Chapter One

You Got Lucky

Tom Petty

Natalie

Stretched out on the most luxurious, oversized lounger in the history of ever, I rest my cheek against the edge, opting out of the expansive view of the cerulean sea. Instead, I fix my gaze on a better view—my husband. Dressed in nothing but board shorts, he strums his six-string, a second anniversary present he unwrapped just minutes ago when we finally made it to the room.

His text to meet him in Mexico came a little less than twenty-four hours ago. By the time he got here, I was chest deep in the ocean when he sauntered out. Looking better than he had any right to, he stalked straight toward me, greeting me with a ravenous kiss.

We’ve been apart for the last three weeks because of his recording schedule—which is always in Seattle because every member of Reverb decided to make Washington home.

Everyone except Easton, who is a half-time Texan. We’ve followed our plan in that respect to the letter. We built a gorgeous Sound-side home in Seattle and another from the ground up on my parent’s land in Austin.

For the most part, it’s worked out. I can’t deny the longer periods of separation gnaws at us both. So far, we’ve made it work and continue to try to. Though I have some minor leeway in traveling, I really can’t be absent running Austin Speak. But that’s our reality, and for just a little while, we’re living in a fantasy.

Though we’re currently residing in the type of luxury some may strive for, he’s the true essence of my type of daydream. Just Easton, opulent surroundings unnecessary. Just as I think it, the sparkling promise on my left hand catches some of the sun’s fading light, reiterating my selfish thought—I’m the luckiest woman breathing.

My eyes roam from his tanned, bare feet to his muscled calves, his trim waist, and expansive, finely sculpted chest and biceps—rising higher to his perfect jaw, the length of his dark lashes, and jet-black hair. My husband is a sight to behold and all mine. At least for the moment.

Six days—no stage, no screaming fans, no competition from staff to get a sentence in or fight for his attention. It’s just us.

Though the scenery is different from our first week together, this is how we started, or rather collided—our minds scattered with ideas of our futures and big decisions to make.

We came together at one of the most crucial times in our lives. Easton was brimming with indecision, on the verge of possibilities while I was searching for something I hadn’t realized was missing. It was at that time we formed the strongest of bonds. One we eventually thought was close to unbreakable. But break we did—into a thousand splinters—only to piece each other and what we had back together, sealing it with a second promise of forever.

I revel in that, hopeful of reinforcing it again in our time here as Easton begins to play a melody I’ve never heard—no doubt lost in his latest creation. Full of admiration, thirst growing, I simply stare, appreciating his beauty and genius—the magnitude of his gift on full display. His tan seems instant in our few hours in the sun as the day begins to depart, dispersing rays of orange and pink around a few stray clouds. As I watch him, my need to close the space only increases as he continues orchestrating a new piece of music his fans are sure to love.

My shoulders lower as the stress of the trip disperses now that he’s here—along with the knowledge everything’s covered at the paper back home. The sight of Easton so at ease puts me further into a dreamy lull.

He continues to strum his guitar as memories of the last two years of our second marriage flit through my mind. The first filled with the compilation of his sophomore album as I found my footing as Editor in Chief. Though he’s the epitome of success, he’s remained humble and lived true to his determination to keep his personal life private—only ever giving enough of himself through his music to keep fans somewhat satiated. He’s only shared a tiny portion of his recorded library over the last few years, but because of his ever-present muse driving him to create, he’s only added to it.

This had his sophomore album coming out far earlier than anyone expected and doing twice as well. Every single song he’s shared has found residence in the hearts and minds of his fans and made him untouchable to some, and he hasn’t even hit thirty. The release had fans salivating for a tour—and with my blessing—Easton delivered, solidifying his place as a rock god amongst the masses. Sadly, this year, we found ourselves in similar fights of our first marriage because of it.

These fights were a little easier to bear because we were no longer hiding our relationship. Ironically, not hiding it presented us with a whole other set of hurdles—mostly for me.

