“Of course you need to be there.” I smooth a hand along the back of her head, twirling the ends of her hair. “What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger, right? We’ll be bulletproof by the time this is over.”

She giggles into my chest. “I guess we will.”

“So, you’re not opposed to moving?” I ask, needing to put that fear to rest. It’s been a constant worry since the thought first crossed my mind days ago. Since realizing we’d made no plans for our future together before rushing to the altar.

She scoffs. “If I were, I certainly wouldn’t have married a rock star.”

“I would give it all up for you, you know.” I clutch her hair in a fist, squeezing her body tightly to mine. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I would never ask that of you.” She clears her throat. “I can be happy anywhere, as long as we’re together. I just want to get through a few more appointments and make sure Daddy’s treatments continue working before moving so far away.”

“I think I can live with that.”

She stares up at me. Her radiant smile bursting with gratitude. Her eyes filled with mischief. “The sun has set.”

“It has.”

“Your boner has not.” Reaching between us, she fondles the bulge in my pants.

I huff out a laugh that turns into a moan. “No. It hasn’t.”

“I’m soaked,” she volunteers, batting her lashes. “And I don’t just mean the bottom of my dress.”

“Wow.” I scoop her into my arms, because I can take a hint, especially when she’s practically beating me over the head with it. “That was a bit forward.”

“Would you rather I play coy?” She swirls a finger in circles around my nipple, innocently, like she doesn’t know she’s driving me wild. “Pretend I haven’t gone to bed dreaming of that piercing all week since you left me with a blue bean?”

I nearly slip on the rocky path up to the house I’m so shocked by her response. “Samantha Livingston!”

She starts to laugh, but it’s cut short. Her eyes widen as if something’s just occurred to her. “I sure hope you didn’t fuck this all up with that tattoo!”

I consider screwing with her, but the look on her face cautions me against it. “It’s thin script. I have a clear adhesive to put over it. Don’t worry, love. I came prepared.”

Her only response is a curt, but satisfied nod.

“Dinner first?” I ask, once we’ve crossed the threshold into the house, “or would you rather dessert?”

With a finger aimed at the master, she narrows her eyes. “I’ve waited six long years for this. Sure, hope you’ve got what it takes to live up to my wild imagination.”