“But what if it’s not?” he asks, hugging me closer. “What if I go to Rinderland with you and let Jeffrey take over for me?” My jaw drops, but before I can stammer out all the reasons that’s insane, he hurries on. “This isn’t a spur-of-the-moment thing, Bree. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. Ever since we got here. I mean, why should I be king instead of Jeffrey or Nick? Just because I was born first?”
“You’ve been studying to be king your entire life. Like you said, with your grandfather and the tie.”
He grins. “Jeffrey can also tie a mean tie. Probably even faster than I can.”
“Stop it. You know that’s not what I meant.” I try to pull out of his arms, but he holds me tight. I settle for placing my hands on his chest as I gaze up at him, willing him to see sense. “No offense to Jeffrey, but he’s too scary and grouchy to rule a country. You’re going to be a wonderful king. Your heart is in the perfect place, and you’re smart and kind, and you listen to other people’s opinions before you make a decision. Do you know how rare all of that is in one person?” I smooth his tie down the center of his dress shirt as I answer my own question, “Very rare. And very special. And not easily replaced. So no, you can’t come to Rinderland with me. You have to go make good decisions for your people and make me proud. We’ll see each other every chance we get.”
“Or there’s another option,” Andrew says, a gleam in his eye that makes my stomach flip. “I think I’ve figured out the answer to our engagement problem.”
“What’s that?”
“We get married, instead,” he says, as if he’s suggesting we have Indian food for dinner rather than Greek.
My brows shoot up. “You’re serious?”
“I am. I talked to a woman at the town hall and had our letter of intent posted on the board today just in case. Legally, we’re all set, and she agreed to stick around to officiate the marriage until seven, but we’ll have to hurry if we want to get it in and out before dinner.” He glances behind me at the clock on the bureau and bares his teeth. “Ouch, yes, we should leave in no more than ten minutes. But you’re ready, right?”
“To get married?” I huff as he crosses to the closet, torn between thinking he’s crazy or brilliant. Or maybe brilliantly crazy. “But we can’t elope,” I add, trying to be the voice of reason. “Our parents will kill us.”
“Our parents will be thrilled.” He sits on the edge of the bed, lacing up his dress shoes. “We’ll be legally married right on schedule, before the coronation, and then we can have a ceremonial wedding later, once the press has calmed down and we’re back to business as usual.”
“Nothing about this is business as usual,” I protest, my heart pounding in my chest. “You were supposed to marry my sister. And we decided we weren’t ready to get engaged. How does getting married make sense?”
He stands and steps forward, taking both of my hands in his. “Because we’re jumping into the water. Like you said. With no plans of getting out again.”
I swallow hard. “But—”
“No buts,” he says, tightening his grip on my fingers. “I know it’s fast, but it’s not too fast. Not for me. You’re the person I want to spend the rest of my life with, Bree. I don’t need any more time. But if you do, I can wait. I just…” Pain flashes behind his eyes. “I hate the thought of taking another step down the road of my life without you there with me. I love you, Sabrina Rochat. And I want you, and I need you, and I’m going to want and need you from this day until my last day.”
With tears stinging my eyes, I smile. “Me, too. All of those things. Always.”
Hope softens his features, and he tips his head closer to mine. “So does that mean…?”
“Let’s go jump in the water,” I whisper, giggling as he swoops me into his arms for a fierce hug and kisses my cheek.
“You won’t regret it,” he says, kissing my lips before setting me back on my feet. “Your bouquet is in the fridge. I’ll grab our passports for the rest of the paperwork.”
Laughing, I prop my hands on my hips. “You were that sure I’d say yes, huh?”
He grins at me over his shoulder as he pops open his briefcase. “Not sure. But hopeful. And wanting to be prepared, just in case I got lucky. Now go get your flowers, woman, or we’re going to have to run all the way to the town hall.”
We end up running anyway—too excited to walk—and arrive in plenty of time to sweet-talk our officiator into marrying us in the courtyard behind the town hall with the setting sun turning the world a hazy pink and the smell of flowers and sea salt sweet in the air. Her sister and brother graciously agree to be our witnesses, and her teenage daughter takes pictures with my phone. Afterward, they all insist on taking us out for celebratory ouzo and baklava, and we end up dancing in the pub until midnight, high on strong liquor and sugar and love.
When we wake up tangled in each other’s arms the next morning, and I glance down at my left hand to see the emerald ring on my finger that Andrew bought at an antique store, I feel more at peace than I have in years.
“No regrets?” he asks, kissing my bare shoulder.
“Not a single one,” I say, rolling on top of him and trailing kisses down his chest.
“If we’re not careful, we’ll miss our flight,” he warns, even as he lifts his hips, making it easier for me to drag his boxer briefs down his thighs.
“We’ll be quick,” I promise as I bring my lips to his, murmuring, “I just need to show you something.”
“What’s that?”
“How much I love you,” I whisper as we come together with matching sighs of relief. And pleasure. And gratitude.
And it is good.
So very, very good.
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Keep reading for a sneak peek of
THE BANGOVER
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Sneak Peek
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THE BANGOVER. Out now!
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The Bangover is a red-hot, laugh out loud rom-com featuring two best friends on a collision course with Vegas-flavored disaster—and each other. It stands alone. No cheating or cliffhangers.
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“So let me get this straight…” My best friend Kirby’s voice is husky and soft in the darkness beneath her back porch, where we’ve been hiding for the past thirty minutes, preparing for our favorite post-hometown concert tradition—the pranking of Shep, my drummer. “You’re swearing off sex so you can write songs.”
“Correct. Not fun, but it has to be done.”
“Does it?” She sounds bemused. “Really?”
“It does.” There’s a skittering sound on the planks overhead, and we both fall silent, but after a moment a plaintive meow? makes it clear we’re not in danger of being attacked by trash-raiding raccoons.