My husband stood there in a hotel robe, his hair sticking up in six directions. He looked less like a man caught and more like a puppy who’d chewed a shoe.
“Rosa, one of your grandmother’s friends, helped me find it,” he said, sighing.
“Please open up.”
“Her cousin works at the jewelry shop. It took almost a year of payments. I was going to give it to you on the beach in Santorini.”
I blinked.
“The key?”
“Safe-deposit box. I didn’t want it sitting in our apartment where you’d find it.”
I laughed. It came out relieved and ridiculous.
“Ian, I almost googled divorce lawyers over dry cleaning!”
“I realized that.”
“I’m serious.”
“I was going to give it to you.”
“So am I. I broke our rule. I’m sorry.” Ian opened the box. “I just really wanted one surprise. Rosa slipped me the final receipt and the key at the rehearsal dinner. She wrote that note thanking me for letting her be part of it; she told me to hold the line till Santorini. I forgot to burn the evidence,” he explained sheepishly.
I held his hand.
“I’m sorry I didn’t trust you, babe,” I said.
“It’s okay; it’s all my fault. No more secrets. Not even good ones.”
“I broke our rule.”
“Deal.”
“Although technically, this one worked.”
“Don’t push it.”
He kissed my forehead, and I let myself breathe for what felt like the first time all morning.
