When I wake up again, it’s to the sound of an ambulance’s siren.

Only, as I register it, I get that it’s not the long, wailing-jarring ambulance sounds I’m used to hearing. It’s a sound I’ve only heard on TV. This ambulance is all kinds of UK adorable with its wee-woo wee-woo sounds.

Because I’m in London. Heck, yes, London England. Oh, my-yay.

I crack open my eyes, trying not to move one inch, because I’m warm and comfortable and there’s a living breathing beautiful guy underneath my body.

My thoughts spin sleepily: I’m in London, and Royce has me wrapped up in his arms while he’s sound asleep just how we slept every night together since we’ve been married. Things haven’t changed. A second, yay!

As usual, I’m embarrassed that once again, my pillow tower didn’t work. That’s because I’m the one who tosses and turns too much. I’m also the one that winds up curled up onto Royce’s chest, no matter how I try not to do this.

But, fine I’m also going to admit that I love how—how he and his skin and his heartbeats feel amazing when he’s relaxed like this.

When he’s so close to me.

As I wake up more, I process every breath he takes and try not to be dumbfounded that this exact morning, this kind of morning with a sleeping Royce Devlin pressed into my body while sheltering me in his arms, has become my temporary reality.

More insane is the realization that I am in a sophisticated city that I know very little about. I’m residing on a street I was delivered to by limo, and led inside a building that I wouldn’t recognize if I went outside this morning. Honestly. If I walked to the corner and turned myself around three times, this is a place I couldn’t find again without asking someone!

I’m all but lost—a total fish out of water. Yet, here in the circle of Royce’s carefully placed arms, while I’m breathing his same breaths in and out…in and out…I feel completely found. For the first time in my life I feel like I belong somewhere, and that somewhere, though transient and impermanent, it is the best place I’ve ever been.

For the first time since my dad went missing and for the first time since I married Royce, I feel completely and utterly safe. And even though I should have wicked-bad jet lag beyond this small headache, I think I just slept more soundly than I have in months. Instead of feeling fear or strange, I just feel this sense of trust, happiness and wonder. And…I’m so thankful that Royce Devlin has turned out to be such a great friend.

Knowing I can’t lie here forever, and also knowing it would be really awkward if he woke up right now, because he might wake up and comment on who rolled toward who? (Because I’m the one who’s all the way on his side of the bed while he hasn’t budged very far from his original spot from last night.) I slowly scoot out of his arms, and slide off the bed, making a fast break for the bathroom and my toothbrush, because if this is going to be awkward, I may as well have fresh breath.

As the door clicks behind me, I hear him groan. Then he groans again.

Like I woke him up? Like maybe he wasn’t nearly as comfortable as I was, but that he was letting me sleep all while I was paralyzing his neck and back?

“I’m sorry.” I call out, through the door. “I didn’t know I was hurting you.”

“I’m the one who is sorry. Truly because…” I lean on the door, but I can’t hear how he’s finished that sentence, because it seems as though he’s suddenly talking into a pillow.

I glance at my phone, reading a text from Sage that says he’s fine and well, and after I send my reply that he’s going to love the UK when he gets here, I call out again. “It’s way after noon. I wonder why no one woke us up.”

He chuckles. “We’re newlyweds. Catching up on the love. Remember?”

“Oh. Right. That’s us. Always. Like rabbits.” I laugh through brushing my teeth.

Like he can tell I almost choked on those words, he chuckles. When I turn the water off I can hear that he’s now out of bed and moving around the room doing something.

He pauses at the door, saying, “I gave death threats to my staff last night. My uncle is also protecting our love. Sadly, our peace is down to a couple more hours. Gregory’s just texted to say a crowd has formed outside the hotel. Now that you’re here we need to make a quick public photo appearance. Then we’ve apparently agreed to some sort of small press event. Usually after those, we exit the premises with a huge obvious show that we won’t be back for a long time.”

I’m splashing water on my face wetting down some of my curls while running my fingers though my hair. “Why?”

“That’s so the crowd can dissipate. We have to do it all the time. Usually we can go around the block a few times, swap into different cars, and sneak back in via the basement parking garages or well-placed fire doors. That or…we can look at your London bucket list and actually go do something. Vere told me it’s really long.”

I click open the door, and walk back out, and sitting on the chaise by the window, curling my legs up into my huge hoodie. “All my stuff is kind of cliché. Maybe you’ll think it’s lame?”

“Robin.” His voice goes all low like I’ve hurt his feelings. “You know I won’t. Tell me your exact list and we will try our best. Are you up for it? We can start with breakfast. Any goals there?”

I blink. “Uh. Okay. I’ll start with food. I know scones come from here. Wait. What about that famous beans on toast stuff? I heard about that in the movie Bend it Like Beckham. Do you know it? Soccer? Romance? Best movie ever?”

He shakes his head and I flush, because of course cool-guy, Royce Devlin doesn’t know random romance movies that only people with no lives like me, have seen. He, for years, has had an actual life.

