Chapter 89 The Honeymoon

Chapter 89 The Honeymoon

"We're not taking a helicopter to the San Juan Islands," Harper said, staring at the aircraft on the private helipad. She was thirty-two weeks pregnant, waddling more than walking, and deeply suspicious of her husband's planning abilities.

"It's a twenty-minute flight versus a three-hour drive and ferry ride," Sebastian argued, loading their bags. "Your doctor said to avoid stress."

"My doctor said to avoid unnecessary travel. We could have honeymooned at home."

"We honeymoon at home every night. This is different." He helped her carefully into the helicopter, buckling her seatbelt around her considerable bump. "Trust me?"

Harper looked at his eager face and sighed. "If I go into early labor on an island, I'm blaming you."

"Deal. But you won't. The baby's not due for eight weeks, and the island has a medical clinic fifteen minutes from our rental."

"You researched medical facilities for our honeymoon?"

"I researched everything. Including the best ice cream place, three prenatal yoga spots, and which beaches have the flattest walking paths." Sebastian climbed in beside her, taking her hand. "I told you I was going to spoil you."

The helicopter lifted off, and despite her anxiety, Harper felt excitement bubble up. A week away from board meetings and hotel management and nursery preparation. Just them, before everything changed forever.

The San Juan Islands spread below them, green and beautiful in the afternoon sun. Sebastian squeezed her hand, pointing out landmarks like an excited tour guide.

"There's Friday Harbor. And that's where we're staying—that small cottage on the water. Private beach, kitchen so we can cook, hot tub that's pregnancy-safe temperature—I checked."

"You checked the hot tub temperature?"

"I checked everything. I made spreadsheets, Harper. Color-coded spreadsheets."

She kissed him, laughing. "You're ridiculous."

"You love it."

"I really do."

\---

The cottage was perfect. Small but luxurious, windows overlooking the water, a king bed with approximately seven thousand pillows. Sebastian insisted on carrying their bags despite Harper's protests.

"I'm pregnant, not dying," she said, watching him make three trips.

"Humor me. I'm practicing for when we have a baby and seventeen bags of supplies everywhere we go."

Harper explored while he unpacked with military precision. The kitchen was stocked—Sebastian's doing, obviously. Fresh fruit, her current pregnancy craving of pickles and peanut butter, ginger tea for nausea. The bathroom had her favorite shampoo. The bedroom had blackout curtains and a sound machine.

"You thought of everything," she said, finding him arranging her toiletries in the bathroom.

"I tried. Did I miss anything?"

Harper wrapped her arms around him from behind, awkward with the bump. "Just one thing."

"What?"

"You." She kissed his neck. "I just needed you."

Sebastian turned, pulling her close. "You have me. Always."

They stood like that for a long moment, swaying slightly, feeling the baby kick between them.

"What do you want to do first?" Sebastian asked. "Walk on the beach? Nap? I have a whole itinerary—"

"Burn the itinerary."

"I'm sorry?"

"We're on our honeymoon. Let's be spontaneous." Harper took his hand. "Show me this private beach."

\---

The beach was rocky but beautiful, the water calm and clear. Harper walked slowly, Sebastian hovering like she might shatter. She found a smooth rock and pocketed it.

"For the nursery," she explained. "A piece of this trip."

"That's—" Sebastian's voice caught. "That's really sweet."

"You're the sentimental one, not me."

"We're both sentimental now. Pregnancy made us soft."

They walked until Harper's back started aching, then sat on a driftwood log watching the sunset. Sebastian rubbed her lower back without being asked, knowing exactly where she needed pressure.

"I'm terrified," Harper said suddenly.

"Of labor?"

"Of everything after. What if I'm a terrible mother? What if I don't bond with the baby? What if I look at them and just feel... nothing?"

Sebastian's hand stilled. "Where's this coming from?"

"I don't know. My mother left. What if I have that same instinct? What if I wake up one day and just... leave?" Harper's voice broke. "What if I'm exactly like her?"

"Hey. Look at me." Sebastian turned her to face him. "You're not your mother. You're not going to leave. You know how I know?"

"How?"

"Because you're sitting here terrified that you might. Your mother didn't worry about that. She just left. But you're here, at thirty-two weeks, already loving this baby so much you're scared of screwing it up. That's not someone who's going to abandon their child."

