“Ready, kitten?” Bridger asks at the bedroom door.
I wag my brows. “Born that way.”
I’m expecting to find Margaret in the breakfast nook. Or maybe even upstairs in her bedroom. So imagine my surprise when we find my mother-in-law waiting for us in the entryway, luggage packed. She’s in a linen suit, makeup fresh, perfume wafting to the ceiling. I cut a glance at Bridger, and he does a secret little fist pump between us.
We did it.
She's going home.
“Ahhh, leaving so soon?” I sigh.
Bridger reaches behind me to pinch my hip.
“Ouch!” I yelp.
Margaret narrows her eyes. “Are you quite all right, Loren?”
I offer her my most peaceful smile and let the relief wash over me. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine. I just stubbed my toe on this console.”
“She’s always like this before she’s had her coffee," Bridger says, really sticking to his role.
“Ten out of ten,” I whisper. “No notes.”
“Are you sure you can’t stay for breakfast?” Bridger asks. I’d take a turn pinching him if he had an inch of anything on him but skin, muscle, and bone.
“No, thank you,” she says. “I’ll get something on the jet.”
“Don’t tell me,” I say. “Dry toast?”
Her lips curve primly. “Perhaps I’ll treat myself to a bit of orange marmalade today.”
I nod my approval. “Quite the splurge.”
“Unfortunately, my departure does mean I’ll be missing the party,” she says. “Which is a shame, since we have so much to celebrate.”
“We do,” I say, a genuine smile tugging at my lips.
“Hmm.” She pauses for a moment, taking this in. “Although I do wonder.”
“Wonder what?”
She lifts her chin. “The two of you clearly had an agenda the morning you called to tell me you were getting married.”
Bridger’s palm comes around to rest on my hip. “My only agenda was to be Loren’s husband.”
“And all I want to be is his wife.”
Even as I speak the words, a lump builds in my throat. Because the truth is, long before I started waking up in his arms, I loved Bridger. My friend, my rock, my anchor. The person I’ve needed above all others. The one I want.
The man I choose.
More than anything, I want to be alone with him. In our home. Just us. Without an audience. We don’t have to pretend anymore. And I’m not deceiving anybody.
Not Bridger or Margaret. Not myself. Even my dad knows I’m married to Bridger now, and he’s thrilled.
As for me, I’ve got the rest of my life to learn how to finally belong to someone else.
“Yes.” Margaret shuts her lids for a moment, inhales deeply, then opens her eyes again. “I have no doubt you’re being sincere, Loren.” She smooths her hands down her tailored blazer. “And you too, son.”