Zayne hadn't slept.
Not really.
He'd spent the entire night in exquisite torture.
Because Nana, in her infinite wisdom, had decided to sleep in the SHORTEST pajama shorts known to mankind.
Tiny pink shorts that barely covered anything.
And a tank top that was equally insufficient.
And she'd curled up against him like always.
With her legs.
Those legs.
Bare. Soft. Right there.
*Don't touch. Don't look. Don't think about—*
But his hand had moved.
Unconsciously.
In his sleep.
To her thigh.
Soft. Warm. Smooth.
He'd woken to find his hand on her thigh, thumb stroking gentle circles on her skin, and—
COLD SHOWER. IMMEDIATELY.
He'd fled to the bathroom at 3 AM and stood under freezing water for twenty minutes.
It hadn't helped.
Now, at 6:23 AM, bags packed for their honeymoon trip, he was exhausted, suffering, and questioning every decision that led to this moment.
*This is fine. We're going on honeymoon. To a beach resort. Where she'll probably wear a swimsuit. A SWIMSUIT.*
*I'm going to die.*
*Actually die.*
*Today.*
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🌻🌻🌻
They were in first class—Zayne had insisted, claiming it was "more comfortable" when really he just wanted privacy from other passengers witnessing whatever chaos Nana would inevitably cause.
She sat by the window, nose pressed against the glass, watching clouds.
"We're so HIGH!" she exclaimed. "Like birds! Are there birds this high? Can I talk to them?"
*She wants to talk to birds. At 30,000 feet. Of course she does.*
"The birds are lower," he said, trying to read a medical journal and failing because his wife was adorable and distracting.
"Oh." She sounded disappointed, then immediately perked up. "OH! Look!" She grabbed a glossy magazine from the seat pocket. "HONEYMOON PACKAGES!"
Oh no.
The magazine was exactly what it sounded like—luxury honeymoon destinations, romantic getaways, couple's activities.
The cover featured a handsome man and beautiful woman on a beach, looking blissfully happy.
"Zayne!" Nana pointed at the cover. "Look how handsome he is! Do honeymoon packages come with extra handsome husbands? Like an upgrade? Premium package?"
Zayne choked on his water.
*WHAT.*
*EXTRA HANDSOME HUSBANDS.*
*SHE THINKS HONEYMOONS COME WITH SPARE HUSBANDS.*
Several passengers nearby were trying not to laugh.
One elderly woman was openly giggling.
"You don't—" he managed, still coughing, "—you don't GET husbands with the package—"
"Oh." Nana looked at the magazine again. "So this is just advertising? False advertising? Disappointing!"
"You already HAVE a husband," he pointed out, taking the magazine to see what nonsense she was reading.
"I know! And you're very handsome! More handsome than magazine husband! But I thought maybe it's like... a bundle deal? Variety?"
*VARIETY. SHE WANTS HUSBAND VARIETY.*
"One husband," he said firmly. "Me. That's the package. Take it or leave it."
"I'll take it!" She beamed. "You're the best package! Premium! Five stars! Gold standard!"
*She's rating me like a resort. This is my life.*
"But Zayne," she continued, flipping through the magazine, "it says here that honeymoon packages include 'romantic activities' and 'intimate experiences' and—OH! Look! This one includes CHOCOLATE!"
*Focus on the chocolate. Ignore the intimate experiences. Don't think about—*
"We can french kiss on the honeymoon, right?" Nana asked suddenly, loudly.
VERY loudly.
In the quiet airplane cabin.
*NO. NOT HERE. NOT NOW. WHY—*
"Nana—" he started, his face heating up.
"Because the magazine says 'romantic activities' and french kissing is romantic! So that's included? In the package?"
The elderly woman nearby was full-on laughing now.
A businessman across the aisle was hiding his smile behind his newspaper.
The flight attendant passing by had stopped, trying not to react.
"YES," Zayne said through gritted teeth, grabbing the magazine from her hands. "Yes, that's included. Can we please—"
"How many times per day?" Nana asked innocently. "Is there a limit? Package restrictions?"
*I'M GOING TO JUMP OUT OF THIS AIRPLANE.*
"No limit," he managed, stuffing the magazine into the seat pocket. "Unlimited. Premium package. Can we please stop discussing this in public?"
"Why? We're married! It's normal! Everyone french kisses on honeymoons!"
"Yes but they don't ANNOUNCE it on airplanes—"
"Oh! Should I announce it?" She started to stand up.
Zayne pulled her back down by her hand. "NO. No announcing. No more honeymoon discussions. Read something else. Anything else."
She pouted but complied, pulling out her phone instead.
*Crisis averted. Barely.*
"Zayne?"
*What now.*
"The internet says honeymoons also include something called 'consummation'—what's that?"
*I'M JUMPING. I'M DEFINITELY JUMPING.*
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🌻🌻🌻
The resort was beautiful—five-star, beachfront, private villas, crystal clear water, white sand beaches.
Exactly the kind of romantic, intimate setting Zayne had wanted.
Their villa was pristine—king-size bed (he tried not to think about that), private balcony overlooking the ocean, large bathroom with spa tub (definitely not thinking about that either).
