by Lili Valente
“That’s very sweet of…” Her words trail off as she glances down, discovering the hidden compartment I carved in the pages of an old dictionary the same size as her book before dressing it in the latest Kingdom of Charm and Bone dust jacket. She laughs as she pulls the small wooden box from the hole in the pages and looks up at me, eyes dancing. “And what is this?”
“Read it.” I nod toward the box.
Eyes narrowing suspiciously, but clearly enjoying the surprise, she glances down, reading aloud the inscription etched into the wood. “Some stories shouldn’t have an end. Like love stories…”
Her breath catches, and as she opens the box—slowly, carefully—I drop to one knee. I’m dimly aware of some shocked coos and squeals from behind me, but I only have eyes for Carrie. I never want to forget the look of wonder on her face, the happy tears that fill her eyes, or the way her smile bursts across her face, so dazzling I fall deeper in love with her on the spot.
“Is this for real?” She laughs, blinking fast as she swipes fingers beneath her eyes.
“As real as the heart attack I almost had waiting in line to give you that ring,” I say, reaching to take her hand in mine. “I don’t want this story to end, Trouble. I don’t ever want to stop making memories and wishes and plans and magic with you.”
Her face almost crumples, but she regains control with a sharp inhale. “Oh man, me too.”
“So that’s a yes?” I ask, shocked to find my own eyes beginning to sting.
“You haven’t asked me yet,” she says, her laughter echoed by the book lovers looking on.
“Sh-shoot,” I say, editing myself just in time. I laugh and take a breath, letting the words come from the heart. “Will you marry me, Carrie Haverford? And write this love story with me for a really, really long time?”
“Yes,” she whispers, eyes shining. “I will.”
Not wanting to look away from her for even a second, I fumble for the ring. It takes an extra moment or two, but I finally pluck it free and slide it onto her finger.
Cheers erupt from the crowd as Carrie stands up, sliding across the top of the table into my arms. Her wrists loop around my neck and we kiss, soft and sweet and appropriately PG, but some kid from the back of the room still cries, “Ew, gross!” making everyone laugh.
Carrie and I pull apart, smiling too hard to keep kissing.
But that’s okay. There will be time for kissing later. A good forty or fifty years if we’re lucky.
“Will you still ride on the back of my bike when we’re seventy?” I ask later, as Carrie swings onto the seat behind me.
“Totally.” She grins. “So, what do we do first? Go home and celebrate in bed? Or call the family and tell them the news?”
“Bed,” we answer at the same time, making her laugh. And she’s so cute I can’t help kissing her again, one more long, slow, sultry kiss to tide me over until we’re home and I can have her every way I want her.
Every way she wants me. Every way we fit together so perfectly it’s hard to believe I ever doubted there was someone out there who would have room in her heart for all of me—my strengths and weaknesses, my sharp edges and soft spots, my fearlessness and secret doubts, and everything in between.
* * *
But she does, and, standing in front of Father Pete six months later, at the edge of that windswept cliff where I first started falling hard for this woman, I have no doubt she always will.
“And do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” Father Pete asks, raising his voice to be heard over the roar of the surf and the rush of the breeze.
“I do,” Carrie says with a smile, her cheeks pink from the chill.
It’s only fifty degrees this October Saturday on the coast, but Carrie and I didn’t want to wait any longer to seal the deal. And as far as I’m concerned, this moment is as perfect as any ever will be. In a long-sleeved white wedding dress made of antique lace, purple combat boots, and her hair pulled up in clips made of driftwood and sea glass, she is…stunning.
Breathtaking. So beautiful that when I’m finally given permission to kiss my bride, I can’t resist lifting her off her feet in a bear hug and kissing her like I mean it.
But the kids here are too young to think kissing is gross, and our family and friends simply hoot and applaud, egging us on.
