She quickly turned to the next page.
April 30th. Simon helped me move the last of Alice Winfield's things from her house on Pelican Street. He knew how difficult it would be for me to see the house standing empty, with that forlorn-looking For Sale sign out front. We walked through it together, and he kissed me in every room.
I told him how I'd always dreamed about living in that big old house, how as a kid I'd imagined Gram and me moving in with Alice and staying up late playing gin rummy and Yahtzee every night. As we stood in the parlor, looking out the windows at the view of the ocean, Simon took my hand and asked me to marry him.”
Frankie's heart was in her throat.
Before I could say a word, he told me to give him a chance—to hear him out. He told me that he loved me—that he's never loved anyone in his life the way that he loves me. He told me that he's spent his whole life running from that kind of love, afraid that he would end up trapped. He told me that the love he feels for me doesn't trap him—it sets him free ….
Frankie's eyes blurred with tears, and she blinked them back, wanting to read more, needing to read more of the words he'd obviously stayed up all night to write.
He said he wants to know I'm always going to be there, every single day, for the rest of his life. He said that I was right when I told him, that someday he'd meet a woman that he simply couldn't live without, a woman who was his soul mate, a woman to whom he'd promise to be faithful and true—a woman to whom he'd never break those promises.
He said he must be the biggest fool on the key, because he met that woman a lifetime ago, and it took him twenty years to figure out that it was me he wanted. But now that he's finally got his act together, he said he couldn't wait for four months to tell me all of this.
He wants forever, and he wants it to start today.
Before I could answer, he kissed me, and I could feel him shaking. He was so frightened that I wouldn't believe him—I thought that he might even cry. He asked me again to marry him, and then he asked me to buy this house with him—to make it ours, to live in happily ever after.
There was plenty of room for both of our offices, he told me, as if I'd need further convincing. And lots of bedrooms in case we wanted to have kids. “Do you want to have kids?” he asked. “Because if you want, I would truly love to have kids—with you.”
I answered him with a kiss.
“I love you,” he said, and I knew it was true.
Wiping tears from her face, Frankie turned the page, reading quickly through the months of May and June, unable to keep from laughing as she took in Simon's account of their late spring wedding on the beach, the bride in a white Speedo bathing suit. Each entry ended the same way, with Simon declaring his love, and Frankie knowing that it was true.
July sped by just as quickly, with the two of them settling into the house on Pelican Street. Both of their businesses thrived. Frankie frequently accompanied Simon on his buying trips, and he continued to act as her Dr. Watson when she took on new private investigations. And then came August.
August 29th. Simon went to Orlando this morning and didn't get back until late tonight. I couldn't help but remember that deal we made back in April—the one that said we'd split come the end of August. I was still awake when Simon came home, and I reminded him of that, and asked him, now that we've been married nearly two months, if he had any regrets.
He told me the only thing he regrets is that he didn't marry me ten years ago. He told me that as much as he loved me in April, he loves me even more now. He told me never to doubt that, ever.
I believed him. And then I told him the news I knew for certain just this morning. I'm pregnant. We're going to have a child.
Simon's response amazed me. He wept. And then he laughed. And then he kissed me. He broke out a bottle of his special nonalcoholic champagne, and we drank it and danced on the back porch until the early hours of the morning, both so incredibly happy ….
Frankie closed the notebook, unable to read any more, not needing to read any more.
He loved her. He truly wanted to marry her.
Simon was exhausted, but there was no way on earth he was going to fall asleep.
He could hear Frankie from where she was sitting, out on the balcony. He heard her pour herself a cup of coffee, he heard the pages of the notebook turning as she read his words.
Please God, he prayed. Let this work.
Every now and then he heard her laugh. Laughter was a good sign, wasn't it?
And then he heard the sound of the chair scraping back as she stood up, and he knew this was it. The moment of truth. Literally. Simon could feel his heart pounding.
And then Frankie stood in the doorway.
“I can't believe you did that,” she said. “Were you up all night?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
She came into the room, moving closer, and he saw that her eyes were wet. “You really love me.”
He laughed with frustration. “God, if you still have to ask, then I better get up and go write some more.”
“I wasn't asking,” Frankie said. “I was …. remarking. With amazement.”
“Marry me, Frankie.”
She caught her breath in what was half sob, half laughter. “You're not supposed to ask me until the day after tomorrow.”
“I don't want to wait that long.”
Frankie's tears threatened to overflow, magnifying the love he could see in her eyes. “I don't want to either.”
“Marry me,” Simon whispered again.
She fell into his arms and answered him with a kiss.
“I love you,” he told her.
And she believed him.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Since her explosion onto the publishing scene more than ten years ago, SUZANNE BROCKMANN has written over forty books and is now widely recognized as one of the leading voices in romantic suspense. Her work has earned her repeated appearances on USA Today and New York Times bestseller lists, as well as numerous awards, including the Ro mance Writers of America's #1 Favorite Book of the Year three years running—in 2000, 2001, and 2002—two RITA awards, and many Romantic Times Reviewer's Choice Awards. Suzanne lives west of Boston with her husband, Dell author Ed Gaffney. Visit her website at www.SuzanneBrockmann.com.
THE KISSING GAME
A Bantam Book
All rights reserved
Copyright © 1996 by Suzanne Brockmann
Bantam Books and the rooster colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
eISBN: 978-0-553-90602-8
www.bantamdell.com
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