Our original plan had been to stay on the island a few more days and have some fun. Unfortunately, any fun we might have had was curtailed by the fact that I still couldn’t sit down without wincing. So any excursion we could’ve gone on was out of the question, and I was too afraid to go back into the water. Carson and I tried all kinds of convoluted sexual positions, but—shocker—even if your butt isn’t directly involved in the position, it’s still involved.

I finally decided I just wanted to go home, get one of those awful butt pillows, and recover a little dignity before the unveiling of my lobby piece. So I asked the concierge to move up our flight home. We could leave on the same flight most of the other wedding guests would be on. Carson wasn’t thrilled to be on the same flight as Renee and Anna, or Hillary and Eric for that matter, but he agreed as soon as I started crying.

I looked at my boarding pass again, then turned it over as if it would say something different on the back.

Damn it. “These are the wrong tickets. The guy said the other flight had room on it. So how’d we get the wrong ones?” We were on a different flight than everyone else and had a layover. If the flight had sold out, why didn’t the concierge tell me?

I put my anger on pause when I saw Carson’s face. He had on his I’m-lying-but-feel-bad-about-it expression.

“Carson?” I spoke slowly, not wanting to spook him. “Did you have our tickets changed?”

He stared at me silently for a minute, then wet his lips. “Possibly. But if I did, I would have had a really good reason to.”

“Right.” I only needed one guess as to why. “Carson, did you put us on a longer flight just to avoid being on the same one as Hillary and Eric? Or was it Renee and Anna you wanted to avoid?”

He put his hand on his heart, a hurt expression on his face. “Babe, do you really think I would do—?” He cursed when he broke, his smile huge. “I would definitely do something like that, wouldn’t I? But I didn’t this time. Swear it.”

He held his left hand over my ticket and raised up his right as if taking an oath on a bible. “I didn’t change the tickets just to avoid being on the same flight as all the people I dislike hanging out with most. Promise. That said, I can’t guarantee I won’t find anyone to dislike during the flight. Especially if they steal the armrest.”

“Then why did you change the reservation?”

“Surprise?” he said weakly.

“What kind of surprise?”

“We have a layover now.”

“Oh! You meant a shitty surprise.”

“That’s not—” He shook his head. “We have a layover… in San Diego.”

I grew up in San Diego. My parents still lived there. So the surprise was… “Why?”

“Well, because I talked your mom down from a two-week visit to a three-day visit. Without insulting her or even mentioning sex toys.”

“You spoke to my mom?”

He nodded. “And I asked her to get you a butt pillow. Didn’t tell her why, though. Shit, will she think I was asking for a sex toy when I said ‘butt pillow’?”

“No, she’d think a butt pillow was for hemorrhoids. So you implied I have hemorrhoids. To my mom.”

“Uh… maybe?” He ran his hand through his hair nervously. “Did I make a huge mistake?”

“About the pillow?” I stammered. “I wouldn’t call it a huge mistake, but… I’m just…” Deep breath. “Are you sure you want to meet them?”

“Yes and no. But a lot more yes than no.” He grimaced. “That’s not exactly right either. If you want, I could lay out my pros and cons list for you. I can recite it from memory.”

I kissed him, knowing what it symbolized for him. Knowing that he was putting aside his issues with his own parents and wanted to meet mine because it was the next step for us. How could I complain about that?

The only problem was I also knew what it meant for me. And that was a lot more complicated and a lot less sweet.

At least we could fight about which one of us was more nervous. Don’t get me wrong—my parents are good people. They’re just not Carson people. I still didn’t understand why they ever moved from the East Coast to California, let alone had lived there happily for thirty years. Neither of them understood sarcasm. Both of them assumed everyone who wore ripped jeans and had a band’s name on their t-shirt needed a hot meal and a place to sleep.

I was fifteen before I realized what that confused look on strangers’ faces meant. The one that appeared right after my mom gave them some money or one of the homeless care packages we made up every Sunday after church. I’m sure they enjoyed the sandwich, but ninety-nine-point-nine percent of them weren’t homeless. They were just fashionably dressed young people hanging out in downtown San Diego. I couldn’t count how many times I’d explained they didn’t need combs—they wore their hair like that on purpose. My parents would smile and hug me, but they never believed me.

“My parents are really nice people.”

“I’m sure they are.” Carson gave me the confused look I’d seen so often in my teens but eventually, his smile took over. “I mean, after screwing up their daughter so badly and sic’ing her on the rest of the world, they have a lot to make up for.”

I slugged him in the gut. Unfortunately his laughter had tightened his abs and protected him from any real damage.

“Do you really want to start down the road of whose parents have more to make up for?” It was meant to be a joke, but nothing about his parents made him laugh, unless bitter laughs counted.

He shrugged it off. “Since you don’t have a sibling to counter your horribleness, I think I’m still ahead. Plus, any damage I reap upon the world is taken care of by lawyers and non-disclosure agreements.” He pointed to himself with both thumbs. “Winner and still champion.”

“Is there anything you don’t win?”

“You mean that I want? Let’s see. Nope. I even won you. That’s a biggie.”

“Thanks,” I muttered. “As if I’m such a great prize.”

“The biggest. Someday, you’ll make all the other trophy wives hide their Ferragamo purses and Gucci heels in shame.”

I gasped. “I’m not a trophy wife!”

“Not yet.” The bastard smirked.

“I swear to you right now, in front of all these people we’ll probably never see again, I will never be a silent smile-and-nod fixture on your arm, Carson Bennett.”

“What about in my bed? I never want you to be silent, but I kind of love the smile and nod thing you do when you come. Usually your eyes are rolled back in your head and it’s not so much a smile as it is a—Oof! That hurt!” Because he hadn’t tightened his abs yet. He rubbed where my hit had landed.

“Serves you right.”

“Come on, babe! You know I’m kidding. I would never want you to be anything other than who you are—a strong, opinionated woman who looks amazing when she comes and can throw a decent punch.”

“Better remember that.”

His comeback—which I’m sure would’ve been something I’d have to pretend offended me and didn’t make me want to laugh—was cut off by the overhead announcement.

“Flight 1025 to San Diego, California is now boarding at Gate 2. Now boarding first-class passengers and those who need extra time. Please have your boarding passes and passports out.”

“Hurry, before they run out of ass pillows.” As Carson gathered our bags and mumbled something snide about my impressive ability to over pack, I wondered if I’d ever get tired of his unpredictability. Doubted it. Seriously, seriously doubted it.