Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 70584 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70584 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
His lips flatten. “And?”
“She said maybe she’s wrong about you.” Lifting on my toes, I kiss his spearmint-flavored lips. “Now we just need to work on your father …”
“Done,” he says.
She scrunches her face. “What?”
“Apparently hell has frozen over because he randomly gave me his blessing. He says he’s forgiven your family, wants to bury the hatchet.”
I study him. This all feels too good to be true. “Was he drunk or anything?”
“Fair question,” he says. “But no, he was not. He was crystal clear and coherent.”
“That’s … wow. I guess it’s all coming together perfectly.” I shrug.
The universe works in strange ways, I know. And generally when something sounds too good to be true, it is. But in this case, I don’t want to question it. If Mama’s open to this and his father has given us his blessing, I only want to move forward.
“I love you,” he says into my ear, wrapping me tight in his arms and burying his head into my hair.
“I love you too.”
“Come inside with me.”
I nod toward my car, the engine idling and the door wide open.
“I’ll have someone move it,” he says before scooping me into his arms and carrying me inside.
He locks the door when we get to his room, and I perch on the side of his bed, running my hand along the cashmere-soft bedding.
“I’ve missed this,” I say. “Being here with you. It’s like the outside world stopped existing the second I was within these four walls.”
August climbs in beside me, his body flush against mine, and he pulls my thigh over top of his hip.
“I’ve lived twenty years without you,” he says, “but I don’t know if I can do it another day.”
“I’m not going anywhere this time.”
“Marry me, Sheridan.” His gray eyes flash with intensity.
“You haven’t seen me in four months and the first thing you do is propose?” I chuckle, swatting his shoulder.
He isn’t grinning though. There’s no tease in his tone.
He’s for real …
“Why the rush?” I ask. “Told you I’m not going anywhere.”
“Because I fully intend to make you my wife someday, and I’m terribly impatient.” His full mouth curls up at one side.
“To say the least.”
“So what do you say?” he asks. “Will you marry me?”
He rolls me over top of him, and I sit up, my hands flat against his chest. His heart gallops beneath my palms.
“It doesn’t have to be today or tomorrow. Or even next year. And I’ll get you a ring—in fact, my grandmother’s ring is in the safe upstairs. If you like it, it’s yours. Or if you want something else—”
“—it’s not about the ring,” I say, biting a half smile. “I just … I just think you’re insane.”
He laughs. “Which we both know is what you love most about me.”
“One of the many things …”
“So is that a yes?” he asks.
Without a doubt, this is the craziest thing I’ve ever done, but the sense of peace that fills my soul when I look into his eyes tells me it would also be the wisest.
In many ways, I hardly know him.
But in stranger ways, my soul knows his. How else can you describe that feeling you get when you’re with someone and they feel like home?
“Yes,” I say. “I’ll marry you, August.”
We should wait before we spring this on my parents … give them time to warm up to the fact that we’re officially together again. But I’m certain once they spend more time with him, they’ll adore him as much as I do. And of course, there’s no need to rush the wedding. We can take our time, enjoy the butterflies and date nights and insatiableness that comes with the early parts of relationships.
Sitting up, he cups my cheek, laces his fingers in the hair at the nape of my neck, and crushes my lips with a claiming kiss.
“I’m yours,” I tell him. “Always. Ring or no ring.”
“I’ll hold you to that, Rose girl.”
I inhale him one last time tonight, bracing myself for the drive home—when a metallic clamoring steals our moment.
“What was that?” I ask.
August slides his phone off his nightstand, taps on an app, and pulls up a grid of camera images. Zooming in on the one in the middle, his lips press flat.
“My uncle’s here,” he says, monotoned. “And from the looks of it, he’s hammered. I need to go deal with him. I’ll take you out the side door.”
I begin to protest. If we’re getting married and this is his family, why the need to sneak me out? But before I utter a word, August slips his hand in mine, as if he picks up on my reluctance.
“He’s not your problem, Rose girl,” he says. His uncle’s voice trails from down the hall, though I can’t make out a single angry slurred word. “And you shouldn’t have to meet him like this.” His lips are warm against my forehead a second later, and he leads me across the hallway, down the stairs, and out a door I’ve never seen before. “Goodnight, Sher.”