Liam walks toward me, his stride certain and yet somehow humble. Once he reaches me, he holds up a pair of high-grade steel handcuffs. My smile curls from ear to ear.
“In Ireland,” he says, the thick, rolling brogue to vibrate in my very soul, “we have hand fasting ceremonies. Where the bride and groom are bound together with ropes to show they belong to one another.” He dangles the cuffs, gaze locked on mine with devastating intensity. “I thought we would do our own spin on it—if ye accept, of course.”
He takes the Claddagh ring from my trembling hand. Then, right there on the tiled floor of the florist shop, the Donovan King drops to one knee. Raw emotion consumes me. So violent and beautiful, I can’t hold it in.
“Elexia Carter.” His whole being holds me here. Nothing else exists. “My Darlin’. My sweet savior. Mo Róisín. You’re already mine, Lexie. Ye have been since the day you found me in that alley and chose to save a monster who didn’t deserve ye.”
In those eyes, his words, his whole being, he cherishes me with a love of profound dominion. Unequivocal. Forever. It promises to ruin my soul and set my heart on fire.
Lifting my hand to his lips in a kiss of romance and reverence, he asks, “Would you take this morally gray book boyfriend to be your husband? Yours to keep? Forever?”
I throw my arms around his neck and sob into his shoulder. “Yes! Yes, Liam! With all my heart and soul!”
The shop erupts into applause—Georgie, Claire, River, even the new employees I haven’t met yet. Liam’s body tenses for a split second, and then he’s whispering in my ear, hot and sweet.
“Ahh, I know it, Lexie,” he murmurs.
I pull back, tilting my head in confusion, my face a mess of tears. “Know what?”
He grins, a wicked, beautiful spark in his eyes. He winks at me, his voice a low, predatory purr to shiver my nerve endings. “I know your ultimate trope, Darlin’.” His lips touch my ear. “And I’ll be makin’ ye an honest woman before you make a wicked man out of me.”
He helps me stand, his hand never leaving mine. River approaches us, signaling to Georgie, who waits at her side with a long, white garment bag.
River’s smile is blinding. “Don’t think I forgot about that one shop we went to in the Hamptons, Lex. That beautiful dress you fawned over? The strapless one with the blue chiffon and white lace details.
I look at the bag, then back at Liam in shock.
“Liam just made a few… minor adjustments,” River adds with a knowing glint.
Heart nearly bursting through my ribs, I take the bag. I can hardly wait to see what he’s done. And if he’s truly guessed my ultimate trope.
Liam just watches me with a possessive love that has finally found its home. “Don’t be long, Darlin’. We’ve a wedding to get to.”
CHAPTER 26
Liam
I’ve seen a lot of beautiful things in my life. Until tonight, the most beautiful was the sunrise over the Donegal cliffs. But as I carry Lexie across the threshold of her apartment, I realize I’ve been blind my entire life.
In her wedding dress, she is the second most beautiful.
It suits her. A long, flowing fairytale-esque gown in a pale blue that makes the soft red of her hair like a living flame. The color is perfect, bringing out the warmth in her skin and complementing the colors of her bouquet—my brilliant, wicked idea for her to craft them without knowing.
I’d made my own adjustments to the dress. Subtle Celtic knots woven along the hem, a silent tie to a heritage she’s now bound to. The veil of the finest Irish lace frames her face, making her seem like something forged from starlight and ancient earth.
But as I kick the apartment door shut behind us, I know the first, most beautiful sight will be her, gloriously naked, as I take each of those pieces off, one by one.
“Oh, Liam, it’s beautiful!” she gushes.
And it is. Not merely clean and tidy, but transformed.
Soft golden fairy lights turn her little apartment into something warm—like we’ve stepped into a private constellationformed just for us. Along one wall, delicate strands of lights cradle clipped photographs from the past few weeks—her laughing in the kitchen with flour on her cheek from her attempt at soda bread; her asleep against my chest; her working in the floral shop. Between the long hours, I must have taken enough pictures to fill a gallery, soaking in our small time together.
We will make up for those hours in ways she can’t imagine. Another surprise. Another time.
I set her down near the side table, where a frame of our vows rests, our signatures at the bottom.
“Alexa,” I announce with a twisted smirk, remembering the first time she nearly kidnapped me with handcuffs. “Play our honeymoon playlist.”
