VANESSA BELMONT JANG
Tuscan sunset, stupidly expensive wine in my hand, and my gorgeous husband's arms around me. Life was good. Finally. After multiple botched timelines, near-death experiences, and saving my bestie and his boyfriend from imminent death, Nathan and I were on an actual honeymoon. In Italy.
CRASH.
The sound came from inside our suite. Loud. Violent. Definitely not the sexy kind of honeymoon interruption.
Nathan and I froze.
I sighed. "If that's room service, they're getting zero stars on Yelp."
Nathan, ever the hero, disentangled himself and headed inside to investigate. I followed, because let's be real—if this was something other than a clumsy waiter, I wasn't letting my new hubby face it alone.
Some idiot in a ski mask was rifling through our goddamn safe.
Our honeymoon suite. Our romantic night. And this chucklehead thought he was walking out of here with my jewelry? Oh, hell no.
Nathan, bless his heart, actually said, "Uh. Hi?"
