CHAPTER 27: Ford Bradley
Sunset Cruise
Hot chocolate and churros are great and all, but they’ve got nothing on a midafternoon pantry hand job.
I’m not usually one with my head in the clouds, but right now, I’m pretty sure that’s where my head is.
I wanted to fuck her. Jesus Christ, it’s everything I want.
But I’ve waited this long. I’m not going to fuck it all up by getting her drunk on peppermint schnapps and giving in when the time isn’t exactly right.
No matter how much I want to.
I want her to be sure—not drunk. I want her to want me, not to just want to get off because she’s tipsy and horny. I meant what I said.
I’ve never been one to worry about waiting for marriage for anything, but with her, it seems right.
And there’s another factor, one I’ve kept at bay but one that’s important to consider. I don’t want to hop into bedwith my brother’s ex unless I’m positive that what we have is real.
Archer and I may not be all that close, but this would seal the fate of our brotherhood. There are unwritten rules as brothers, and one is that you don’t touch what doesn’t belong to you. And Tatum belonged to Archer first. For my own emotional safety, I need to know for sure that she’s ready to sever that tie forever.
Because once we fuck, there’s no turning back. Once we’re married, whatever she had with him is done and dusted. For good. Even if the initial intent behind our marriage is one of convenience rather than of reality.
That doesn’t mean it won’t become our reality, and the more wedate, the further I fall. The further I fall, the more I want this to work.
The risks are terrifying, but sometimes the greatest things in life come from the risks we take. And this is a risk that could potentially give me everything I’ve ever wanted.
After hot chocolate and churros, instead of taking her home, I take her downtown. I pull into the parking lot of a jewelry store, and my future bride glances at me.
“What are we doing here?”
“I realized you’re my fiancée, but you’re not wearing a ring. You should be wearing a ring.”
Her eyes light up.
“As a wedding planner, I feel like you probably have some idea of what you want—” I begin, but she interrupts me.
“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. A compass cushion center stone with a platinum band. My dream ring, Ford. My dream!”
“A compass what?” I ask. I have no clue about diamonds.
“So, a cushion cut is basically a square with rounded edges. The compass is how it’s set, so it’s not flat but rotated to point to the four directions. It’ssodreamy, like thegroom is the bride’s compass and vice versa. Come on, let’s go look!” She’s squealing as she explains it, and she throws open the door, possibly slightly denting the car next to us, and then she skips toward the front door of the jeweler. I have to practically run to keep up with her, but her words roll over in my mind.
Like the groom is the bride’s compass and vice versa.
I suppose I’ve sort of always seen her like that. She’s home. She’s always felt like home to me. I let myself believe it was because of our strong friendship even though deep down I knew it was so much more.
And now…this. It’s really happening.
“I can’t believe this is really happening!” she squeals, echoing my thoughts and hugging my arm in hers once I catch up to her.
She tells the jeweler what she wants, and they show us a selection of diamonds that fit her request. I point to the largest one.
They’ll need to set it into the band, but they assure me it’ll be ready by tomorrow.
When morning comes, I head out to pick up breakfast, and when I return, I knock on her doorframe. “Breakfast is here.”
She turns and glances up at me, a little guilt in her eyes.