His success rumbles by way of the dancing cell on the table for the umpteenth time since we got back to our suite. Seeming unphased, he ignores it as he masterfully plucks the strings.

Just as we both start to get lost in the thrum of his guitar, he stops and lifts his gorgeous creative hazel eyes to mine. “Sorry, baby.”

“What? No, Easton. Keep going!”

“This trip is all us.”

“And I told you a long time ago that I will never take you away from that space, especially when you’re in the thick of it, and I meant it. That was beautiful. Do your thing, rock star, and don’t waste a second thinking I don’t love every minute of it.”

“Musician,” he corrects, as he so often does, his smile lighting up my whole being. “Still my number one fan?”

“First, too. Remember that. Always and forever.”

“How did I get so fucking lucky?”

“I was just thinking the same thing.”

“Come here,” he murmurs, taking great care to gently set the guitar on a nearby table, making me smile. He loves it.

He gestures for me to join him as his heated eyes drift over me, dressed in a gold thong bikini. I had to change out of my one-piece while he opened his guitar due to an ass full of sand. The change was well worth it for comfort alone, but even more so because of his appraisal.

“Nope,” I flex my chest for his feasting eyes, “too comfortable. Have you tried out this lounger?”

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

“I know you will, but there’s enough room here for two.”

“Trust me, for what I’m planning, we won’t need the extra space.”

“Tempting, but…nah.”

We gaze at each other, the longing in his eyes matching my feelings. It will be impossible to hold out much longer. Never with him. I briefly wonder if I’ll ever stop wanting him this way, this much. We’re only a few years into our marriage—well, our second marriage—but I feel that answer with every fiber of my being, as I love him with every single one.

“What’s it going to take, Mrs. Crowne?”

“Not sure…,” I shrug. “Maybe I can think of a few things.”

“Name them,” he commands heatedly.

I quirk a brow. “You’re in the mood to barter?”

“Why not?” He kicks back, playing the game. “Name it.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he says, resting his palms on his knees.

“What if it’s something you don’t want to give me?”

“I think we both know there’s not much I wouldn’t give you.”

“Huh, kind of interested to know what you wouldn’t give me.”

“An open marriage, for one.” The possession in his tone only heats me further.

“Likewise. Even so,” I sigh contently. “I’m good here.”

“Fine.” He stands, his swagger in effect as he saunters over and dips so we’re eye to eye. “You look so goddamn beautiful,” he murmurs, sliding a finger along my hairline to move an errant lock of curls away from my face. “You know what this hair does to me.”

“Still? Not tired of me yet?”

“I said no such thing…,” he drags out playfully as he squats in front of me, grabbing my ring finger and pressing a quick kiss to it. “No. Never going to happen, Beauty.”

“That will fade, you know. One day this body will just be a wrinkled, saggy vessel that resembles little of the woman you married.”

“Bring it on.”

“And then some twenty-something will come along—”

“And get a fucking autograph for her mother,” Easton finishes with ease as he runs a gentle finger over my skin, goose bumps erupting in its wake.

“My dad is happy, probably happier now than he was when he was the most sought-after drummer on the planet and playing nightly. I think it has everything to do with my mother…and I chose just as wisely for myself.”

“A son…,” I blurt my demand, high on his affection, “or a daughter.”

His eyes widen in shock, and I can’t blame him. We haven’t had this talk in close to a year because of all that’s transpired. “You’re serious?”

“There’s nothing I want more. I’m ready to make babies with you now, Easton.”

“But the paper, baby, when I’m home, I can barely get you to me by dinner time.”

“So, I’ll clear out an office for a nursery. We can afford help and still be heavily involved. I’ve been thinking about it…a lot. Yeah, it will get hectic, but I want to try for a baby.” I palm his face. “Your baby.”

“Jesus, you really mean it?” His smile blooms, and my heart somersaults.

