After I bit Elena, it took eleven years for her to forgive me. Forgetting what I’d done to her, though, was impossible. It was always there, lurking in the background.

When Elena vetoed a wedding, I thought it was just the weight of human mores again-that it didn’t feel right when we already had kids. So I’d decided I’d give her one, as a surprise. Jeremy talked me out of it, and it was then, as he waffled and circled the subject of “why not,” that I finally understood. There could be no wedding because every step-from sending invitations to walking down the aisle-would only remind her of the wedding she’d planned all those years ago and the hell she’d gone through when it all fell apart.

But the honeymoon was one part of the ritual we hadn’t discussed. So, if a wedding was out, the least I could do was give her a honeymoon.

So I’d planned everything. I’d picked St. Louis because she’d mentioned once that she’d like to go there. I’d made all the arrangements-my way of saying that I’d fucked up eighteen years ago and I knew I was damned lucky we’d ever reached this stage.

The mutt resurfaced at dinner, spoiling my second meal in a day. Not just any meal this time but a special one at a place so exclusive that I-well, Jeremy-had to reserve our table weeks ago. It was one of those restaurants where the lighting is so dim I don’t know how humans can see what they’re eating or find what they’re eating-the tiny portions lost on a plate filled with inedible decorations. But it was romantic. At least, that’s what the guidebook said.

I didn’t know what was romantic about eating in the dark surrounded by strangers, but it matched Elena’s expectations and that was all that mattered. She’d enjoy the fussy little portions, the fancy wines, the fawning wait staff, then fill up on pizza in our room later. Which was fine by me… until the mutt showed up.