We did her room in a Monopoly theme. One of the walls is painted to look like a giant Monopoly game board. She’s got a full-size bed with Monopoly throw pillows and an oversized stuffed thimble piece. Jane runs her palm over the dresser, then goes out to see the other guest rooms. One blue, one green. And then, at the back of the house, the master.

Jane’s eyes get huge. “This is way bigger than it looked on the plans.”

Sunlight pours in from windows that overlook the ocean. On one end of the room is a sitting area. A couch with a blanket thrown over the back and two chairs. A bookshelf. A table. At the other end is our new bed. Jane touches the end of the comforter lightly with her fingertips.

“This is like a fancy hotel.”

“It won’t feel like a hotel once we’re here for a few nights.”

Jane gets on tiptoe to kiss me. “I just meant that it’s beautiful,” she murmurs against my mouth. “Anywhere you are feels like home.”

She’s astonished at the size of the bathroom and our walk-in closets. Delighted at the hand-carved wooden floors and thick carpets. At the small architectural details throughout. Her joy is the first thing to enter the rooms since they’ve been completed.

I can’t think of anything better.

Jane pauses one more time at the door to the master bedroom, and I take her in my arms. “We could spend the rest of the day in bed.”

She turns her body to kiss me back. “We haven’t seen the rest of the downstairs yet.”

I only agree because there is something I want to show her. Something that wasn’t included in the plans. The space was there, but not the final details. I chose those myself.

Jane twines her fingers through mine and pulls me down the stairs with her. We turn toward the kitchen and go down the hall. She peeks into my office, but I put my hands on her shoulders and guide her past.

The kitchen is large and light soaked. It would draw most women, but Jane sees the room I’m most proud of the second we step inside.

“Beau,” she gasps. “What is that?”

“A sunroom.”

It’s off the kitchen. Technically, off the living room, too.

It’s a vaulted room, impossibly high on one side, sloping down into a series of wide, slanted windows that look up through the trees. It continues down with a wall of windows, broken only by French doors. It feels like we’re standing on a calm version of the cliff—there’s a clear view of the sea. The designer I hired from New York has added live plants in the corners. A few black-and-beige prints of a nautilus. A small white-globe light hanging from the ceiling will provide only enough light to read when it gets dark.