Nana immediately started unpacking, pulling out clothes, squealing about the ocean view, bouncing around the room.
"I'm going to swim! Right now! Look—I brought my swimsuit!" She held up a bright pink bikini.
*That's not a swimsuit. That's string. With fabric suggestions.*
Zayne's grip on the table tightened until his knuckles turned white.
*Breathe. Just breathe. It's just fabric. Minimal fabric. Barely-there fabric covering her—*
STOP.
She disappeared into the bathroom to change.
*This is fine. I'm a doctor. I've seen human anatomy. This is just—*
She emerged.
Time stopped.
Oh no.
Oh NO.
The pink bikini fit her perfectly. TOO perfectly.
Her body—small, yes, but PERFECTLY proportioned.
Tiny waist he could probably span with his hands.
Cute, slim legs that went on forever despite her being 153cm.
And her chest—
*NOT small. Definitely not small. Perfect. Everything is perfect. Why is everything perfect. This is torture.*
"How do I look?" She spun around, completely oblivious to his mental breakdown.
*Like sin. Like temptation. Like every fantasy I've been trying not to have.*
"Put on a dress," he said, voice strained.
"What? Why? It's the beach!"
"Dress. Now. Please."
"But—"
"Nana." He looked at her seriously. "If you wear that swimsuit outside, I'm going to have to freeze every man who looks at you. Do you want me to commit mass ice sculpture? Do you want the resort to be full of frozen tourists?"
She giggled. "You're jealous!"
*Yes. Completely. Irrationally. Territorially jealous.*
"I'm protective," he corrected. "Dress. Over the swimsuit. Compromise."
She pouted but pulled on a light summer dress over the bikini.
*Better. Still dangerous. But better.*
"Can we go now?" she asked eagerly.
*No. I need another cold shower. Maybe several.*
"Yes," he sighed. "Let's go."
Nana ran toward the water like a child, dress flowing, laughing as waves hit her feet.
Zayne followed at a more dignified pace, watching her with a smile he couldn't quite hide.
*She's adorable. Completely, utterly adorable.*
She splashed in the shallow water, collected shells, chased small fish, talked to a seagull (of course she did).
Then she spotted a vendor selling snacks.
"ZAYNE! LOOK! SNACKS!"
Here we go.
Twenty minutes later, she'd purchased:
- Ice cream (three flavors)
- Fruit skewers (five)
- Grilled squid (two)
- Some kind of fried ball thing (unknown quantity)
- Coconut water (in an actual coconut)
"Are you going to eat all of that?" he asked, watching her struggle to carry everything.
"Yes! Vacation calories don't count! Mina said so!"
*Mina. Always Mina. I really need to freeze her.*
They found a spot under a beach umbrella. Nana sat in the sand, happily eating her snack collection.
Zayne sat beside her, reading a book, occasionally glancing over to make sure she hadn't somehow gotten into trouble in the thirty seconds since he last looked.
"ZAYNE!" she suddenly shrieked. "CRAB!"
He looked up to find a crab approaching her snack pile.
A very determined crab.
"It's just a crab, hamster. It won't—"
Nana grabbed a stick from somewhere (where did she GET a stick, they're on a beach—) and pointed it at the crab.
"BACK! BACK YOU SEAFOOD THIEF!"
*She's threatening a crab. With a stick. My wife is engaging in crab combat.*
The crab, wisely, retreated.
But then returned, flanking from the left.
"OH NO YOU DON'T!" Nana jumped up, stick ready, assuming what looked like a fencing stance. "EN GARDE, CRUSTACEAN!"
*En garde. She said en garde. To a crab.*
The crab advanced.
Nana lunged with her stick.
The crab side-stepped.
*She's losing to a crab. My wife is being outmaneuvered by a crab.*
"Zayne!" she called, never taking her eyes off her opponent. "Backup! I need backup!"
"I'm not fighting a crab."
"IT'S GOING FOR THE SQUID!"
"Then sacrifice the squid."
"NEVER!"
She charged forward, stick swinging wildly.
The crab grabbed the stick with its claw.
They engaged in a tug-of-war.
Woman versus crab.
Over a stick.
On a beach.
While other tourists watched in confusion and amusement.
*This is my honeymoon. Watching my wife battle a crab. This is real. This is happening.*
Finally, the crab released the stick and scuttled away, apparently deciding Nana wasn't worth the effort.
"I WON!" she declared triumphantly, raising her stick like a sword. "VICTORY!"
Zayne found himself smiling despite everything.
*She's ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. And I love her.*
*I really, really love her.*
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🌻🌻🌻
The resort's signature restaurant was built underwater—glass walls showing the ocean, fish swimming by, atmospheric lighting.
Very romantic.
Very expensive.
Very much wasted on Nana who was currently glaring at a shark swimming past.
"I could take it," she declared, pointing at the shark with her fork.
"You could not," Zayne said calmly, cutting his steak.
"I fought a crab today! Successfully! Sharks are just big crabs!"
"That's not—sharks are not big crabs—the biology is completely different—"
"I could fight it." She was serious. Completely serious. "If it came in here. Through the glass. I'd protect you."
