Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 125213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
He wet his lips, eyes dancing between mine.
“Even if they do think it’s fake at first, they won’t for long. Because when they see me bawling when you walk down the aisle to me, they’ll know. When they see how I watch you perform in a sold-out stadium, they’ll know. When they watch us grow old together, you the mother of my children and me still threatening to bury any motherfucker who dares to speak one ill word to you? They’ll know.”
I laughed a bit through my tears at that, shaking my head as I hung on to every word.
“And even if they never know, even if they always wonder,” Aleks continued. “We’ll know. You will know, Mia. You’ll never have to wonder. From this moment on, I will be yours entirely.” The corner of his lips quirked up. “To be honest, I always have been.”
He let out a shaky exhale, the speech done, and then he looked down to the ring and back up at me.
“So?”
“This… this is insane,” I whispered, but I was smiling, swiping away tears with my free hand.
“And genius.”
“And absurd.”
“You’ll be stuck with me.”
At that, I lowered to my knees, covering his hand with mine. “The only place I want to be.”
“Yeah?” Aleks’s eyes were filled with light and hope.
“Yeah,” I whispered, crying again, shaking my head and looking from him to the ring and back again. “I’m not getting a divorce,” I warned him sternly. “I mean it. If we do this—”
“I’d sooner walk away from a fight on the ice than ever let you go, Strings.”
I laughed, biting my lower lip as I searched him for any sign of this being a joke.
I found nothing.
He was serious. He wanted to marry me.
And God, I wanted to marry him, too. I wanted to walk down the aisle to him. I wanted him to wear a ring that told every woman he was mine. I wanted the headlines to be real — the touches, the kisses, all of it.
So, I pressed my finger into the ring just a centimeter, a silent request.
“Is that a yes, Mia Love?”
“It’s a hell yes.”
And when Aleks slid the gold all the way to my knuckle, the stormy gemstone sparkling even brighter than it had that day on the water, I smiled.
“Let’s bury this motherfucker under all the shit he’s talked about me,” I said.
Aleks had the grin of the devil when he helped me stand, like that was the only thing he’d ever wanted to do, like it was his purpose in life.
He pressed his lips to mine, one word vibrating through me before he was carrying me back to the bedroom.
“Let’s.”
Sorry, Not Sorry
Ten Days Later
Aleks
Mia’s childhood home was buzzing.
The faint scent of cinnamon and cloves mingled with the warm, buttery aroma of something baking in the kitchen, wrapping the air in a holiday hug. Voices carried through the halls, laughter bubbling over the occasional clink of glassware or scrape of chairs being adjusted. Every room seemed to glow, strings of twinkling lights and hundreds of candles casting soft, golden hues over the walls, illuminating the framed family photos adorning each wall.
There were photos of Charlie and Holly on their wedding day, of Mia as a newborn, of them as a family ten years down the line.
And there were photos of me, too.
I smiled at the photo from my first game in the states, Charlie’s hand on my shoulder proudly, Holly tucking a shy Mia into her side on the other end. Then there was the one of my first Christmas with them, and one when Mia and I graduated high school.
Our history lived inside this beautiful house.
And now, we’d fill the walls with even more family photos.
I stood at the base of the stairs, watching the organized chaos unfold around me. I should have been helping, but my feet stayed rooted to the hardwood floors, hands tucked into the pockets of my suit pants. Our friends and family bustled by as I happily lost myself to the memories.
Mia’s mom darted into the dining room with a bundle of greenery, stopping long enough to coach Chloe where she was adjusting the ribbons on the chairs that lined the living room where the ceremony would take place. The grand doors made of glass gave way to the stunning view of Lake Michigan beyond, a frigid scene that somehow made it feel even more cozy inside. Liv was balancing a tray of steaming cider as she navigated toward the kitchen where Maven and Grace were, no doubt, finding creative ways to spike that cider.
If we thought the headlines about us being “exposed” were wild, they were nothing compared to when we told Isabella and Giana that we were getting married.
Really getting married.
Giana had threatened me within an inch of my life that I better not just be doing this to save my ass, that I better actually mean what I said. Isabella had asked Mia if she was sure about a dozen times. But I think the longer they watched us, the more they saw the way we held onto each other unfaltering… they knew.