She walked away, humming a tune that sounded a lot like “Better Than Revenge.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
Maisey
YOU’RE STILL THE ONE
Performed by Shania Twain
TWO AND A HALF YEARS AGO
HER: Sex is disappointing.
HIM: I nearly choked on my hamburger. Give a guy some warning, will you?
HIM: And sex isn’t the problem. It’s the idiots you’ve let take you home.
HER: Maybe. Or maybe my romance novels have set up a false expectation. I always hated it when people said that, but perhaps it’s true.
HIM: I’d offer up a bet to prove your romance novels are right, and it’s just the guys who are wrong, but I know you wouldn’t take me up on it.
HER: I’m nearly desperate enough to let you choose a guy for me AND place a bet.
Minutes passed.
HER: Did I lose you?
HIM: I’m trying to restart my heart at the idea of you actually taking a bet.
HER: I said I was ALMOST desperate enough.
HIM: Darlin’, that’s the problem. If a guy is doing it right, you absolutely will be desperate. Desperate, panting, and shouting his name.
PRESENT DAY
Beckett and I were quiet onthe elevator ride up to the suite. Every time I moved my left hand, the diamonds he’d given me sparkled in the lights. It was the perfect ring.
The fact he’d given it to me while making a grand gesture in front of an entire ballroom of people gave me more hope that I was right about him. About us. Maybe we were both ready to accept that what we had was not temporary. Had never been temporary.
The sweet moment he’d given me was a gift almost as important as the ring itself. It was exactly the kind of scene my heart lurched happily at in romance books. And the look on his face as he’d dropped to one knee? It had been full of real love. Endless love.
The truth is, I’ve never been single. Not from the moment you held out your hand all those years ago.
My heart flipped all over again at those sweet, perfect, book-worthy words.
Yes, he’d done it after talking to the chief and before hearing from the mayor that he didn’t have to slip a ring on my finger to get the job he wanted. But I had to believe it didn’t change anything. The fake engagement had done exactly what it always did in my books. It had forced us to see what we already had and couldn’t afford to lose.
And I wouldn’t lose him.
On our floor, he guided me across the corridor to the suite door, opened it for us, and then surprised me by sweeping me off my feet before crossing the threshold. I let out a squeal of laughter. As the door clicked shut behind us, I met his gaze and was stunned all over again by the pure love I saw there.
It smoothed away any remnants of doubt and worry that had tried to stick around.
As he carried me into the bedroom, I tossed my clutch to the nearest available surface and slid my hands into his thick hair, messing it up. He huffed out a laugh. “What was that for?”
“You looked incredibly handsome, all smooth and slicked back, but that isn’t the Beckett I fell for…” I swallowed, holding back theI love youI wanted to give. It would come. At the right time, it would come out. “I fell for a boy who always had strands of hair sticking up, taught me how to read, and told me I looked like an avenging angel.”
“I didn’t lie when I said you looked like one,” he said. “It was your eyes that hit me first. That impossible color.” He set me down slowly, allowing my body to slide tantalizingly along his. “And tonight, this fucking dress made your eyes glow as if they were the pearly gates themselves. As if they were a neon sign, flashing welcome.”