I smiled, hearing him talk in such animated tones. It had been a long time since he’d had this much fun playing a video game. I suspected that, for far too long, the game had been work for him.

“Awesome. Then what?”

“I had to find a map to a faraway kingdom called Amah Dastam and help get the princess there to meet Sisyphus.”

“Amah Dastam? Amah Dastam.”

He watched me carefully. “Say it fast.”

“Amah Dastam.” I nodded, the light bulb suddenly going off. “Amsterdam. Holy crap. That’s, um, kinda creepy. What’s next? Will Princess Emma start a virginity auction after penning a controversial virginity manifesto?”

He faux-scowled at me. “She’d better not.” He slammed closed the laptop with a yawn.

“You could use a nap,” I said, fully aware that it was bedtime anyway.

He grinned at me crookedly—sporting that scruffy look, he was devilishly handsome, and I silently cursed the fact that I couldn’t attack him. This would have been the perfect moment. Damn sex ban.

“I think I do, too.” Exhaustion, as palpable as his, gnawed at me.

Minutes later, we were in bed, but by the time I moved over to his side to cuddle, he was already fast asleep.

***

The next morning, he was already awake beside me, lying in bed and tapping away on his laptop when I rolled over and cracked my eyelids open.

Through my blurry morning vision, I caught a glimpse of the weirdest thing ever on his laptop screen. An animation displayed what appeared to be the trajectory of a rocket that launched from somewhere off a map of Florida (complete with estimated time stamps, launch angle, altitude estimations, and other numbers scrolling across the screen).

Clearing my throat, I frowned. “What’s that?” I asked.

Shockingly, he jumped and slapped his laptop closed, a guilty expression on his face, as if I’d caught him watching hardcore granny porn. After taking a moment to collect himself, he grimaced, seeming upset that I’d seen it—whatever it was.

I sat up and stared at him. “What was that?” I repeated.

He jerked his shoulder in a sharp shrug. “Nothing. That wasn’t for your eyes.”

“Was it aerospace fetish porn or something? It looked like a rocket launching from Florida.” I smoothed a hand through my bed hair. “The trajectories? The explosions over the Caribbean. That seemed …elaborate.” Then I smirked. “And orgasmic.”

His lips thinned as he reopened the device, the screen pointed away from me this time. “It’s nothing.” Clicking a few buttons on his keyboard, he adjusted the angle. All I could see was his blank desktop.

My eyes narrowed. “It seemed like something to me.”

Scowling, he didn’t say anything.

I turned toward him, a new—and worrisome—suspicion arising. “It has something to do with the wedding, doesn’t it?”

He folded his arms across his chest. “Don’t ruin a surprise.”

My jaw dropped. “That didn’t appear to be a mere surprise to me. That looked like full-blown simulated nuclear war.”

His gaze went up to the ceiling. “It’s not a missile.”

“Then what the hell is it?”

He shifted on the bed. “It’s a rocket.”

“Like…fireworks? Because even I know that launching fireworks from Florida is not going to do us any good in St. Lucia.”

His mouth quirked. “It’s not exactly fireworks.”

“It’s actually a rocket?”

“It’s a surprise.”

I leaned toward him. “Adam Drake, if you don’t tell me what that was, I will pitch a fit. I promise you I will go Bridezilla on your ass. Are you launching a rocket?”

He shot me a dark look. “Yes.”

“For what purpose?” Oh, God…Overblown wasn’t even beginning to describe this shit now. “Is it launching us to the moon? Are we going to have a literal honeymoon? Should I pack my spacesuit?”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s a…special project I’ve been working on.”

“This entire wedding has been a special project—a special over-the-top project. Please tell me what the rocket is really about.”

His handsome features revealed nothing. “It’s...supposed to launch a payload into the upper atmosphere. Some harmless, inert debris that will burn up upon reentry while producing the effect of shooting stars. Our vows will be said at sunset, and the payload discharges in conjunction with that.”

Silence. I blinked at him, trying to absorb it.

He threw me a glance. “Are you okay?”

I squinted at him. “I don’t know. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to react upon discovering that my fiancé has lost his ever-loving mind.”

His jaw worked. “What? You don’t think it’s cool?”

“Adam, major nations don’t pull stunts like that for the opening of the Olympics. It’s out of control—” Cutting myself off at the hurt look on his face, I sighed and began more quietly. “I’m sorry, but—”

He gave me a stiff shrug. “You aren’t that into it. I’m getting that message loud and clear. It’s tiring to be the only one excited about this wedding.” He slapped the laptop shut again, jaw tensing. “Hopefully, you’re more excited about the marriage than you are about the wedding.”

Now it was my turn to get defensive. I could feel my blood pressure increasing, my fists tightening. “That’s ridiculous. Just because I don’t care about an excessive party does not mean in any way that I don’t want to marry you or that I’m not thrilled about the fact that we are going to spend the rest of our lives together.”

His cheeks flushing with anger and his glare darted out the window. So odd, this behavior.

Now he was up and pacing. My eyes caught on how his pajama pants and t-shirt were slightly loose on his body, which was thinner than before his illness. I made a mental note to say something to Chef about it. Now that he was eating again, he’d need to up his caloric intake.

“What’s this all about? What’s going on? Come on. If you can’t talk to me about it, who the hell else are you going to talk about it with?”

“I haven’t lost my mind.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I wanted you to have a day that’s all your own, where your every wish is granted and you feel special—like a princess.”