“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” He pauses on the threshold. “I’m bringing my wife home. Then she’s heading upstairs to consummate this marriage until she passes out at dawn.”
“Wow. Big words. You really think you can handle Mrs. Saint?” I try and fail to test my new name without shuddering. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”
“I think I’m goddamned explosive.”
I reach up and brush a lock of dark hair from his face. He’s almost painfully lovely in the light.
“Go on, then,” I say. “Carry me over the threshold, hubby.”
“This is the part that makes the marriage valid,” he says, taking a giant step over the threshold into our lovely, renovated home.
While we’ve been busy drinking champagne and living it up, someone came back and weaved white flowers around the banister Kane repaired during our first week together.
Candles burn on both sides of the steps, flanking a smattering of rose petals.
“Can’t believe I let you talk me into real candles. That’s a fire risk,” Kane says, but they’ve only just been lit.
“You hush. It’s beautiful and Hattie will sneak in later to put them out before she leaves.” I reach up and take his chin in my hands, turning his face to me so I can kiss him. “So,” I tease. “Aren’t you going to carry me up the stairs?”
He does it so easily, not even pausing for breath halfway up.
And this human whirlwind doesn’t stop there, carrying me to the bedroom, which has transformed into a bridal boutique.
It’s ridiculously pretty and over-the-top, which makes me think my mom had to be involved. It also makes my eyes sting.
This is my husband.
My new life.
The right wrong promise.
The forever I didn’t think I was ever promised.
Tomorrow, we’re grabbing the kids from a sleepover with their grandma and heading to the airport.
We’ll be in Costa Rica for the next two weeks, celebrating our first family vacation, but tonight it’s just us.
“I’ve said this before, but I am lucky,” he growls, plopping me down on the bed. “You make me blessed.”
“Kane…” I hold out my arms so he can get one last look at me before he takes this thing off.
“You heard me. Blessed.” He’s already looking me up and down with a razor-sharp hunger that tells me he loves what he sees. “And have I ever told you how fuck-hot you look in that dress?”
I gasp a little.
“Yes, actually. But you know I don’t mind hearing it again.”
“You’re too fuckable for life, Margot Saint.” He leans forward so his weight braces on the bed and he sucks my neck.
His teeth scrape my collarbone until I shiver, already reduced to a moaning mess.
“I’m blessed too. Because romance isn’t dead.” I twist underneath him, digging my nails into his chest playfully. “Want to know something even better?”
“What?”
“All you have to do to get me out of this dress is a simple zip.”
