Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
“Shall I make a grand gesture of this, Luxury?”
“You did. There are flowers on the Empire State Building, right?”
“Not the Empire . . .” He groans, then chuckles. “Dammit, Luxxie. This isn’t a grand gesture.”
“It is.” I glance around. “We’re standing here. I’m freezing my ass off.”
He starts to stride to where the blanket has fallen. “Not help—”
I clasp his hand, the heels of my feet digging into the sand to garner control. “Marriage is through thick and thin. It’s the good times, the friggen shitty times. It’s suffering together.” I pretend to burrow in the wind, but a strong gust has me really trembling.
“It’s suffering together,” I pause, clear my throat, and realize I gotta tell him about Madeline.
Not tonight, though.
The spunky girl who fell in love with an older man, though instincts and every fiber in her body screamed that he would only break her heart, seems to have all the wisdom between the two of us. At least for this second. “Gimme your best grand gesture, Vic, now.”
“Let’s see. Grand gesture?”
“Like one to two pretty words should do the trick—because I remember how snappy and short you—”
“Me, short?” Victor’s palms sweep over my arms, warmth bleeding through the cashmere sweater.
I chortle, planting my hands over my mouth as electricity of pure love charges around us. “You know what I mean. Convince me, or I’ll be the No person.”
One second, Victor laughs as if he doesn’t believe me. In the next, he straightens up, spine rigid like a true royal.
The aura of monarchy surrounds him.
So much power rolls off him that it hurts to look at him. I physically ache between my thighs. Every throbbing fold vibrates like an earthquake.
Victor takes my hands. “You’re too good to me, Little One. But alright, I’m confident that I can convince you of my love.” He places my hands over his chest. “I’ll speak to your heart, Lux. I cannot stomach another second, not knowing I don’t have you forever. To hear your squeaky laugh—”
“Tsk!” I fake an attempt at pulling away.
“You’ve a brilliant laugh, really. To watch you rise on your tippy-toes as if you could honestly touch your lips to mine.”
“Now you’re calling me a midget.” I shiver, though the part of my brain connected to senses isn’t aware. I’m totally content.
“No, I’m calling you the woman I’d rather die for than live without. I’m calling you mine, Luxury. Do me the honor of being my wife so that for the rest of our lives I can brush up on even grander gestures like loving you . . . Must I keep talking?”
“Ye—”
“Yes!” He shoves his hands into his pants, jaw rigid while proceeding. “Alright, you tamed me at first sight, Luxury. It may not have seemed so, but—”
“No, Vic. Stop. I’m saying yes!” I’m so caught in the rapture of the moment that I stutter. “Friggen yessss, I’ll marry you.”
We christened the bed we shared last night until first light slowly crept into the room. Now, I’m resolute that the last contaminant in our relationship will be snuffed out.
Damn, I hope Maddy acted alone and is the last toxin between us.
By noon, we’ve slipped downstairs in our pajamas. Burt hasn’t revealed himself, and the vast areas are oddly quiet. In the kitchen, every appliance is immaculate in its place.
“Just sit. Enjoy your cuppa,” I tell Victor, placing the coffee mug in front of him.
His brow lifts as he descends. “Where are you off to?”
“Not far. Gotta harass Burt one last time.”
Victor laughs. “Burt the Butler’s researching his next holiday on my bloody dime.”
“I’m not.”
I tense as the familiar mature tone causes our eyes to seek the kitchen entrance where Burt leans on one crutch.
“Allow me.” I start toward him.
Although Burt doesn’t require any assistance, and I’m sure he relieved his own butler for this very reason, he nods.
“You’ll tell him?” he whispers as I stand before him.
“Now,” I mouth.
Burt pats my shoulder. “I’ve got it.”
Instead of wandering over to the breakfast nook, he meanders toward the cabinets.
“See,” Victor tells me as I settle next to him, “the old man has you wrapped around his finger.”
Burt places a bottle of whiskey beneath one arm and shuffles over.
“Coffee?” His nose upturns.
A bit queasy, I climb to my feet again. “I’ll make you a cup of—”
“It’s no bother.” Burt opens the whiskey. “A wee nip, Victor?”
“Wee? God forbid.” Victor downs half the coffee, and Burt offers him a generous amount of the amber liquid.
Once complete, Burt licks his lips and mutters, “I must resign, Victor.”
My man hefts a shoulder. “Would you prefer fewer duties?”
“Yes.”
“Alright. Do nothing, Burt.”
“I am resigning. Congratulations are in order. But the two of you will start a family. Have chil—”
“Burt,” Victor growls, though sincere eyes search me over.
“You will have children,” Burt assures.
“It’s okay, mentioning children and babies,” I whisper. “We can still try.”