“Do you want—”

He cuts my question off with his lips and kisses me so gently that my eyes water. His coaxing and tender tongue thrusts along mine. Within a second, I open for him, my toes curling. He cuts it off abruptly and brings his earnest gaze to mine while lifting me from the chair and taking my seat before spreading me on top of him. Just as we get situated, the glass surrounding our balcony lights up in a neon cobalt blue. I grin down at him. “Think that’s a sign?”

“Maybe,” he murmurs, raining kisses along my skin. “Or maybe you’ve been spending too much time with my mother.”

I pull away to gauge his expression despite the desire rapidly taking over me. “So, you really want this, too?”

“Honestly? I’ve always pictured a daughter with your red hair and sassy mouth.” His smile only grows with the soft shake of his head. “I mean, I’ll be fucked, for sure, but in the best imaginable way. I want a replica of you.” His hands begin to massage every part of my body as my nipples draw tight.

“How long until your birth control wears off?”

“That’s sort of the reason I’m talking to you now before we start trying.”

He frowns.

“I kind of tossed them when you left for Seattle after my last period. Um…so we’re kind of at that sweet spot that if you said yes—”

He grips my palm to cover his impressive erection. “I’m so fucking hard knowing the next time I come, it’s going to be to put a baby inside you.”

“Then stop wasting time.”

He pauses. “What if I said I wasn’t ready?”

I shrug. “I have condoms in my purse.”

“The fuck you say,” he murmurs, pulling the string of my bikini top. “Hate to get all caveman—”

“Yeah, sure you do.”

His smile only disappears when he discards the material to suck a peaked nipple between thick lips before adding his magical tongue into the mix. Moaning in response, I turn liquid in his hold. After several tortuous seconds, I begin to grind on him. “Easton,” I murmur, pulling his eyes to mine one last time. “Truly? You want this too? It’s a really big decision.”

“Would have been just as happy, fuck happier if you told me you were already pregnant.” He cups my cheek and lets me read him clearly.

“Well then, stop with the foreplay and get to work.”

He quirks a brow. “Hey, bossy, we’d already be in the middle of it had you not insisted I open my present. I might be giving into this demand, but we’re going to do this my way.”

I slip my hand inside his board shorts, and his cock jerks when I grip him and pump him eagerly in my hand. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

His eyes hood in reply, his only tell. A second later, I’ve distracted him with my hands and kiss to the point I’ve managed to untie my bottoms so they lay loosely discarded on his lap. When his roaming hands cup my naked ass, his groan vibrates on my tongue.

“Sneaky, wife,” he whispers hoarsely as I move my hips in time with his to create the most delicious friction. He draws my nipple into his mouth again, biting gently as he speaks around it. “Not yet.”

“Easton, it’s been forever,” I moan as his hands cover me, massaging, kneading, caressing. In turn, I explore, running my hands along his sculpted skin. He continues to taunt me, collecting my pleas for relief to his satisfaction.

Declaring war, I run my drenched middle more aggressively along the ridge of his perfect cock until he grips my hips, slowing me to a lazy sweep. My frustrated growl only draws a dark chuckle.

“Stop playing with me,” I mutter, my heart pounding, need blazing through me.

“I want you right now, as much as I did the first time,” he murmurs, eyes lit with desire, “the difference is that now you’re not getting away. So, Mrs. Crowne, I’m going to take my time.”

“Yeah, well, can I get an estimate of how much you need?”

I groan as he pushes me down and thrusts his hips up, the head of his cock teasing my entrance just before he stops himself. “Let’s go. I don’t want long lenses having a shot of any of this.” He pulls a nearby towel off the chair and covers me protectively before hoisting us both off.

“It’s too dark. You’re being paranoid.”

“I give no fucks,” he says, crossing the threshold into our suite, the sheer white curtains dancing in the wind, the same wind driving the soothing sound of the waves crashing behind us. A sound that reminds us both that, for a number of days, we’re stowaways. His following words only reiterate that. “This trip, you’re all mine, Beauty, and no one, and I mean absolutely no one, gets to see you in this fucking bikini.”

“Almost wore it to the beach,” I mumble through lips latched on his neck.