“Well,” I shrug, recovering while trying to act all cool. “Is there a fresh-scones and beans-on-toast restaurant we could search out?”

He laughs. “I’m not an expert, but I’m pretty sure those are both snacks that happen after lunch, during what the Brits call tea time. Let me Google.” He drags out his phone. “It says the most cliché breakfast here in London is poached eggs, sourdough toast and avocado—served up with different cheeses and toppings.”

“What has the different toppings? The toast, the eggs or the avocado?”

He scrolls through the phone. “No clue. But people won’t judge us if we do it wrong, simply because we’ll be eating it in here with room service.”

I laugh. “Perfect. As long as I get to try the other stuff later, though.” I pull out my own phone, firing off another text to Sage then take a photo that reflects the cool old buildings across the street and send it to him as well, reading what I’m typing out loud so Royce can be included: “Sage. Look at the street below the Orb London. You’re going to love it here.”

He replies: “Cant’ wait. Mrs. Felix says hi. Please say hi to Royce.

“My brother says hi and so does your grandmother.” I show him my phone.

“Say, ‘hi’ back to the kid.” He grins, waiting for me to send my reply. “Are you trying to distract me from your actual bucket list? Come on, Robin, aside from food, why are you being shy about what you want to see?”

“I—I don’t know what to put on that list Royce. I never thought I’d come to London, and I didn’t have much time to research things. I only know I want to see a castle. Any castle. Maybe one with a moat or a maze, and a dungeon maybe? And I want to ride in a black cab, and take a ride on the London Tube and take a photo of how that looks, because I’ve never been in a subway before.”

“I’d already guessed that.” He blinks at me, flopping down on the bed and rolling to his side, grinning.

I don’t grin back, only raise one brow in question. “Why? because you assumed your wife is a total small-town hick? Ouch.”

“Hardly, Robin.” His grin is wiped away and his tone turns serious. “Just because you haven’t travelled much doesn’t make you a hick. And what does that word mean anyhow?” He’s Googling it while speaking. “It says here hicks are referred to people born on hog farms. Is that you? No. It is not.”

I shrug, calling him out, “I know you well enough to know you’re only reading the one part of that definition that doesn’t apply to me. The hick. If that’s all it says show me your phone.”

He colors slightly and turns off his phone fast. “This definition doesn’t apply to you. It even says hicks are seen as rude and you’ve never been that. You’re simply…you know, under travelled.”

I roll my eyes laughing. “Okay. Whatever. I’m just saying, I might be too… under-travelled to make proper bucket lists.”

“Well you had a top three list, what is number four?”

“Well. Fourth is a photo in a red phone booth. And, oh…I want to see Trafalgar Square, and that pretty gold Victoria Statue, and it would be cool to see the National Galleries.” I blink up at him. “Oh, and cobblestones, I want to run around on some cobblestones, and see some dark narrow streets full of fog and pubs, so I can get my Sherlock, Dr. Who, dark streets of London history shivers going.”

He laughs out loud. “Now you’re talking.”

Encouraged by his bright smile, I go on, “Oh, and we must eat fish and chips of course.”

“Of course. With malt vinegar, hopefully from a food stand in a market or a small pub.”

“Oh, and I heard there’s this soft serve ice cream cone everyone gets called the ninety-nine. I always see photographs of it on Instagram. It’s one that’s got a chocolate Cadbury stick shoved into it—a ‘flake’ it’s called. Honestly, if we have to minimize I’d be fine with only doing cobble stones and the ice cream, and that we can bring into the hotel. Okay? Have you heard of this ice-cream awesomeness?”

“No. Never, but from the look on your face, I now want one very much.”

“Well, maybe…like us…maybe it’s not real. Like maybe it’s all lies someone made up and posted on the Internet for the world to believe?”

He frowns and his face darkens with what looks like hurt surprise, then his gaze grows so shuttered that I wish to my core that I hadn’t joked about that. Us. Quickly I add, “I am also good just hanging here at the hotel with you. Or like…you can go do other things, without me. You don’t need to entertain me or be by my side because I’m self-sufficient. When Sage gets here in a few days, I’ll have one full day to do all of this stuff with him.” I shrug. “So…it’s whatever you want.”

“Robin. Honestly? My goals are to…simply, be with you. To show you London and to make you smile this week, because it’s fun for me to see the world through your fresh-seeing eyes. This list is great, I’m only frowning because I’m afraid I can’t show you some of these things without causing riots. I need to come up with plans and creative methods of how do it all so you won’t get mobbed.”

“Which is why I say we don’t have to do them. The ideas are too touristy. I know. That’s why I left off the Tower of London and like…that London Eye and Big Ben which both were really on the top of the list, but I already know they’re impossible. Let’s just go for the little stuff.”

“No. We’ve got this. It’s your first time to London so we are going to do some cool things. Just…give me time to make the plans.”