Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 95080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
But he didn’t have to worry.
FOURTEEN
Cord moved in with me, and his name went on the deed of my little house in Noe Valley. My craftsman bungalow, which fit in with the other eclectic homes in the area, was, Cord promised, just what he’d always been looking for. So he happily took on the responsibility of the remaining twenty-six-year mortgage with me. I’d been paying on the loan for the house for four years on my own; it was nice to have help. At the same time, he left the San Francisco Police Department and became the lead investigator for Stone Markham Wainwright. He had his own office and staff, and even Alex had to agree that life looked pretty good from the thirty-fifth floor. He told my father all about it at Sunday dinner. My dad loved having Cord there, I loved having Beth there, and Alex worked really hard at warming up to her. When Evan flew out the following weekend, I had to explain everything to him, which almost made me homicidal.
“Who’s Lucien again?” he asked for the fifth time.
I rolled my head on the back of the couch and looked at Cord for help as he proceeded to choke on his beer.
“You should make flash cards,” Alex singsonged under his breath. “He’s a visual learner.”
I took a breath and started again.
“So, are you guys gonna get married?” Evan asked my dad and Beth out of the blue.
It was her turn to choke.
Alex gently patted her back, and the look she shot him was the beginning of the thaw for him. He couldn’t help but smile back.
The week before Christmas, on Saturday evening, Cord came home from running errands, sneaked quietly into the kitchen, and got down on one knee, right behind me. I almost tripped over him. I was making spaghetti for me, him, and Dimah, as it had become a regular thing after the first time. I needed mushrooms from the refrigerator, and when I turned, Cord was there, on the floor, and I walked right into him.
“Cord, what are you—”
He held up the small black velvet box, and I went mute.
“I want everything with you, Trace. And even though we already have the house, I want the babies too. I want all of it. So marry me, okay?”
All I could do was stare.
“Please, love.”
And I loved him, there was no doubt, but did I trust him? Would he always be true?
“Trace…you know I’m good for the happily ever after, yeah? I’m your guy.”
It was the little things that told me I could place my faith in him: The way he always had to stand close to me, in my space. How he tracked me with his eyes whenever we were out, and when I glanced up and met his stare, it was always heated and possessive. Mostly his hand in mine, all the time, walking, sitting, driving, whatever it was, he had to touch me, and that spoke not of his need for me, but his want. He wanted to have me with him, close by, never beyond his reach.
He deserved my trust, and I would give it to him, along with my vow to love him and marry him and stand at his side. Forever.
“Trace?” he asked, his voice pitched low, worried, I was certain, over my silence.
“Yes.” I held out my hand, and he slid onto my ring finger the heavy platinum band with a channel-set two-carat diamond.
“And we’re partners, fifty-fifty. I don’t expect you to do more with anything than I will. We’re the same, and I love that about us.”
I did too. “I love you,” I said, and tilted his head back for my kiss.
His deep, contented sigh was very sweet. “I love you back.”
More words were unnecessary.
Our spring wedding, in March, was small and intimate. We tied the knot in my dad’s backyard in Sausalito, overlooking the bay. Cord wore a brown tuxedo that made my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth, and I wore my black one.
“You’re gorgeous,” he husked when I was standing beside him in front of the minister.
All I could do was smile. No words were happening besides vows and I do. Everything had happened so fast, and while I was happy to ride the whirlwind, it caught up with me while I stood there looking into the eyes of the man I loved.
“Just hold my hand,” he whispered, leaning forward, his breath warm on the side of my face. “Don’t let go.”
I didn’t ever plan to.
The reception followed, and I was touched at how beautiful the house looked with all of Matt’s thoughtful touches. There were branches in clear glass vases with floating candles on top, small white lights strung in every tree, as well as decorative lanterns as centerpieces on each picnic table. There was a canopy of lights over the outdoor dance floor, and between the breeze outside, the flowing white-wine sangria—Matt’s favorite—the small acoustic band, and my father’s amazing food, it was wonderful. Everyone loved it, and I was so happy. Evan said I was glowing.