“Glad you didn’t. I’d hate to get arrested day one.”

Wrapped around him, I pull back and playfully shake my head at him, sulking when he bypasses the bed.

“Easton!” I shriek in frustration as he walks us into the bathroom and stops short of the shower.

“We’re still covered in sand and oil, and I don’t want to sleep in it tonight.”

“We rinsed off downstairs…” I lick and suck beneath his ear as he readies the water, “so where’s the spontaneity, rock star?”

“Musician, and we’re about to be parents,” his eyes light further as he speaks it aloud, “we need to make good decisions.”

I bite his lobe, and he curses. “Baby, cut that shit out, or I’ll shoot our first shot at parenthood into the fucking floor of the shower.”

I can’t help my laugh as he sets me down but keeps me plastered to him as he holds his hand under one of six heads to test the temperature of the spray. Unable to handle the sight of him so hard, I grab a towel from the rack next to us and drop it to soften the blow before hitting my knees. Gripping his shorts, I greedily shove them down and instantly take him to the back of my throat.

“Jesus…fuck!” Easton grits out, his eyes filled with a mix of rabid desire before he grips my hair. Scalp stinging slightly, I clench my jaw around his perfect girth, my eyes narrowing as I suck harder.

“Beauty, Jesus,” he gasps as I pull greedily, keeping my eyes on his. “You’re evil,” he scolds, massaging my hair before running his finger around my stretched lips, which only fuels me to take it further.

Hollowing my cheeks, I claw his muscular ass and pull him in as far as I can take him before releasing him with a pop. “I was the light of your life a few minutes ago.” Gripping his base firmly, I begin to lick him from root to tip on all sides before swirling my tongue over his fat crown.

“Yeah, well, I said nothing about purity.” He bends and grips my biceps, lifting me to stand.

“Damnit, man, what’s a wife got to do to get knocked up around here?”

His breath-stealing smile returns with a vengeance, this one knocking me sideways. He’s genuinely happy, and I can’t help but return it. He whisks me into the shower, eyes glittering, before delivering his first order.

“Turn around.” In earnest, I do, and my shoulders slump when I feel his shampoo-filled hand land on the top of my head just before his fingers start to massage it in.

“What the hell, Crowne, are you stalling?”

“Look down.”

I do and see nothing but a mix of sand and tanning oil swirling around our feet.

“Where the hell did all of it come from?”

“One of life’s great mysteries.”

“Fine, but hurry it up, would you?”

“Is my wife so needy?”

He massages my scalp to the point I moan in reply.

He chuckles again. “Guess so.”

“I’m not complaining, but—”

His laughter rings out, cutting me off. “Oh, but you’re about to—”

“Whatever, never mind.”

“You know all too fucking well that’s not going to work out for you.”

“You’ll think I’m complaining,” I shrug, “so forget it.”

“Natalie,” his voice sounds in warning. Ignoring him, I pump some shampoo into my own hand and lift to begin washing his hair. A few seconds later, I can’t help my grin when we both end up with matching suds wigs.

“Nat,” he prods, as I dig my nails in the way he likes it. I’ve missed this, the simple things. Waking up with him. Burning his bacon in the morning when I felt like cooking breakfast because he prefers it extra crispy. Randomly finding used wristbands in the oddest places. Spending days shopping for art and knick-knacks for one of our houses that expresses both our tastes.

Having lazy days, where we’d have picnics in bed while bingeing a series to the point we got the STILL WATCHING? prompt by the streaming channel that reads more like STILL WATCHING LOSERS? YOU HAVE NOTHING PRODUCTIVE TO DO? Which had us laughing. I got spoiled for a few months before and after our Bali wedding. Though we both still worked during that time, Easton cleared enough of his schedule for us to nest briefly in both houses. We’ve only had that in spurts since. As I think it, I can feel his commanding gaze and pause my hands.

“What?”

“Tell me, Beauty,” he urges gently. “You know I love our shower talks.”

“I was just thinking the same. It’s been a while.”