After pictures, in which the wedding party is grinning and windswept, we pile into our cars and caravan up the coast to the dive bar we’ve rented out for our reception, Carrie and I leading the way in our wedding present to each other, the big yellow Cadillac we’ve had our eye on since two summer’s ago, with a “Just Married” sign tied to the back. Hours later, after we’ve visited with family and friends, cut the cake, and cranked up the jukebox, we leave her bouquet on the bar with a sign that says “Free to a Good Home,” and slip out the back door, trusting fate will get it to the person who needs it.
While the people we love party on, we go cruising on the back roads until we find the perfect place for some wedding night parking under the stars. And it is perfect, wild and sweet, just like my bride, and as we lie together after, I can’t help asking, “Is it wrong to be this excited about locking down your pussy for life?”
She hums in amusement. “Is it wrong that I want to knit your dick a little sweater as thanks for all the good times he gives me?”
“Oh, he’d like a sweater.” I hug her closer, kissing the top of her head as we snuggle under the fleece blanket. “A pink one like you made for Mercy.”
Carrie snorts and squeezes my thigh. “Okay. I’ll do that. With sparkles and everything.”
“You’re good to him. And to me.”
She looks up at me, eyes shining in the moonlight. “And I always will be, baby.”
“Me, too,” I promise, never having meant any words more. Except maybe these, “Can I take you home and carry you over the threshold now, Mrs. Hunter?”
“Yes, please.”
So I do. I carry her through the door, up the stairs, and straight to my bed where we stay for a very, very long time.
Chapter 27
Tristan
After sixteen months, two weeks, and three days, I’m finally at a place where I can attend a wedding without spending every second thinking about the one who got away. The one who threw me away when she woke up one morning, decided being with one man for the rest of her life was a fate worse than death, dropped my ring on the bedside table, and bolted as fast as her shapely legs could carry her.
Kim.
For a solid month, after she left, I wasn’t worth shooting in the face. I lost weight, I lost my sense of humor, I damned near lost my will to live.
I know my brothers thought I was being a melodramatic, lovesick bastard, but Kim and I had been together since high school. I had been head over heels in love with the girl she was and the woman she’d become.
She was my future, every bit as much as my father or my brothers.
More so, if I’m honest.
Kim didn’t expect me to be the calm, level-headed voice of reason all the time. Kim let me be a complete person, living in 3D. She saw every side of me—light and dark, serious and silly, dedicated and flexible, determined, and yet still sometimes so lost as to what I should do next.
I thought she was The One. I was fucking positive of it, in fact.
And when The One decides to call off your engagement and move to the other side of the world to live on a continent full of deadly fauna…
Well, it’s enough to give a man a complex.
The Australian beaches have jellyfish with a sting so excruciating the pain alone is enough to kill a man. They have ticks whose bites can send people into anaphylactic shock, spiders with venom that causes organ failure, and massive saltwater crocodiles that can grow to nearly twenty feet long and over two thousand pounds.
Not to mention sharks. Three kinds.
“She hates sharks. I should have known she’d be back,” I mutter over the rim of my beer, fighting
the urge to turn and glare at the woman across the room.
Of all the bars in all the world, why did my ex and her new man have to walk into this dive in the middle of my brother’s wedding reception? Right when I was proving to myself, and all my concerned family members, that I was over her and moving the fuck on?
My older brother Deacon grunts in solidarity. “You want to get out of here?” he asks, pushing his half-finished beer away and sliding off his stool. “I’m newly retired and have nowhere to be for the first time in my life. We could hit a few bars in Santa Rosa, drink too much, get a car home, eat pancakes at three a.m.”
My lips curve. “Normally I’d say yes, but I’ve got to be at the shelter at seven tomorrow. Someone finally agreed to adopt that domesticated buffalo, but they need to pick him up early before they head home to Mendocino. Then I’ve got a pair of ferrets who need medicine, and a blind cat who may or may not have diabetes—we’re getting her tested. And then Zoey and I have to run numbers and place a food order before noon. Going to be a big day.”
Deacon’s blue eyes crinkle at the edges as he claps a hand on my shoulder. “Talking to you always makes me glad I have kids instead of pets.”
