CHAPTER 25
Elexia
The shop smells like damp earth and sweet success.
A little over two months ago, Georgie’s Florals was a modest boutique. Today, it’s the busiest shop in the borough. My phone buzzes on the potting bench, and my heart skips before I even see the name.
It’s done, Darlin’. And I am taking you out to dinner tonight. 7 pm.
My smile is fuller, my sigh deeper.It’s done.I can barely comprehend those two words. For ten weeks, Liam has been a shadow in his own life, a man possessed by the need to stitch his world back together. And planning for the future, building a foundation for us.
He’ll come home to my little apartment at three in the morning, exhausted, his suit jackets smelling of cold rain and stale boardrooms. He would climb into bed, pull me into the curve of his body, and fall into a deep sleep of survival.
Those few moments have been worth their weight in gold, despite how he still hasn’t fucked me. Not for my lack of trying. From sexy lingerie to aphrodisiacs to waking him up with his cock deep in my throat.
But he always tells me, ‘It’s not time yet, Luv,’ or he just bends me over and spanks me for my attempts to “tempt” him into it.
Liam, Eamon, and Nana have partnered with Liam to ensure the Donovan legacy is finally, truly sanitized.
So, I’ve remained patient. I waited twenty-eight years for this kind of love, this…dream. He’s waited thirty-seven. And in more ways than me since I’ll be his first.
I set the phone down and glance at the clock. 6 pm. One hour.
I sigh, tracing my fingers along the velvet petals of a pink anemone. I’ve been picking up extra hours to help Georgie keep up with the surge in orders. More rush in late April/early May. Spring weddings and events, baby showers, and of course, Mother’s Day.
Georgie also mentioned an “anonymous investor”, chattering on about the new delivery van and the state-of-the-art refrigeration units. I just smile and nod, ribbons of heat unraveling inside me because I know exactly whose checkbook is behind the miracle.
“Lex, I’m gonna miss you something fierce,” Georgie says, popping his head around the corner of the cold room. He crooks a knowing side grin. “But you deserve your time off. Go on, get to it.”
I lift a brow, my hands paused over a bundle of ferns. “Time off? Georgie, I only asked for this Sunday.”—to honor my mother for Mother’s Day. “It’s only Friday.”
“Things change,” he chirps, sliding a final order slip onto my bench. “I can’t share more, but I need you to finish this one before you head out. It’s a bridal order. Two bouquets, a corsage, and a boutonniere. It’ll make sense soon, I promise.”
I laugh, shaking my head at his theatrics. “Fine. One more.”
I pull the first of the flowers from the bucket, and my breath hitches. White roses. Pink anemones. Delicate greenferns. Every single stem is a favorite of mine. I start with the boutonniere, my fingers moving with a practiced, rhythmic grace, then the corsage. As I move on to the smaller bridesmaid bouquet, deja vu washes over me. The harmony of the colors, the scent of the roses—it’s exactly how I’d described my dream wedding arrangement to River in the past.
My hands tremble as I reach for the final item Georgie left on the bench. It’s not a flower; it’s a small velvet satchel with a silk drawstring.
The clock clicks over to 7 pm.
I open the satchel with fumbling fingers. A gasp escapes me, my hand flying to my mouth as the contents spill into my palm.
It’s…an engagement ring.
Not just any ring. A heavy gold Claddagh, the traditional Irish symbol of love, loyalty, and friendship. The heart is a vibrant, glowing pink tourmaline, flanked by rows of brilliant diamonds reflecting the shop’s fluorescent light like fallen stars.
“Lexie?” Georgie’s voice is soft. He’s standing by the main shop door, beckoning me.
Dazed, I move, clutching the ring and holding the bridal bouquet against my chest like a shield. I step out from the back room, through the bead curtain, and the world stops.
Liam is standing in the center of the shop. He is, without question, the most beautiful man I have ever seen. His dark, curly hair is swept back from his brow, his high cheekbones catching the light, and that jawline—the one that could cut glass—is set, confident, assured. Even beneath the flawless charcoal suit, his build is pure, coiled muscle.
He looks like a king. My king.
Beside him, River is beaming, wearing a beautiful pink bridesmaid dress like she’s a spring morning. Nana Claire is there too, sharp and regal in a pink blazer suit, her eyes unnaturally glassy as she watches us. And Eamon…even he’sdressed in a formal suit, standing at Liam’s side with a quiet, cultured approval.
I can’t catch my breath. I set down the bouquet, then curl my hands into eager, overwhelmed fists, my knuckles pressing under my chin as happy, ugly emotion overflows from my heart. I don’t care if the ring wears an imprint in my palm.
