Chapter 14: Honeymoon Feast
The suite was too quiet after the noise of the day. The grand, high-ceilinged space seemed to swallow the soft click of the door closing behind them, leaving only the distant hum of Seoul’s night traffic, twenty floors below. Hyukjae set their small bags down on a velvet settee, the gesture feeling strangely ordinary in such an extraordinary room.
Gabby walked to the center, where the bed lay like an island under the soft glow of a single chandelier. She kicked off her flats and simply stood there, her back to him, looking at the vast cityscape beyond the glass. The silhouette of her body, softened by the pregnancy and the long, draining day, was utterly still.
“It doesn’t feel real,” she said, her voice barely above a murmur. “Any of it.”
Hyukjae came up behind her, not touching her at first, just standing in the space she occupied. He could smell the lingering peonies in her hair, mixed with salt air from Lake Como and the faint, clean scent of her skin. “Which part?”
She leaned back until her shoulders just brushed his chest. “All of it. The dress. The lake. The rings. That I’m… that we’re…” She turned in his arms then, her face tilted up to his. In the dim light, her eyes were pools of dark uncertainty. The radiant confidence from the ceremony had faded, leaving something more vulnerable underneath. “Your vows,” she whispered. “You called me your home.”
“You are.”
“I want to be.” Her hands came up to rest on his chest, over his heart. “But what if I’m bad at it? At being a home? At being a…” She trailed off, swallowing hard.
“A wife?” he finished gently.
She gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. The admission seemed to cost her. This was the Gabby no one else saw—not the cheerleader, not the heiress, not the radiant bride. This was the girl who had carried a secret for months, who had built a life with him from scratch, and who was now terrified of the next threshold.
He brought his hands up to cradle her face, his thumbs stroking her cheeks. “Noona,” he said, the term an anchor, a reminder of where they’d started. “You built this with me. There’s no manual. We just… keep building.”
He kissed her then, not with the fevered passion he sometimes felt, but with a slow, deep reassurance. A sealing of a promise. Her lips parted under his, and he tasted the faint sweetness of champagne from the toast. Her hands fisted gently in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.
When they broke apart, she kept her eyes closed for a long moment. Then her fingers went to the buttons of his dress shirt. They trembled slightly. He covered her hands with his own, stilling them.
“We don’t have to,” he breathed, his forehead resting against hers. “Tonight, or… there’s no rush.”
She opened her eyes. A small, shaky smile touched her lips. “I know. But I want to. I’m just… I’m nervous.”
“Me too.” He smiled back, a genuine, lopsided thing.
That made her laugh, a soft puff of air against his mouth. “You are? Why?”
“Because you’re… you. And I’m… me.” He shrugged, as if that explained everything. To him, it did. She was a universe he was still learning to navigate.
She resumed her work on the buttons, slower now, more deliberate. “Then we’ll be nervous together.”
Piece by piece, the layers between them fell away. His shirt, her delicate lace-covered dress, the trappings of the wedding day discarded on the plush carpet. The cool air of the room touched his skin, raising goosebumps. He was hyper-aware of everything—the whisper of silk as she slid the dress from her shoulders, the heavy beat of his own heart, the way the city light painted her skin in shades of blue and gold.
She stood before him, and his breath caught. The changes to her body were profound, beautiful. The full, heavy curves of her breasts, the dark line running down the taut swell of her belly, the powerful shift of her hips. He had seen her in stages, had felt the baby grow, but here, now, in the quiet intimacy of this room, it was a revelation. She was life incarnate.
He saw her hesitate, a flicker of self-consciousness in her eyes. He dropped to his knees before her, not in worship, but in closeness. He pressed his lips to her stomach, right where she’d placed her bouquet hours before. He felt a swift, strong kick against his mouth and laughed, the sound muffled against her skin.
“See?” he said, looking up at her. “He agrees. Or she.”
Tears welled in Gabby’s eyes, but she was smiling. She ran her fingers through his hair, her touch firm and sure now. “Help me to the bed?”
He rose, guiding her the few steps to the edge of the vast mattress. The silk covers were cool. He lay her back gently, arranging pillows to support her, his movements instinctive and careful. He lay down beside her, propped on one elbow, just looking. His hand hovered over her belly, then settled, palm flat, feeling the movement within.
“You’re so beautiful it hurts,” he said, the words raw and unplanned.
Her answer was to pull him down into a kiss that was all heat and sudden need. The nervousness melted, burned away by a surge of pure, wanting hunger. Her hands were everywhere—in his hair, down his back, mapping the hard planes of his shoulders and spine. Her touch was confident, curious, leaving fire in its wake.
