They each wore RGold black tuxedos with gold satin vests and ties. Tonight, Ron and Marva were celebrating their thirty-sixth wedding anniversary and the announcement of Ron’s retirement at a lavish gold-and-white-themed party.
“I know Grace and I are meant to be together,” RJ said when they were finally in the elevator.
Maurice punched him in the shoulder. “Then why isn’t she here? Why hasn’t she moved back into your penthouse so the two of you can start making wedding plans?”
RJ laughed. “You just want to share the misery you’re going through with Desta, her mother, her grandmother and Mom planning your big day.”
Major chuckled. “Yeah, he is.”
The brothers stepped off the elevator and walked down the white marble hallway toward the ballroom. Guests had already begun to arrive, and music from the band hired to play for the first half of the event flowed out into the hallway. After dinner and the big announcement, the DJ would facilitate his parents’ plan to dance the night away.
RJ hoped his intentions for this evening would go off without a hitch as well.
* * *
Grace traced the embossed gold letters on the white invitation, reading the words one more time. You are cordially invited to share in the celebration of thirty-six years of love between Ronald Gold Jr. and Marva Westing Gold.
“He’s gonna die when he sees you in that dress,” Hope said from her perch on Grace’s bed. She’d been sitting there, with her legs crossed at the ankle and pillows propped at her back, for the last hour watching Grace get ready.
“It’s just a dress,” Grace replied. She stood in front of the full-length mirror on the inside of her closet door surveying the final product.
She’d lied. The rose-gold-sequined two-piece gown was stunning. The halter-style top hugged her bodice before stopping to leave her midriff bare, and the skirt fit her tightly from her waist to mid-thigh on the right where it opened into a split. The soft and elegant material fell to the floor with a short train behind her. She’d worked on her hair all day and was now thoroughly pleased with the shorter length and bouncy spiral curls that rested on her shoulders.
“Are you sure you’re supposed to be eating like that?” Grace asked her older sister when Hope put yet another chocolate frosted doughnut hole into her mouth. Grace bought those especially for when she wasn’t able to get to a bakery to buy her favorite whole doughnut.
Hope was seven months pregnant, hence the reason she’d wanted a very quick fall wedding. The nuptials were scheduled to take place next weekend at their parents’ house, and Hope seemed to be eating away all her nerves.
“This may be the only time I can eat guilt-free, and I plan to take full advantage of it.” Hope grinned after she finished chewing. “And don’t get off topic. You and RJ have been writing letters and having long phone conversations like teenagers for the past four months. I sure hope tonight he’s gonna put a ring on it.”
Grace’s stomach churned at the thought.
“Oh, and I hope you keep the ring on it this time,” her sister added.
“We really don’t have to talk about this again.” She moved from the mirror and grabbed her purse.
After her return from Saint Lucia, Grace had gone directly to her parents’ house in need of a safe haven. Of course, she hadn’t found it there. Videtta had been beside herself once Grace explained that she and RJ had rekindled and then snuffed out their chances at love during the trip. Her sisters had come to her rescue, taking her on a girls’ trip where they let her confess about all the competitiveness and validation issues she’d harbored all her life. And then they’d promptly read her the riot act for assuming she was less than anything but brilliant and competent just like they were.
With her new job at the paper and a newfound bond between her and her sisters, Grace had begun to feel better about herself and in doing so, she’d been better able to deal with RJ. Which turned out to be a good thing because when she returned to her apartment after the girls’ trip it was to find two letters from him. She’d read each letter a dozen times before deciding to respond, and since then they’d been communicating either by old-school snail mail or telephone calls at least four times a week. She’d made the mistake of sharing all those details with her sisters.
“I’m just sayin’, you’ve had the great sex and now you’ve done the—what did Grandma used to call it—the ‘courtin’ thing’? So there’s only one obvious next step,” Hope said.
