I hold my breath as he reaches the curve beneath my left breast. And then—he stops.
The light catches it. Faint but luminous. A soft white-ink tattoo, barely there under normal light but now glowing like moonlight under my skin: an infinity symbol, our initials, and today’s date.
His breath leaves him in one sharp exhale. His hand—steady, warm—moves to brush his fingers just above it, not quite touching. “You did this for me?”
“For us,” I say.
He swallows hard, his throat working around emotion. “It’s beautiful.”
“So are we.”
He leans down, and his lips meet the tattoo. “I love it. Best gift ever.”
Then he settles back into the bed beside me, flashlight off now, but the glow still lives in his expression, in the weight of what we’ve just shared.
He curls his body around mine, my back to his chest, his arm wrapped tight around my middle. I stroke the back of his hand with my fingertips, slow and soothing.
“I’ll spend my life showing you just how much you mean to me,” he whispers into my hair, a vow meant only for me.
I close my eyes, heart so full it almost hurts. “Forever’s not long enough.”
He pulls me tighter. And in the soft dark, wrapped in his arms, I believe it.
This is the first night of the rest of our lives.
Chapter 26
Magnolia Sebring
Alex walks ahead of me, one hand reaching back to catch mine, the other gripping our bag as we descend the narrow steps of the chartered plane. His linen shirt is open at the collar, sleeves rolled up, and his smile—unburdened and effortless—says more than words ever could.
The moment our feet touch the tarmac, a warm, humid breeze blows against us, and I watch something shift in him. Like this place exhales, and so does he.
The first thing I register is a blanket of heat laced with salt and sun-warmed blossoms. The air smells of hibiscus and ocean, and the steady pulse of the sea hums.
Samoa isn’t an escape. It’s more like returning to something you didn’t know you were missing.
The rest of the Sebrings and Violet follow behind us, stepping onto the tarmac, each one looking a little more relaxed in this place.
Ahead, a cluster of familiar figures stands behind the fence that separates the runway from the rest of the small airfield. No fanfare. No flashing cameras.
Family.
A handful of cousins lean against vehicles parked nearby. One of them lifts a hand in greeting. Another shouts something in Samoan that makes the entire family break into laughter.
One day, I’m going to understand what they’re saying.
The welcome isn’t loud or lavish. It’s soft. Immediate. Felt in the way the women rush forward with flower ulas and kisses to both cheeks. In the way the men clap shoulders and speak in warm, fluent Samoan. In the way Alex is swept up in it—his voice switching languages mid-sentence, his arm snug around my waist.
One of the younger female cousins slips an ula over my head, and I bend in acceptance. Her fingers brush my cheek, and she whispers, “You look like a Samoan wife already.”
A swell builds in my chest, too big for words. I am a wife, but I also feel like a daughter. A sister. A woman becoming something sacred in the eyes of the people who made the man I love.
I rest my head on his shoulder as we pull away, the wind lifting my hair. The road is lined with palms and open land, children kicking soccer balls barefoot in the dust, men in lavalavas waving as we pass. It’s slower here, but there’s nothing lacking.
Violet leans forward, her sunglasses slipping down her nose. “It’s beautiful here.”
I smile because it’s about so much more than beauty. “Vi, you’re about to be opened up to a whole new way of life. You’re gonna quickly see that it’s about more than a beautiful landscape here.”