I grimace. “I hear you.”
“Call me if you change your mind,” he says, backing toward the door. “And whatever you do, don’t talk to her. Don’t even look at her if you can help it.”
I nod and lift a hand, though I have no intention of following my brother’s advice. As soon as Kim pulls her giggling, flushed face out of her new boyfriend’s asshole, I’m going to wave hello with my most relaxed smile and make it clear that I couldn’t care less that she’s moved on.
Then, I’ll leave. Then, and only then.
I may be “the nice brother,” but I still have my pride, dammit.
I take a slow, shallow sip of my beer, determined to nurse it as long as I have to when Zoey suddenly appears in front of me, wide-eyed and clearly in a panic, blocking my view of Kim and her beefy new man candy.
“Hide me,” she whispers, her face going so pale the freckles dusted across her nose and cheeks stand out in stark relief. “You have to hide me. Please. Just tuck me under your jacket or a bar stool, something.”
“Why? What’s wrong?” I sit up straighter, doing my best to offer her cover. Zoey is my oldest employee, but she’s also a good friend. If she needs to hide, I’ll help her.
I can’t imagine what has her so upset. She’s usually the most upbeat, sunny person I know.
“This horrible person I went to college with is here,” she says, scooting closer to the bar and my stool. “She made fun of me for three years, and now she’s here with Bear, my ex-boyfriend, who I thought was the sweetest person in the world. But if he’s with her, he’s not sweet. He’s awful. And she’s awful, and I’m afraid if they see me I’m going to cry or faint or throw up in the middle of the dance floor.”
“All right, no worries, we’ve got this.” I ease off my stool, my own drama forgotten. “Tell me where they are. I’ll be your human shield, block you from view until we get to the door, and then we’ll bail. Go get a drink somewhere with no assholes in it.”
Her shoulders sag and her bright blue eyes flood with gratitude. “Thank you, Tristan. So much. They’re over by the window. The big guy with the fuzzy face and the girl with the platinum blond hair and a chunk of ice for a heart.”
I go still, chest tightening. Surely she can’t mean…
I mean, I know Kim isn’t the person I thought she was, but surely she wouldn’t torture a sweetheart like Zoey? “The woman in the red sweater? Black pants?”
Zoey’s forehead furrows as she nods. “Yes. Why?”
“That’s Kim,” I blurt out.
“Kim.” She frowns harder before her brows shoot up in sudden understanding. “The Kim? Your Kim?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “Her picture used to be on my desk in my office.”
“Well, I never go into your office,” she hisses, looking distressed. “I respect your space. You’re my boss.”
“She came to the benefit gala with me three years in a row. Surely you met her there. Or when she used to bring me lunch?”
“No, I never saw her, Tristan,” Zoey insists. “I never had a date for the gala and somehow I managed to miss the lunch visits from your evil ex-girlfriend. Believe me, if I’d known you were dating Kimberly Khan, I would have remembered it.” She exhales sharply, adding beneath her breath, “And I would have quit my job, so I never had to risk running into her again.”
Damn, that sounds serious. “What did she do to you?” I ask, unable to help myself.
“How many hours have you got,” she grumbles, glancing over her shoulder before turning back to me with a soft yip of terror. “Oh my God, she’s coming! She’s coming; she’s seen us. What do we do? I rode here with Violet and I can tell she’s not ready to leave.” Zoey grabs handfuls of my jacket, clinging to me with a desperation that makes my pulse race.
I look down into her panicked face and am suddenly struck by how pretty she is.
And if there’s one thing I know Kim hates, it’s competition. For anything—even for things she’s decided she doesn’t want anymore.
Trusting my gut, I lift a hand, sliding my fingers gently through Zoey’s sun-streaked brown hair as I whisper, “Just go with me, okay?”