“Well, that might be obvious for some people, but for others, it might take a while to get to that point.” Grace left her sister in her apartment then. Hope had a key since she was the only relative of Grace’s who lived in the city. When her sister was done eating she’d let herself out.
An hour later, Grace walked into the ballroom at the Park Lane Hotel. Marva had sent her an invitation and RJ had confirmed she’d received it, so if there’d been any doubt in attending tonight, she’d pushed it aside. She didn’t want either of them calling her to find out why she hadn’t shown up. And truth be told there’d been no doubt. Tonight, Grace was feeling more in control and focused than she’d ever felt before.
She was late. After taking the time to get ready and chatting with Hope, she’d left her apartment a lot later than she’d planned and then, of course, there’d been traffic. She’d arrived just in time to hear Ron’s retirement announcement and to see RJ stepping up behind the lectern.
“It’s an honor,” he began after the lengthy applause from the room full of what looked to be three hundred guests. “Not only to stand here and accept this position, but to share in this momentous evening with my parents. Mom, Dad.” He paused and looked over to where Ron and Marva sat at a private table draped in white linen with a gold candelabra at its center.
The entire room was decorated with white table coverings and gold pots full of white flowers. Candlelight illuminated the place, along with the one dark-painted wall that was alight with tiny white lights.
“I’ve learned so much from you,” RJ went on, “and not just about the business. But about love and tolerance. And compromise. You’ve shown Riley, Major, Maurice and me what it means to be a couple, to cherish someone and to hold their heart as tenderly as if it were precious as gold. For that I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I love you both and wish you nothing but happiness for the next thirty-six years and beyond.”
Tears filled Grace’s eyes as the crowd came to their feet, lifting their glasses in a toast to Ron and Marva. Her chest felt full and she struggled to breathe as emotion overwhelmed her. She needed air. Turning, she started to move toward the door when she bumped into Chaz.
“Hey, there. You okay?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yeah. I mean, yes, I’m fine. Just need to get a little air. I’ll be right back.”
And then she was on the move again, not stopping until she was in the hallway, her fingers clenching her purse tightly. She didn’t know how long she stood there staring at the marble walls, trying to get her thoughts together, but the moment she felt a hand on her shoulder she knew who it was. Chaz had no doubt hurried to tell him she was there.
“Hi,” RJ said when she turned to face him.
“Hi. Sorry I was late.”
“No. I’m just glad you made it.” He laced his fingers with hers. “Let’s go over here and sit down.”
She followed him to a row of red velvet benches.
“It’s really good to see you,” he said when they were seated.
Grace took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yes, it’s good to see you again, too. I have something I want to say to you and I’m just gonna say it now before I lose my nerve.” Because she was in danger of totally losing it right now. Hearing RJ’s words, the sound of undeniable love in his voice as he spoke of his parents and all they’d taught him, had triggered something in her that she’d been waiting to feel for a v
ery long time.
“Okay,” he said. “I have something I want to say to you, too, but I’ll let you go first.”
“Good. Thanks.” She smiled nervously and stared into his beautiful brown eyes. “I love you. I’ve loved you for longer than I can remember and it’s still here.” She reached up and rubbed her fingers over her heart. “I didn’t know before. I didn’t believe I was ready to be a wife and a journalist at the same time. I really believed I had to make a choice, and I made the right choice for me at that time.”
“Grace—”
“No,” she shook her head earnestly. “Let me finish. After we returned from the island, I still wasn’t sure. I thought, ‘See, you were right not to marry him,’ after our last argument and the realization that we didn’t trust each other.”
“I know, baby, and that was my fault. I should’ve trusted you. I just thought about my parents and I reacted.”
She lifted two fingers to touch to his lips. “Your love and dedication to your family is one of the many things I adore about you, Ronald Gold III. I also love the way you never asked me to be anything but myself. The way you supported my goal as a journalist, reading all my articles and even keeping some of them.” She was filled with awe and complete reverence remembering the times he’d done that.
