in Brazil. Hazel knew it wasn’t much. She knew traveling halfway around the world based on a single, possible clue on a receipt from thirty years ago was crazy, but she had to go. She had to try.
And she had the money, so why not?
She’d waited over twenty years to find them. She didn’t want to wait another moment. Wesley had agreed to a hasty marriage after that. He’d agreed to follow her around the world in search of her birth family if that was what it took—on the condition they return to Eureka Springs so he could continue his work at Le Chapeau, his family’s hat shop. He was definitely a keeper.
Hazel realized she’d taken too long to reply to his question. “So ready,” she told him.
His mouth pulled into a delicious smirk. He brought her hand to his lips and then held it as they made their way back to Le Chapeau, his mother’s hat shop. Their bags were already packed and waiting in the apartment upstairs. Hazel’s privately commissioned jet to Miami was leaving that evening. Miami would connect to Brazil. And something told Hazel their adventure was only just beginning.
2
Hazel may be used to this kind of luxury, but this was Wesley’s first time in a private jet. The plane was small and intimate. A single door blocked the cabin from the pilot, and within, the cabin was spacious. Only a handful of seats were available, and they were situated more like someone’s living room than an airplane. If it wasn’t for the popping in his ears and the occasional jolts of turbulence—coupled with the stereotypical rushing sound of traveling through the air at high speeds—Wesley would have thought they were in a high-end apartment.
He’d never traveled internationally before, so he was determined to get some sleep during the flight. The idea of staying awake for another day after they’d traveled wasn’t extremely appealing.
He’d left Rooster with a friend who worked at From Wags to Wishes up the street from Mama’s hat shop in Eureka Springs. His friend also had a dog and was already in the habit of walking her schnauzer. Rooster definitely wouldn’t be too put out at ready access to his favorite dog treats.
Hazel’s associate, Aaliyah Elir, had offered them a complimentary stay at the Rio de Janiero Elir Resort, but circumstances had changed, and they were heading for a smaller, remote town called Calma. An extremely secluded part of the country, that, in all honesty, made Wesley nervous.
He didn’t have experience traveling to another country, which was the main source of his unease. He wanted to be someone Hazel could rely on if they needed help, and Wesley didn’t have the first clue about how to handle things that might go wrong.
Her cow print leather luggage would be easy enough to spot, anyway. It matched the handbag currently propped against the couch he was supposed to be sleeping on. Wesley chuckled at that, remembering his reaction when she’d first emerged from her car with the ostentatious luggage.
“Cow print?” he’d asked, not bothering to repress his incredulity. The roller suitcase was white with brown splotches and would stand out anywhere and everywhere.
“Is something wrong with that?” she’d asked.
“As long as you didn’t kill a cow to get it…”
He’d gotten a knuckle in the shoulder for that one.
Soon enough, night fell, and the pilot darkened the cabin lights. Hazel slept in the reclined seat on the plane, her black hair splayed across the cream leather. And though tiredness was almost overwhelming, Wesley watched her, taking in the way her lids sometimes fluttered, the way her hand rested on her opposite shoulder, the way her breathing was so steady and peaceful.
Warmth spilled over him at the sight of her. He was tempted to cuddle in with her, to hold her as she slept, but he didn’t want to risk waking her. No sense in both of them being completely exhausted once they arrived.
