Then a glass of champagne appeared under her nose. She looked up and saw Mike smiling at her.
“One for the road?” He gestured to the circular drive ahead of them. A Rolls-Royce waited, its engine chugging.
Hanna raised an eyebrow. “Did you arrange for that?”
“Maybe,” Mike said slyly. He smiled mysteriously and took Hanna’s arm. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Hanna glanced back at the straggling guests—her mom was tearing up as she waved at Hanna and Mike; her aunt Maude, who’d always been a lush, was still flirting with Mr. Montgomery; and most of the guests were holding up their phones, taking photos of the decor that would go straight to Instagram. She gave them a vague wave and took Mike’s hand, then turned to him, excited about whatever this next surprise would be. They hadn’t really talked about after the wedding . . . probably because Hanna and Ramona had been so wrapped up in the wedding itself. “Whatever you say, husband,” she murmured.
“That’s right, wife.” Mike kissed her ear and opened the back door to the car. The scent of fresh leather wafted out. “So did you have a good time?”
“Incredible,” Hanna breathed, sliding into the seat. Mike climbed in next to her, and the car zoomed away. Hanna laid her head on Mike’s shoulder and closed her eyes, feeling a little bit dizzy and entirely content. Eventually the car pulled to a stop. When she looked up, Hanna wasn’t in front of a luxe Philly hotel or even a quaint B and B, as she’d expected. They’d pulled up to her house.
“Oh,” she said, a little disappointed. The only consolation, she supposed, was that her mother couldn’t disapprove of them sharing her bed.
“You just wait,” Mike said eagerly, easing her out of the car. A wide grin on his face, he led her around the back. When she saw her backyard, Hanna gasped.
Tiki torches were lit up in a row around the back patio, Hawaiian music swelled quietly out of the outdoor speakers, and the sound machine from Hanna’s bedroom sat on the low wall, tuned to the Ocean Waves setting. Several kiddie pools had been filled with water, there were inflatable palm trees everywhere, and half the patio was covered with mounds of sandbox sand. Two slushy margaritas sat on the little table next to the chaises.
Hanna gave Mike a confused smile. “What is all this?”
“Well . . .” Mike twiddled his fingers bashfully. “I know you always wanted a tropical honeymoon, to Hawaii or the Caribbean or whatever. And I thought that since we couldn’t take a honeymoon in the islands, I’d bring the islands to us. But if you don’t like it, we can totally go back to the Ritz or whatever.”
“I love it,” Hanna said, touched more than she knew how to say. She pulled Mike close and squeezed him hard, tears burning at the corners of her eyes. With every passing moment of the night, from when she’d seen him at the altar to when they’d recited their vows to when he’d danced three dances in a row with her nebbishy relatives from Florida, she couldn’t think she could love him more . . . but this might have topped it all. It astonished her over and over that Mike would do all this for her and still know, deep down, that he and Hanna would probably never be together. That their only time together would be in a prison visitation room, or in a courtroom, or during phone calls. And yet he still went through all of this.
Then again, who knew? There was always that hope, right?
“You really like it?” he asked, his chin tucked over her head.
“It’s perfect. You’re perfect,” she said, running her hands up and down his back. “And you’re going to make a great husband.”
“Same goes for you,” Mike said. Then he leaned back and looked at her, touching one of the delicate beads on the front of her dress. “And you know, this dress is beautiful and all, but maybe we should get you into something more comfortable.”
“I second that,” Hanna said flirtatiously, taking his hand and leading him inside.
Ding-dong.
Hanna groaned and rolled over, touching Mike’s smooth, bare stomach. He sighed in his sleep.
Ding-dong.
She sat up and rubbed her eyes, looking around. Blankets and sheets were tangled around her and Mike, and Dot had wedged between them, his head on Mike’s butt. Hanna stifled a giggle, then felt a swell of wistfulness. If only she could have weeks, months, years of waking up together just like this.
There was a scuffle downstairs, and Hanna remembered the doorbell. Then there was a knock on her door. Hanna threw on a robe and opened the door just enough to see her mother’s pale face and eyes. “The police are downstairs for you,” her mother whispered. “The jury has made a decision.”
“On a Sunday?” Hanna gasped. Instantly she was up and throwing on clothes.
Everyone was bleary-eyed when they pulled up to the courthouse. Hanna clasped Mike’s hands tightly as they walked the distance from the parking lot to the steps. Flashbulbs popped in her face, and she couldn’t help but think that her slapdash attempt at makeup and coarse comb-through of her hair, still gummy with hairspray from yesterday’s updo, would probably get some jeers on Twitter. But those thoughts were quickly drowned out by the questions the reporters were yelling. “What do you think the jury will decide? How do you feel about going to prison? Do you think you’ll go free?”
Once inside, Mike turned to Hanna and squeezed her arm tightly. “It’s going to be okay.”
Hanna nodded, too afraid to speak for fear she’d throw up. Somehow, her legs managed to get her to the courtroom. Spencer and Aria were already in their seats, their faces drained of blood. Wordlessly, Hanna slid in next to them and clasped their hands. Her pulse raced fast.