“I know that I can be myself whenever I’m with you and that’s enough. It’s enough for you and for me. And in the end, that’s all that matters, isn’t it? What you and I feel and what we have together?” She let her hand fall from his lips and pressed it to her purse, which was sitting in her lap. “I knew what I wanted to say to you when I came here tonight but then when I heard you talking, I actually felt it. I felt that thing that I think has sustained your parents and my parents in their marriages all these years.” Hurriedly, she opened her purse and pulled out a black velvet box before lifting her gaze up to him again. “I love you, RJ, and I need to know if you’d still like to marry me.”
RJ glanced down at the box and back up to her, his expression perplexed and then animated as he shook his head.
Her heart sank. “You’re turning me down?”
He reached into the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket and pulled out another black velvet box. “No, baby. I was gonna ask you to marry me again.”
Grace stared at the ring box he held and then pushed hers until the boxes clinked together like champagne glasses. “Then I guess we’re getting married.”
RJ smiled and leaned in closer to her. “I guess we are,” he said before taking her mouth in a soft kiss.
* * * * *
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ISBN-13: 9780369702531
Give Me More
Copyright © 2021 by Artist C. Arthur
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
For questions and comments about the quality of this book, please contact us at [email protected].
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New York Times bestselling author Lauren Hawkeye never imagined that she’d wind up telling stories for a living…though she’s the only one who’s surprised. She lives in the Rocky Mountains of Alberta, Canada, with her husband, two young sons, a pit bull and two idiot cats. In her nonexistent spare time, Lauren partakes in far too many hobbies! She loves to hear from her readers through email, Facebook and Instagram! Sign up for Lauren’s newsletter here: eepurl.com/OeF7r.
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Contents
Prologue One
Prologue Two
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
PROLOGUE ONE
Five years ago
FRED VAUGHAN LOVED AMSTERDAM.
It was the last stop on the European trip he and his twin, Frank, had taken to celebrate the end of their undergraduate degrees. In the fall they would both be back at school—Frank for a master’s in business, and he to law school—and the trip had been a graduation gift from their parents, albeit a begrudging one on his father’s part. Frederick Vaughan Sr., had expected both of his sons to spend the summer working at Vaughan Enterprises, the massive development conglomerat
e that his own father had started, but he’d been overruled by his wife.
Fred was grateful. As a Vaughan, his future was set in stone, and he’d known that since childhood. He hadn’t ever thought he’d minded, either, until he’d had his undergrad diploma in hand and realized that, after four years of killing himself studying while his peers partied, he was about to head right back into the grind. The weight of expectation had started to wrap thin tendrils around him, to tug at his limbs, his skin. Tendrils he thought he could break free of, but the more he pulled against them, the further into the morass he sank.
So really, he would have loved anywhere that wasn’t school, or home. Anywhere he felt free. But...he really did love Amsterdam. He loved the history, so rich and old that it made the roots of Boston feel shallow. He loved the beaches and the confidence that the European women wore like a second skin.
He loved the culture, the clubs. And tonight, their last night there, he loved the throb of the dance music in his veins, the rumble of the bass beneath his feet. He loved the icy chill of the beer in his hand and the writhing mass of bodies on the dance floor. He wasn’t much of a dancer himself, but he could watch the movement all night. The people. The connections—friends and love and, best of all, lust. People coming together for a moment or an hour or a night.
“You like to watch?”
The voice was husky, pitched lower than the din of the club. He looked down—he and Frank always had to look down, because they were each six feet four inches tall—and found himself on the receiving end of an assessing gaze from a pair of bright blue eyes. Those captivating eyes were set in a fairy-tale princess face, though he had the instant certainty that she wouldn’t appreciate the comparison.
Caught by the question and the intensity of those eyes, he took a moment to reply, a single impression working its way through his brain to his mouth. “Is that a Boston accent I hear?”
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