Thatch wraps an arm around my dad’s very tense shoulders. “Don’t stress, K. Think of this as the start of something beautiful. Us? One big,officialfamily someday soon.”
“Oh God,” Ace mutters into my ear. “Should we remind them about the crocodile incident before things escalate?”
“Don’t you dare,” I whisper back.
Everyone starts coming forward to hug us, pat Ace on the back, or whisper “about damn time” in our ears. The party kicks off around us with music, drinks, and so many appetizers that I briefly consider a second piggyback ride to the dessert table.
But then Ace turns to my father. “Hey, Mr. Brooks.”
My dad arches a brow. “Ace.”
“I just wanted to say…” Ace pauses, scratching the back of his neck in mock nervousness. “I’d like to formally ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”
Kline nearly drops his champagne flute. “Excuse me?”
My mouth falls open. “Ace!”
Thatch whoops from across the room, now wearing a cone-shaped party hat and blowing a noisemaker like it’s New Year’s Eve. “This is the happiest day of my motherfluffing life!”
Ace holds up both hands. “Kidding. I’m kidding. For now.” He winks. “But I’ll be back in five or six years.”
Kline Brooks does not look comforted. If anything, he looks eerily close to a cardiac event or a stroke or, I don’t know, seeing red and killing Ace with his bare hands. “Remember that time you askedme about a shotgun, Ace?” my dad tosses out before my mom grabs his wrist to purposefully tug him to the other side of the apartment. “Keep that in mind!” my dad still calls over his shoulder.
Oh jeez.
As the party buzzes around us, Ace leans in and kisses me softly with a brush of his lips before he whispers, “Love you, Lia.”
“Love you too.”
“And just so you know…” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded piece of worn notebook paper. “I still have the marriage contract you signed when we were kids.”
My eyes widen. “You do not.”
“Oh, I do. A contract that binds Julia Brooks to me in marriage when I turn twenty-five? Like I’d ever lose that. Hell fucking no.”
He tucks it back into his pocket like a treasure map.
And I laugh.
Because somehow, in a room full of boisterous people who love us…being with Ace feels like the calmest, happiest place I’ve ever been.
Saturday, November 8th
Ace
The Double C after party is still raging when I duck out the side door of Perkins—otherwise known as the history building—and head to the nearest subway stop.
I don’t even pretend to be sorry that the prez of Double C is leaving his own after party.
But that’s because my girl is at home with a migraine, and ever since she said she felt too sick to go to the Double C event tonight, I’ve been busy checking in on her every hour on the hour. Sometimes every half hour, to be honest.
Julia’s been sick maybe four times in the entire time I’ve known her, and even then, she refused to miss school. So, yeah, I’m concerned. Hell, she practically had to shove me out of her apartment to make me come to Double C tonight, reminding me that I’m the one in charge and I have to be there.
But I stayed as long as I needed to stay, and I’m currently in the elevator, headed up to our floor, texting as I lean against the mirrored wall.
Me: You up?
It only takes a second before her response pings.
