“I don’t know what I was thinking,” I say, stepping in front of him, wrapping my arms around his neck and letting him know how much I mean what I’m saying. “This is where your parents got married. This was where we planned to get married. We have to get married here, not at the lighthouse.”
His hands settle on my waist. “We should get married at our place. We should make our future our own. I brought you here because I had something made for you before we broke up and this is the place I intended to give it to you.”
“On our wedding day?”
“Yes. On our wedding day.”
“Then give it to me on our new wedding day.”
“I want you to have it now. You’ll understand why once you see it.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a velvet bag. “Open it.”
My emotions are all over the place right now, jumping around, pummeling my belly and my chest. This gift was something he picked for me before I left him. It hurts to know that I changed our history. My hands all but tremble as I open the bag and pull out a delicate chain. I hold it up and suck in a breath with the sight of a delicate charm at the end of it that looks exactly like the church. “Oh my God, Grayson.”
“Turn it over,” he orders softly, his voice radiating with his own emotions.
I do as he’s commanded to read the engraved message: Grayson and Mia 8-26-18 Forever. The day we were to be married. Tears burn my eyes and a vise closes on my chest. “This is perfect, but I wasn’t. I have so many regrets, Grayson. So many regrets.”
“We’ve talked about this,” he says, cradling my face. “We both made mistakes, but we’re here now. That’s what matters. And I want you to keep that. But that history between us is a reminder to us both to never to take each other for granted.”
“Never,” I whisper, and my throat feels like wet cotton. “But I really do think we should get married here. Your parents will be our lucky charm.”
“I think we need to be our own lucky charms, you to me and me to you. The lighthouse is our special place.” His lips quirk. “We’ll tell our wedding planner better late than never.”
“Oh God. I don’t know if that woman will take us back.”
“I’m sure we can convince her.” He motions to the church. “You want to go inside?”
“Very much. After I put on my necklace.”
He helps me secure it around my neck and then hand-in-hand, we walk into the church and sit down near the front, where we talk about his mother’s stories of their perfect wedding day. “I want you to have that kind of perfect day,” Grayson says. “I have your dress. They delivered it the week after you left.”
“I told them to cancel it,” I say, remembering that call with brutal clarity. I’d barely held it together and burst into tears when I’d hung up.
“I forbid them from cancelling it. I wanted desperately for you to come back and wear it. You still can. Or any other dress you want. A new location. A new dress—”
“No,” I say quickly. “I love that dress. It’s the dress.”
“But does it remind you of the break-up?”
“No. It reminds me of how perfect we were and are.” I cover his hand with mine, thinking of something he said to me about our mistakes, about our desire to be the impossible. “I don’t want to try to be perfect anymore. I want to revel in how imperfectly wonderful we are. You are the glue that holds all my broken pieces in place. You make me whole again.”
He brings my hand to his lips, and when he looks into my eyes and lets me see all his broken pieces, all his pain, and whispers, “As you do me,” I can almost feel the world shrinking around us. “New wedding date,” he says. “August 26th, 2020.”
“The same day we were to be married last year. Because we’re embracing all our broken pieces,” I say.
“And making us whole again.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Mia
My fairytale engagement weekend slams to a halt shortly after Grayson pulls the Porsche into the airport and parks. An SUV parks next to us, a vehicle I recognize as belonging to our security team from Walker Security. This leads me to the assumption that they’ve been following us. Of course, they have. They’re supposed to protect us and the façade of being here and beyond the reach of the hell waiting on us back at the city is just that: a façade. The Walker staff were discreet, but they’re watching us, they’re protecting us from the press and who knows who else. I mean, of course, we need protection. A man I knew well just held a gun to my head and is now dead. A pinched feeling in my chest has me reaching for my door and shoving away my thoughts.
Grayson catches my arm and when I turn to look at him, his expression is tender. He strokes my hair behind my ear, and despite how familiar this action has become, his touch that incredible mix of electricity and calm that defies reason. “You okay?” he asks, his gaze searching my face.
The question is proof of just how intuitive this man is with me, how connected we have always been. It’s why I was shocked when I thought he had cheated. It’s why I should have known better. “Yes,” I say. “Yes, I’m good. I’m engaged to you again. How can I not be good?”
“Considering the circumstances,” he says, “easily. If you’re having second thoughts about going back, we can stay.”
“We can’t stay. You have a company to run and I have new staff to help welcome.”
“We can make it work,” he assures me.
“No,” I say firmly, taking his hand and kissing it. “As much as a part of me wants to stay, I want the bad behind us, all of the bad.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. Let’s go home.”
“We are home, baby. We’re together.”
My heart swells with his words. “Yes. Yes, we are,” I agree. “But our lives we share—I want to reclaim our space.”
His eyes warm. This pleases him. “Then we’ll go back to the city and claim our lives.”
Relieved and somehow more apprehensive than ever—yes, I’m a mess right now, apparently—I reach for the door. Smith from Walker is immediately there, opening it for me. He offers me his hand but I wave him off with a murmured, “Thank you.”
He’s close, big, tall, and close, with sandy brown hair under a beanie. His fatigue pants and T-shirt are also black. “How very military you look this afternoon.”
“I’ll take that comment as better than looking tired or stupid, but only slightly.”
Considering he’s a quiet, formal guy, this reply surprises me and earns him a smile. “You look manly. How’s that?”
He laughs, another surprise from this man. “Better than girly, unless that’s what you’re shooting for of course, but I assure you I am not.”
Now, I laugh and Grayson appears by my side. “I think I owe you a thank you, Smith,” he says. “You made her laugh. She needs to laugh.”
“I’m sure she does,” Smith replies. “But this will all be over soon.”
Soon, I repeat in my head, stepping free of the car door and allowing Grayson to shut it. Not soon enough, I silently add as another tall man with wavy hair steps to Smith’s side. He’s also wearing all black. Good grief, what do they think is waiting on us in the city? War?