Textual Relations Read Online Lauren Rowe

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Contemporary Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
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The song is “Going to the Chapel.” And when I look at Selena, she’s singing along pointedly to the lyrics with a huge smile on her face. Everything about Selena’s facial expression and body language as she sings about going to the chapel to get married practically screams, This is on purpose! This is planned! Listen up! And suddenly, there’s no doubt she’s telling me she’s finally ready to say yes to me—to go to the chapel with me—or the beach or City Hall—and get ma-a-arried.

With my heart crashing in my ears and a massive grin on my face to match Selena’s, I watch the love of my life serenading me at the stove. When the last chorus begins, she glides toward me, slides her arms around my neck, and softly sings the remainder of the simple song into my ear.

When the music ends, Selena kisses my cheek and whispers, “I love you with all my heart and soul, Grayson McKnight. Forever and always. Without holding back. And I’ll never change my mind about that, as long as I live.”

The boner that’s been thickening in my pants hardens to steel, as my heart bursts with joy. This is the best moment of my life, by far. The answer to my prayers. I pull Selena into me, gently press my palms against her cheeks, and kiss her mouth. Selena’s typically not a fan of PDA, other than holding hands. And that’s especially true when we’re in the presence of her father and kid. But, clearly, usual preferences don’t apply in a euphoric, life-changing moment like this. A moment this amazing and unique—a once in a lifetime moment like this—surely calls for a deep and passionate kiss.

As I kiss my future wife, she not only doesn’t pull away, she presses herself against me and returns my kiss with everything she has. It’s how I know, for sure, I’m not crazy. I’m not engaging in wishful thinking. Selena Diaz wants to become my wife.

“I love you, too,” I whisper into her ear. “Forever and always. With all my heart and soul. And I’ll never change my mind about that, as long as I live.”

She kisses my cheek, reaches around and pats my ass, and then returns to her pan on her stove, like she didn’t just rock my entire fucking world.

The playlist has now moved on to its next song—a tune I don’t recognize. Drew and Pops are still cluelessly playing Scrabble at the table. The clock on the wall continues its ticking march. But the world is forever changed for me. The next time I ask Selena to marry me, she’s going to say yes.

“Hey, sous chef,” Selena calls to me. “Where’s that minced garlic?”

I clear my throat. “I got distracted by a smoke signal.”

She giggles. “How lovely. But I need that garlic. Chop, chop. Literally.”

“Yes, MILF.” Oops. I know better than to use that nickname for Selena around her son and father. A bit louder, I add, “Yes, ma’am.” I glance over my shoulder to see if Pops and Drew overheard my first version, and thankfully, it seems they didn’t. I quickly finish my mincing job and slide my work into Selena’s pan.

“Nice work,” she says with a wink. “It needs to simmer for five and then I’ll let it sit to thicken for another five. And then, finally, we’ll feast.” She calls to her father at the kitchen table. “Dinner’s ready in ten, Dad. Should I open another bottle of that same red for you?”

He glances at his empty goblet. “Absolutely. I’m drinking only the good stuff on my birthday.”

Selena addresses me. “Would you grab another bottle from the wine cellar?”

“You bet.” As I cross the kitchen, I feel like I’m floating on air. I’m going to marry Selena Diaz. Holy fucking shit.

Right before I’ve reached the kitchen table, Pops happens to get up in front of me, murmuring something about hitting the bathroom before dinnertime. And that’s when I realize the perfect opportunity has fallen into my lap.

I hang back and stalk Pops as he disappears into a nearby bathroom and then wait outside the door, fidgeting and thinking about the speech I’m going to give him when he comes out. I choose and re-choose my words in my head, feeling increasingly excited and anxious. And when the man finally emerges from the bathroom, I’m horrified to hear myself blurt, with zero preamble or finesse, “May I have your blessing to marry Selena?”

Fuck.

That’s not how I was planning to do that. I was planning to slowly ramp up to the ultimate request.

Selena’s father stops short outside the bathroom door and stares at me for a beat. Calmly, he says, “I think perhaps we should talk about this a bit farther away from the kitchen, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir. Good thinking.”

I follow him into the family room, and we both take seats—with Pops taking an imposing armchair and me sinking into the leather couch across from him.



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