He frowns. “Not that long.”

“Twenty-three days, phone sex included. But sex aside, we haven’t spent much time together in months, Easton.”

“We’re remedying that right fucking now,” he frowns.

I bite my lip and nod.

“Damnit, what?”

“I mean, we are really busy…I mean, right now. Maybe—”

“The fuck?” He stops his hands, and all animation leaves him.

“Don’t get upset—”

“Then don’t offer me the fucking world in one breath and take it away in the next.”

“Easton, no, don’t take that the wrong way. You know I’m a planner.”

My quick excuse does absolutely nothing to soothe the sting in his eyes, the hurt emanating from him.

“Easton, please understand, I’m not taking it back…I don’t want to fight.”

Unhanding me completely, he tilts his head back to rinse off. “Well, you just fucking started one.”

“No, no, please, don’t get pissed. I just mean… I can handle it, of course.”

He lifts his brows, sarcasm dripping in his reply. “Oh, you can? Good thing our kid will have one worthy parent.”

“Come on. I’m just saying that’s a long time for a baby who needs us for everything. It would probably feel like a lifetime. We haven’t had a real conversation for a while. I just want us—”

His expression shifts to the point I know we’ve entered dangerous territory.

“I’m sorry. I know you’ll be an amazing and attentive father. It’s just you’re also a rock star, and there will be long absences you can’t help…it’s just maybe something we should talk about.”

With that, he shuts down completely and steps out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his body. In the mirror’s reflection, I see his eyes downcast. His expression…livid.

“Easton, please don’t be mad. It’s the truth…I’m just saying we should talk about it. Jesus. Your phone hasn’t stopped buzzing since we got here.”

Ignoring me, he starts to stalk out.

“Easton!” I call after him, my head still full of suds as I quickly try to rinse it out. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to ruin it!”

He stops at the edge of the bathroom, posture rigid, his tone one I’ve rarely heard in all our collective time together as his eyes raise to meet mine in the mirror. “I don’t think,” the acid dripping from those three words alone is enough to have me panicking. “I don’t think I’ve ever been as fucking mad at you, ever, as I am right now.”

He disappears into the bedroom as my panic kicks into overdrive. Unsure if I’m soap free, I step out of the shower, scrambling to dry off while calling his name.

By the time I make it to the bedroom, he’s dressed in a soft tee and fresh board shorts, already swiping his key card from the table. Absolute terror sets in as I scurry to where he stands to try and stop him.

“Easton, I’m so sorry. I really didn’t—”

“Mean to offer me the one thing in the world I want more than anything else and rip it away—while calling me out.”

“I didn’t know that you wanted it so much. We haven’t had the discussion since…everything happened, and I just wanted to talk it out a little.”

“Everything I told you that would happen.”

“I know.”

A knock sounds on our room door, and he turns his head to stare at it, refusing to look at me. “My phone’s been vibrating because I flew my parents here to surprise you because you said you missed them. Yours too. They got here a few hours ago and were eager to meet up. I wasn’t ready to share you yet, but they’re only staying a few days.”

It’s like a knife to the heart. “Jesus, Easton. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please don’t leave angry.”

Not bothering to look my way or acknowledge me, Easton walks over to the door when the second rap sounds and opens it. “Hey,” he greets, voice low, utterly deflated, “How are you, Nate?”

A long pause ensues as Dad reads his mood.

“Good, Easton. Where’s my girl? Everything okay?”

I speak up to try and save some face. “I just got out of the shower Daddy. I’m not decent! We’ll meet you and Mom downstairs in the restaurant, okay? I’m so happy you’re here. Just give me a few minutes.”

“Sounds good,” Dad replies, his tone suspicious, which I’m sure is only heightened after more excruciating seconds of silence.

“I’ll walk you down,” Easton offers as I softly say his name in protest. Knowing he heard me, he exits the room, and the click of the door closing behind him solidifies my fate.

I just hurt my husband in an unthinkable way. And worse, I’m not sure he’ll ever forgive me for it.