Harper let the tears fall. "What if I don't feel that instant bond everyone talks about? What if I look at them and just feel overwhelmed?"

"Then we work through it. Together. Postpartum depression is real, and we'll watch for it. But Harper, even if you don't feel that magical instant connection, you will love this baby. I've watched you talk to your stomach for months. I've seen you cry at ultrasounds. I've felt you protect your bump in crowded places. That's love. It's already there."

"You really believe that?"

"I know it." He kissed her forehead. "And if you're scared, I'll love them enough for both of us until you catch up. Deal?"

"Deal." Harper leaned into him. "What about you? Are you scared?"

"Terrified. I keep having nightmares where I'm holding the baby and suddenly I'm my father, cold and distant and critical. I wake up in a panic."

"But you're not him."

"I know. Intellectually, I know. But fear isn't rational." Sebastian's arm tightened around her. "What if I mess them up? What if I pass down all the worst parts of the Colton family dysfunction?"

"Then we get them therapy early and often," Harper said. "And we love them through it. That's all we can do."

They sat until the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in oranges and pinks. The baby kicked, and they both laughed.

"They're always most active at sunset," Sebastian observed.

"They like the show. Already has opinions." Harper stood slowly, Sebastian jumping up to help her. "I'm starving. What's for dinner?"

"I made reservations at a place in town, but we can cancel and cook here if you're tired—"

"Reservations sound perfect. Let me just make myself presentable."

"You're already beautiful."

"I'm covered in sand and my hair looks like a bird's nest, but I appreciate the lie."

\---

Dinner was at a small restaurant overlooking the harbor. Fresh salmon, local vegetables, and the best dessert Harper had eaten in months. They talked about everything and nothing—plans for the Adriatic's grand opening next month, baby names they couldn't agree on, whether to do sleep training or not.

"I've been reading books," Sebastian admitted. "Like, fifteen parenting books."

"I know. I've seen the stack on your nightstand."

"They all contradict each other. It's maddening."

"So we'll figure out what works for our baby. There's no manual for our specific child." Harper reached across the table. "We're going to screw up. A lot. But we'll do it together, and we'll keep trying to do better."

"When did you get so wise?"

"Pregnancy brain. I'm storing all my wisdom now before sleep deprivation destroys my cognitive function."

They walked back to the cottage slowly, Sebastian's arm around her waist. The island was quiet, peaceful, the stress of Seattle feeling very far away.

In bed, Harper curled against Sebastian—as much as her bump allowed—and felt truly relaxed for the first time in months.

"Thank you for this," she whispered.

"For what?"

"For knowing what I needed before I did. For planning everything perfectly. For loving me."

Sebastian's hand settled on her bump. "Thank you for choosing me. For giving me this family. For being patient while I figured out how to be the person you deserved."

"We figured it out together."

"Yeah. We did."

Harper felt herself drifting off, the baby's movements slowing as they settled for the night. Sebastian's breathing evened out beside her.

This peace wouldn't last. In two months, their lives would be chaos—diapers and night feedings and figuring out how to keep a tiny human alive. But right now, in this moment, everything was perfect.

Just her and Sebastian and their baby-to-be, safe and warm and loved.

She fell asleep with a smile on her face, Sebastian's hand still on her bump, both of them dreaming of the future they were about to meet.

\---

The week passed too quickly. Long beach walks, lazy afternoons reading on the porch, cooking together in the small kitchen. They talked about the future, about fears and hopes and all the ways they'd probably mess up parenthood.

"I'm definitely going to be that dad who cries at every milestone," Sebastian admitted on their last morning.

"I'm going to be the mom who worries about everything constantly."

"We're going to be disasters."

"The best kind of disasters."

On the helicopter ride home, Harper held Sebastian's hand and watched Seattle come into view. Their city. Their home. The place where everything had started with a desperate contract and transformed into something real.

"Ready to go back?" Sebastian asked.

Harper thought about the nursery waiting for them, the hotel preparing for its grand opening, the baby who would arrive in just weeks. Ready? No. Terrified? Absolutely.

But with Sebastian beside her, she thought they might actually survive it.

"Ready," she said, squeezing his hand.

The helicopter descended toward the city, carrying them back to reality.

Back to their life.

Back to the beautiful chaos that was about to begin.

And Harper couldn't wait.