*My tiny wife thinks she can fight a shark to protect me. This is adorable and concerning.*
"I appreciate the sentiment."
The waiter approached—young, friendly, clearly charmed by Nana's antics.
"How is everything?" he asked with a smile.
"Great!" Nana beamed. "Except that shark looks rude. Can you tell it to be more polite?"
The waiter laughed. "I'll pass along the message. You two are adorable together."
"We're on our HONEYMOON!" Nana announced proudly.
*Why. Why does she announce this to everyone.*
"Congratulations!" The waiter cooed. "How lovely! Young love!"
"Yes! And after dinner—" Nana leaned forward conspiratorially but didn't lower her voice AT ALL, "—we're going to french kiss! A LOT! It's part of the honeymoon package!"
The waiter froze.
Zayne wanted to sink through the floor.
Several nearby tables had gone silent.
*I'm going to Mars. Not the moon. Not heaven. MARS. Just leaving Earth entirely.*
"That's—" the waiter recovered, face red, "—that's wonderful! Very... healthy! For the relationship! I'll just—get your dessert—excuse me—"
He fled.
Actually fled.
Nearly dropped his notepad in his haste to escape.
At a nearby table, an elderly couple was laughing.
At another, a young couple looked mortified.
Somewhere in the back, kitchen staff were probably gossiping about the crazy honeymoon couple.
"Why did he leave so fast?" Nana asked innocently. "Did I say something wrong?"
*Yes. You announced our planned intimate activities. In a public restaurant. At volume.*
"You just—" Zayne pinched the bridge of his nose, "—shared private information. Very private. Very loudly."
"But french kissing isn't private! We do it all the time!"
"Yes but we don't ANNOUNCE it—"
"Oh! Should I announce it more? EVERYONE—" she started to stand.
Zayne grabbed her hand, pulling her back down. "NO. No more announcing. Please. I'm begging you."
She giggled. "You're so cute when you're embarrassed!"
*Cute. I'm not cute. I'm mortified. There's a difference.*
"Can we just—eat dessert quietly? Please?"
"Okay!" She smiled brightly. "But after dessert, then french kissing?"
*She's asking. Again. In the restaurant. Where people can hear.*
"Yes," he said quietly. "After dessert. In our room. PRIVATELY."
"YAY!" She clapped her hands.
Several people at nearby tables smiled.
The waiter returned with their dessert, set it down hastily, and fled again.
*I've traumatized the staff. My wife has traumatized an entire restaurant.*
But as he watched her happily dig into her chocolate cake, getting it on her nose, smiling at him with pure joy...
*I don't even care.*
*Let her announce things. Let her fight crabs. Let her threaten sharks.*
*She's mine. My ridiculous, chaotic, perfect wife.*
*And tonight...*
*Tonight we're going to do more than french kiss.*
*Much more.*
*If I survive the anticipation.*
*If she doesn't kill me with public announcements first.*
*Soon.*
*Very soon.*
*Back in our room.*
*Privately.*
*Finally.*
ZAYNE'S INTERNAL MONOLOGUE - 8:34 PM (WALKING BACK TO VILLA)
Medical log - Day Fifteen - Honeymoon Day One:
Current status: Survived airplane. Survived beach. Survived crab battle. Survived underwater restaurant. Barely.
Wife's activities today:
- Asked about extra husbands in honeymoon package
- Announced french kissing plans on airplane
- Wore bikini (nearly killed me)
- Fought crab with stick (victorious)
- Threatened shark
- Announced french kissing plans in restaurant
- Traumatized waiter
- Collected snacks (excessivequantity)
My activities today:
- Suffered
- Died internally (multiple times)
- Watched crab battle
- Tried not to stare at bikini
- Failed at not staring
- Contemplated moving to Mars
Current situation: Walking back to villa. Wife holding my hand. Skipping. Actually skipping. While humming.
She's happy. Completely, utterly happy.
And tonight...
Tonight is the night.
"After dessert, then french kissing?"
She asked. She's ready. She's BEEN ready.
The question is: Am I ready?
Ha.
I've been ready since the wedding.
Since before the wedding.
Since the moment she smiled at me and my heart forgot how to beat properly.
But now it's real.
Actually happening.
Tonight.
In that villa.
With the king-size bed.
And my wife who wore that bikini.
And fought a crab.
And announces french kissing to strangers.
My ridiculous, perfect wife.
Prescription for tonight:
- Don't panic (impossible)
- Be gentle (essential)
- Go slow (will try)
- Make sure she's comfortable (priority)
- Don't lose control completely (unlikely)
- Show her everything (yes)
- Make her mine completely (definitely)
She's skipping. She's actually skipping.
Like she's not about to experience her firsttime.
Like this is just another adventure.
Maybe for her it is.
Another curious thing to explore.
Another "educational experience."
God.
I love her.
So much it's medically concerning.
And tonight I'm going to show her exactly how much.
No more "eventually."
No more "soon."
Tonight.
Now.
Finally.
If I survive the next few hours.
If SHE survives the next few hours.
Here goes nothing.
Everything.
Here goes everything.
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🌻🌻🌻
To be continued.