"I locked myself in the bathroom on my wedding night—unaware my 6'8" husband was sitting on the carpet crying."

I stood on the soft, plush carpet near the edge of the king-sized bed, my small hand still resting gently against Jonah’s broad, stubbled jaw. My heart wasn't hammering with the frantic panic that had sent me running into the bathroom forty-seven minutes before midnight. It was beating with a deep, steady rhythm, grounded by the gentle, protective warmth of the giant kneeling before me.

Jonah’s storm-gray eyes searched mine, his breathing slow, deliberate, and impossibly quiet for a man built like a fortress of muscle and bone.

"What do you want, Claire?" Jonah asked again, his deep baritone a soft, rumbling whisper that vibrated against my palm.

"I want us to stop listening to everyone who doesn't live inside this room," I answered softly, leaning down to press a sweet, unhurried kiss against his forehead, right above the faint crease of worry that had rested between his brows all evening. "I want to eat that leftover wedding cake, Jonah. And I want to spend the rest of my life showing you that I'm not fragile."

Jonah let out a long, shuddering breath, the tension that had gripped his broad six-foot-eight frame for the last twelve hours finally melting away. A soft, breathless laugh escaped his lips—a sound so rich and genuine it warmed every corner of the room.

He stood up fluidly, his tall frame dwarfing the high ceilings, but he moved with the gentle, precise care of a man carrying spun glass. He walked over to the silver ice bucket where the hotel staff had placed our leftover tier of salted-caramel wedding cake, retrieved two silver forks, and brought the plate over to the velvet sofa near the fireplace.

For the next two hours, the whispers of my aunt calling me "tiny," my cousin Megan joking about my safety, and my mother’s worried parting hugs vanished into the quiet night.

We sat side by side on the sofa, sharing sweet cake, laughing softly at the memory of my uncle accidentally dropping his boutonnieres during the ceremony, and talking about the quiet farm life we were building together three hours north in the mountains of Vermont.

When we finally lay down under the white silk sheets near 3:00 A.M., Jonah stayed on his side of the bed, giving me space, keeping his broad hands rested flat over his chest.

I didn't stay on my side.

I slid across the crisp linen, resting my head against his broad, solid chest, wrapping my arm around his torso, listening to the slow, steady beat of his heart.

Jonah went still for a second, then gently wrapped his broad, warm arm around my waist, pulling me comfortably against him, resting his cheek against my dark hair.