He kissed a path down her neck, over her collarbone, taking his time. He learned the weight of her breasts in his hands, the taste of her skin, the sensitive dip of her navel. He moved lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the inside of her thighs, feeling the tremor that ran through her.
When his mouth finally found her, she cried out—a sharp, surprised sound that echoed in the quiet room. Her hands flew to his hair, not pushing him away, but holding him there. Her body arched off the silk, a perfect, taut curve.
He had no expertise, only a desperate, grateful want to know her. To learn her. The taste of her, the textures, the way her breath hitched when he did something right. He was guided by her gasps, by the clutch of her fingers, by the incoherent whispers of his name that fell from her lips. It was messy, urgent, real.
Her climax came with a shuddering force that seemed to ripple through her from the center outwards. She stifled her cry against her own arm, her back bowing off the bed. He held her through it, gentling his touch until she sank back into the pillows, spent and trembling.
He moved up her body, kissing her stomach, her breasts, the hollow of her throat. Her eyes were closed, lashes dark against her flushed cheeks. When he settled between her legs, his own need a sharp, aching pressure, she opened her eyes. They were clear, focused entirely on him.
“Hyukjae,” she breathed, her voice husky.
He waited, his body trembling with the effort of stillness.
She reached between them, her hand tentative at first, then more sure as she guided him. Her eyes never left his. There was a moment of resistance, a brief, sharp intake of breath from her, a flinch that she quickly masked. He froze, searching her face.
“It’s okay,” she whispered, her legs wrapping around his hips, pulling him closer. “Don’t stop.”
He moved then, with infinite care, burying his face in the curve of her neck as he sank into a heat so profound it stole his reason. She was tight, impossibly so, and she gasped against his ear. He held himself there, not moving, letting her adjust, whispering nonsense words of comfort in Korean.
“Gabby,” he choked out. “Noona… are you—?”
She cut him off with a kiss, deep and sure. “I’m yours,” she said against his lips. “I always have been.”
The understanding washed over him then, a tidal wave of awe and protectiveness. The confidence, the experience she projected to the world—it was a shield. This, here, was the truth she had given to him alone. The responsibility of it anchored him even as his body strained for release.
He began to move, slow, deep strokes that built a rhythm as ancient as the city lights outside. Her breaths came in short gasps that soon matched his own. The awkwardness burned away, replaced by a growing, synchronous urgency. Her nails dug into his shoulders, her hips rose to meet his thrusts. The world narrowed to this: the slide of skin on skin, the hitch of her breath, the creak of the bedsprings, the sweat gathering between them.
His control frayed, a tight coil at the base of his spine. “Gabby, I’m…”
“Look at me,” she commanded, her voice thick.
He opened his eyes, glazed with pleasure, and found hers. They were dark, unwavering, full of a love so fierce it was almost terrifying. As he spilled into her, his release crashing through him in waves that blurred his vision, he saw a single tear escape the corner of her eye and track into her hairline.
He collapsed beside her, careful of her stomach, pulling her into the curve of his body. They lay in a tangle of limbs, slick with sweat, breathing the same air. The only sound was their gradually slowing hearts.
After a long while, she spoke into the dark.
“You didn’t know,” she stated softly. It wasn’t a question.
He tightened his arm around her. “No.”
“Does it… change anything?”
He turned her face towards his. In the ambient light, he could see the tracks of her tears, the raw openness of her expression. He kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her mouth. “It changes everything,” he whispered. “It makes all of this,” he gestured vaguely at the room, the city, the world beyond, “mean more.”
She sighed, a sound of profound relief, and nestled deeper into him. Her hand came to rest once more on her belly. “The baby’s quiet.”
“Worn out from the party.”
A soft chuckle shook her frame. They lay in silence, the events of the day—the ceremony, the vows, this final gift of her complete self—settling around them like dust.
Hyukjae stared at the ceiling, the ornate patterns blurring. The fear he’d confessed at the altar was still there, a low hum in his blood. But it was joined now by a sureness, a solidity. He had her. She had him. Whatever came next—the birth, his first preseason in a brutal new league, the scrutiny, the unknown—they would meet it from this shared ground, this quiet, tangled truth on silk sheets.
He felt her breathing deepen into sleep. He pressed one last kiss into her hair. “Saranghae, noona,” he murmured to the dark, the words a vow all their own.
Outside, Seoul glittered, indifferent and awake. But in the warm cave of their bed, for the first time, Hyukjae felt truly married. The game hadn't just started. He was finally on the field, and he knew exactly who he was playing for.