He was quiet, gauging my mood, and seemed to be waiting for me to say or do something.
I sat up and stared at the floor. “I hate this.”
“Look at how far you’ve come, and it’s been one day since your setback.” The couch dipped as he sat beside me. “Less than a day.”
It was impossible not to be impatient. “I don’t remember anything important, like my parents’ deaths, or meeting you, or even your proposal.”
He moved unexpectedly to kneel in front of me, taking my hands. “I can fix that,” he whispered. There was gravity in his dark eyes. “Marry me.”
Icy fingers curled around my heart. “How many times have you done this?”
“Proposed? This would be the third.” He looked sheepish. “You turned me down the first time.”
Every nerve in my body prickled with uncomfortable fire and yet I shivered. Fingers clutched at my heart, squeezing tighter until I couldn’t breathe.
“What’s your answer?” It was a question, but it fell on me as a demand. The voice in my head was loud and powerful and impossible to argue against.
No other answer was allowed.
“Yes.”
As soon as it registered, Ryan yanked my legs forward, so I was slumped down on the couch while he loomed over me. His kiss was aggressive and consuming, and I worried I’d be buried beneath it. He pulled one of my bent knees up, so it was wrapped around him.
“I’ll never get tired of hearing that,” he murmured. His hands at my waist slid under the fabric of my sweater and brushed over the skin beneath.
No.
I shot up, knocking our teeth together as I pulled away. I was breathing so hard my vision blurred. “Can we slow down?”
“Yeah, we can slow down.” He sat back on his heels, one hand resting on my knee. I’d just agreed to marry him, but a large part of me wanted to push his hand away.
The voice in my head was commanding.He’s been so patient. So understanding.
“Tell me about the wedding,” I asked on a shaky voice.
“What?”
“What did we plan? A big, traditional thing?”
“No. You wanted that, but your ex...” He sighed. “You decided we should do it on a beach, just us, and whoever was going to marry us.”
That was why there was a wedding dress in my closet. We’d planned to marry here in Croatia.
He peered at me like he wanted to see every thought in my mind. “Why do you ask?”
My head was full of static. “Why haven’t we done it already?”
“You want to get married?” He looked dubious and a little excited. “Now?”
No, I didn’t, but once again, the words clogged in my throat. There was pressure at the base of my skull. “Not right now,” I stalled, “but if I relapse, you’ll be back at square one.”
A slow, deliberate smile crept on his face. “We could get married as soon as the weekend, if you want.”
Theinvisible hand of my subconscious hurled me forward and told me we were made for each other. That we shouldn’t waste any more time because it was limited. This was what he wanted—and that was more important than anything else.
Even though the idea scared the hell out of me.
“Are you telling me you want to get married, Laurel?” he asked. “That you want to make me the happiest man on Earth?”