Her lips part, but before she can speak, I cover her mouth with mine, kissing her slowly, gently at first, shocked by the sizzle that races across my skin in response. Before I know it, her arms are around my neck and I’m tugging her curvy body against mine and my tongue is stroking into her sweet mouth while she gives as good as she gets, pressing closer as the kiss grows deeper, hotter.
Soon I’m hard, aching, and entertaining all sorts of inappropriate thoughts about my number one employee. Thoughts about Zoey laid out on my bed while I kiss every freckle on her body, while I taste her, tease her, make her bright eyes flash even brighter as I make her come.
I lose all awareness of time, space, or approaching exes until a familiar laugh tinkles through the air.
Zoey and I jump apart, and I turn to see Kim standing inches away, grinning up at me with an expression that says she isn’t buying our act for a minute.
Only…it wasn’t an act.
Well, it was when I decided to kiss Zoey. But now…
God, I don’t know what that was, only that I want to do it again as soon as possible.
“Hi, Kim,” Zoey says in a flat voice I’ve never heard from her before. “How are you?”
“I’m great. And how are you, Zoey? Still getting drunk and kissing random men at parties, I see.”
“She was kissing her fiancé, actually,” I find myself saying, my mouth making executive decisions before my brain can weigh in. I’m dimly aware of Zoey staring up at me with a stunned expression, but I just hug her closer and smile. “You ready to go, babe? Or do you want to grab another beer?”
“I’m r-ready to go, honey,” Zoey stammers. “Good to see you, Kim.”
“Totally,” Kim says, sounding less confident than she did a moment before. “See you two around, then. I’m here until the New Year when Bear and I are heading back to Swan Valley for the harvest.” She laughs and rolls her eyes, those eyes I used to think were the kindest, sexiest eyes in the entire world. “Weirdly enough, we’re actually renting a condo close to our old place, Tristan. So, I guess we’ll all be neighbors.”
Inwardly I curse the cruel and heartless fates—living next door to my ex will be about as much fun as a standing date for a daily root canal—but outwardly I simply smile and say, “Guess so. See you around, neighbor.”
Zoey and I head for the door, my arm around her waist, playing the happy couple while I silently wonder what fresh hell my big mouth has gotten me into this time. Me and Zoey. There’s no easy way out of this lie.
The only way to escape with our dignity intact is to pretend to be engaged—at least until Kim and Bear go back to the land Down Under.
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I do some quick calculations as I tuck Zoey into the passenger’s seat of my truck and circle around to the other side—Halloween is a week away. Then roughly four and a half weeks in November, another four and a half in December…
Ten weeks.
To save face, Zoey and I are going to have to pretend to be madly in love for ten whole weeks.
Fuck…
I slide into the driver’s seat and slip the key into the ignition. “I’m so sorry, Zoey. I don’t know what I was thinking. I just opened my mouth and craziness came out.”
“Just drive,” she whispers softly. “And look happy. She’s watching us through the window. We can talk more on the road.”
“Gotcha.” I force a smile as I reach across the truck to give Zoey’s knee an apologetic squeeze, surprised again by the electricity that hums across my skin when we touch. Memories of the way her full lips felt pressed to mine, of the way she tastes—like salted strawberries and summertime—rush through my head as I pull out onto Highway One and aim the truck east, away from the coast. Zoey’s been my right-hand woman for three years, and not once in that entire time has our relationship been anything but professional. I was with Kim when I hired her, but even if I’d been single, I’m not the kind of guy who hits on his employees. I would never abuse my position that way or do anything to make my staff feel uncomfortable.
Until now, asshole. Ten minutes in Kim’s presence and you’re already losing your shit again.
I wince at the thought but refuse to let the voice of doom prove prophetic.
I will figure a way out of this mess with my self-respect, my professional reputation, and my friendship with Zoey intact. All three mean too much to me to settle for anything less.
“I don’t know about you, but I could really go for a glass of wine,” Zoey says, rubbing at the backs of her eyes with her finger and thumb. “I’m not nearly tipsy enough to unpack the past fifteen minutes.”
“Want to hit Locals on the square? My treat?”
