Bittersweet Melody

Bittersweet Melody Copyright @ 2023 Kate Stewart All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. Edited by Donna Cooksley Sanderson Cover by Amy Queau-Q-Design Formatting by Champagne Book Design The vows are just the beginning… For Natalie, being the wife to the most sought-after rock star on the planet has its privileges, but in the last year, she’s been put through the wringer as far as the pitfalls. So, when Easton summons her to Mexico for a second-anniversary honeymoon vacation in the very place that brought them back together, Natalie becomes filled with hope to close the space between them…along with a special request. A request that leads them into a day-long exploration of sorting through their past—while trying to imagine the rest of their future together. They’ll soon recognize that in order to keep what they have, they’ll have to rediscover the other again. And with a little reminder from both their parents, they’ll realize the fight to keep what they hold most sacred—begins after I do. Listen as you read Table of Contents Title Page Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Note to the Reader About the Author You Got Lucky Tom Petty Natalie Stretched out on the most luxurious, oversized lounger in the history of ever, I rest my cheek against the edge, opting out of the expansive view of the cerulean sea. Instead, I fix my gaze on a better view—my husband. Dressed in nothing but board shorts, he strums his six-string, a second anniversary present he unwrapped just minutes ago when we finally made it to the room. His text to meet him in Mexico came a little less than twenty-four hours ago. By the time he got here, I was chest deep in the ocean when he sauntered out. Looking better than he had any right to, he stalked straight toward me, greeting me with a ravenous kiss. We’ve been apart for the last three weeks because of his recording schedule—which is always in Seattle because every member of Reverb decided to make Washington home. Everyone except Easton, who is a half-time Texan. We’ve followed our plan in that respect to the letter. We built a gorgeous Sound-side home in Seattle and another from the ground up on my parent's land in Austin. For the most part, it’s worked out. I can’t deny the longer periods of separation gnaws at us both. So far, we’ve made it work and continue to try to. Though I have some minor leeway in traveling, I really can’t be absent running Austin Speak. But that’s our reality, and for just a little while, we’re living in a fantasy. Though we’re currently residing in the type of luxury some may strive for, he’s the true essence of my type of daydream. Just Easton, opulent surroundings unnecessary. Just as I think it, the sparkling promise on my left hand catches some of the sun’s fading light, reiterating my selfish thought—I’m the luckiest woman breathing. My eyes roam from his tanned, bare feet to his muscled calves, his trim waist, and expansive, finely sculpted chest and biceps—rising higher to his perfect jaw, the length of his dark lashes, and jet-black hair. My husband is a sight to behold and all mine. At least for the moment. Six days—no stage, no screaming fans, no competition from staff to get a sentence in or fight for his attention. It’s just us. Though the scenery is different from our first week together, this is how we started, or rather collided—our minds scattered with ideas of our futures and big decisions to make. We came together at one of the most crucial times in our lives. Easton was brimming with indecision, on the verge of possibilities while I was searching for something I hadn’t realized was missing. It was at that time we formed the strongest of bonds. One we eventually thought was close to unbreakable. But break we did—into a thousand splinters—only to piece each other and what we had back together, sealing it with a second promise of forever. I revel in that, hopeful of reinforcing it again in our time here as Easton begins to play a melody I’ve never heard—no doubt lost in his latest creation. Full of admiration, thirst growing, I simply stare, appreciating his beauty and genius—the magnitude of his gift on full display. His tan seems instant in our few hours in the sun as the day begins to depart, dispersing rays of orange and pink around a few stray clouds. As I watch him, my need to close the space only increases as he continues orchestrating a new piece of music his fans are sure to love. My shoulders lower as the stress of the trip disperses now that he’s here—along with the knowledge everything’s covered at the paper back home. The sight of Easton so at ease puts me further into a dreamy lull. He continues to strum his guitar as memories of the last two years of our second marriage flit through my mind. The first filled with the compilation of his sophomore album as I found my footing as Editor in Chief. Though he’s the epitome of success, he’s remained humble and lived true to his determination to keep his personal