‘Roxie,’ he continues, as his hand finally emerges from his pocket with a small black box in it. ‘Will you marry me?’
Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve wondered about how my future husband would pop the question to me. I’ve thought about the location, the words he would use, what the ring would be like. What I never gave much consideration to was how I would react – but what’s important is for me to be cool, calm and ladylike, right?
‘Fuck off,’ I blurt out, my London accent having never sounded stronger.
Mark laughs.
‘I’m going to assume you’re saying that in disbelief and not as a firm “no”,’ he says with a nervous laugh.
I don’t know why, but I crouch down on the floor in front of him, so we’re at eye level again.
‘Of course it’s not a “no”, it’s a “yes” – it’s a “fuck yes”,’ I babble.
‘You haven’t even looked at your ring,’ he tells me.
I take the box from him and place it to one side.
‘Whatever it is will be perfect, I’m sure. But all I want is you,’ I tell him sincerely. Sure, it would be nice to have a pretty rock on my finger, but if there’s one thing I am always telling people, it’s that Mark is way too good for me, and I don’t mean that because I don’t think much of myself. I just cannot believe my luck. How did I wind up with a man this perfect?
‘The plan was to wait until Christmas Day and ask you then, but I’ve been carrying this ring around for two days and the thought of waiting a few more weeks seemed liked torture. I did have this big romantic thing planned out, but… sorry,’ he laughs awkwardly.
Tears of happiness fall from my eyes, ruining the perfectly applied make-up I spent a chunk of the morning on.
‘No, don’t cry, how will you take a selfie?’ he teases.
I wipe my eyes with my hands.
‘We’ll just have to take one later and pretend we took it now,’ I half joke.
Mark jumps to his feet and offers me a hand.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look more gorgeous,’ he tells me, despite the sniffling noises I’m making. ‘Now, sorry to ruin the moment, but sex was briefly mentioned about five minutes ago and I’ve been desperate to get my hands on you since.’
I laugh as Mark lifts me up from the floor before pinning me down on the sofa.
‘Ooh,’ I squeak. ‘Something is going in my butt.’
‘Well, if you insist,’ Mark replies as he kisses his way down from my neck to my stomach, tugging at my dress with urgency until I’m down to my underwear.
‘That wasn’t a demand,’ I laugh. ‘There’s something under me on the sofa.’
An explosion booms through the surround sound, causing us both to jump in fright.
‘Oh, shit, you must be on the controller. You’ve started a new game,’ he laughs.
‘Oops,’ I giggle. ‘Quick, turn it off, you’ve still got your headset on.’
Mark grabs me by the thighs and pulls my body closer to his, laying me flat on my back.
‘Let the nerds listen.’
I gasp as he presses down on top of me.
‘You are a bad boy,’ I whisper into his ear.
‘I’m just trying to change your opinion of Sundays,’ he tells me. ‘And while I’m around, I promise you, all of your Sundays are going to be this amazing.’
Another explosion booms through the living-room speakers.
I close my eyes and bite my lip in sheer pleasure.
‘Don’t you want to pause your game?’ I ask him.
‘Why?’
I glance at the screen.
‘Someone keeps blowing you up,’ I half say, half moan.
‘Roxie, I could be on fire in real life and I wouldn’t stop having sex with you,’ he laughs. ‘We’ll just have to drown out their explosions with a few of our own.’
‘My kind of video game,’ I reply breathlessly.
‘There’s only one thing left to do now,’ he begins, struggling to form sentences as he gets ready to focus on the mission at hand. ‘You need to finally meet my parents.’
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Copyright
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2017
Copyright © Portia MacIntosh 2017
Portia MacIntosh asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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E-book Edition © June 2017 ISBN: 978-0-00-824100-1
The Accidental Honeymoon Page 24
