Chapter 4: The Honeymoon Game

After the ceremony, I was led to the master bedroom. The house felt strange—creaky floorboards, the faint scent of cedar, and family photos on the wall of people I barely knew. Rusty sniffed around, then curled up at my feet, making me feel a little less alone.

"Rusty, be good," I whispered, scratching behind his ears.

The door eased open. I hurriedly pulled my veil back on.

Henry strode in, smiling, and gently lifted my veil. Even though I’d spied on him before the wedding, standing here now, I felt like the universe was playing a cruel joke—he was so handsome it almost hurt. His tux was rumpled, tie crooked, but he looked like he’d stepped out of a magazine.

Blushing, I said, "Honey."

He nodded, then pulled out a pile of snacks—lemon bars and candied pecans—for me. "Babe, eat, don’t go hungry."

My stomach rumbled, and I dove in. He even brought a big turkey leg for Rusty. When I pouted about not getting any meat, Henry tried to take the turkey from Rusty to give it to me. I laughed, waving him off. He really was a little clueless sometimes, but at least he was easy on the eyes.

After eating, he ran out, calling, "Babe, wait for me!"

Mrs. Evans came in, her lavender scent wrapping around me. She’d raised my sister and me after Mom died—she was family.

She helped with my hair, then dug through my bag and pulled out some romance books, making me blush. "Honey, don’t worry. Every woman’s got to learn sometime. Just remember, men aren’t mind readers—sometimes you have to spell it out for them."

I nodded, half-laughing, half-dying inside. She whispered some advice, then helped me pick out a soft nightgown and gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze.

When I came out, Henry was sitting on the bed in pajamas, waiting. He patted the spot beside him. Mrs. Evans brought sparkling cider, the bubbles fizzing up my nose.

Once she left, Henry tucked me in. "Babe, let’s sleep."

But sleep was the last thing on my mind. I rolled over, heart thumping. "Honey, let’s consummate the marriage."

He blinked. "What does that mean?"

I scrambled for a way to explain. "It means… playing the honeymoon game."

He looked puzzled, but I started to tug at his pajama pants. He grabbed my hands, face red. "Mom said, don’t let people pull off your pants."

I grinned. "But your wife can, right?"

He thought hard, then nodded. "Mom said, listen to your wife."

He lay down, stiff as a board, barely breathing. I took his hand and guided him. As his fingers brushed my skin, my heart raced—this felt surreal, terrifying, and a little funny all at once.

He got flustered, but I coaxed him gently, whispering encouragement. "See? You’re doing great. Want to try more?"

"Want…"

I kissed him, and he clung to me, hands shaking. He was nervous, but so was I—my pulse hammered in my ears, my breath coming fast. When our lips parted, he looked lost. "Babe, I feel weird."

I reached down, startled by his reaction. "It’s okay. Just follow my lead."

He obeyed, letting me undress him, then offered his hand to me, shy but trusting. I touched him, exploring, and he gasped, his eyes wide with wonder.

"When do we play the honeymoon game? Henry feels bad."

"Soon," I promised, smiling at his puppy-like desperation.

He was eager and surprisingly gentle, learning as we went. "Babe… am I doing this right? Sorry… I’ll be careful. Babe… I want more."

The old Tiffany lamp cast soft gold light over us as I held him close, the rest of the world falling away.