Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 19627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 79(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 79(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
"Yeah," my dad says quietly, his gaze drifting to my mom. "I can relate."
Royce just nods like he expected that answer.
"What do you think, Em?" Dad asks me after a moment. "Is he worth the sacrifices you'll have to make?"
"So worth it. I love him," I whisper, the words I should have told him when we talked the morning Royce answered my phone. But I was still processing it myself. I think my dad knew it. He didn't push or pry. He just told me to follow my heart.
Turns out, doing that isn't as terrifying as I thought it would be. It's as easy as breathing.
"Good. So long as you're happy, I'm happy," Dad says after a moment before flicking a glance at Royce. "But I meant what I said when we spoke. If she doesn't have a ring on her finger before you plant your kid in her, you and I are going to have problems, Son."
"Then I guess it's a good thing I'm a motherfucker on a mission, isn't it?" Royce grins at him. "I didn't put her on a flight for the hell of it, sir. I came to ask your permission to put my ring on her finger."
"Royce," I gasp, gaping at him. "What?"
He tips my head back, meeting my gaze. "I warned you in your office that you were my future wife, babe. I wasn't joking about that." He slips his hand into his pocket, pulling out a gorgeous diamond ring. "I want this on your finger more than I want to breathe."
"Jesus," my dad mutters.
"He's just like you," Mom whispers to him.
"I'd like your permission, sir," Royce says, meeting his gaze again. "It's important to her."
My dad stares at him for a long moment before glancing at me. "What do you think, baby girl? Do you need my permission?"
"No," I whisper. "I make my own choices. But I do want your blessing."
My dad nods, grinning at me like he expected that answer. He probably does. I'm my mom's daughter. She taught me everything I know, and no one tells my mom what to do.
"You have my blessing," Dad says to Royce. "Her, her sister, and their mom are my entire world." He clears his throat, his voice rough. "So make her happy, Royce. Love her. Protect her. Cherish her for the gift she is. She deserves it."
"That's the plan," Royce whispers, tugging me into his arms. "It's the only plan that matters."
I rest my head on his chest, my eyes watery. My mom is already crying, tears rolling down her cheeks, even as she smiles.
"What do you say, pretty baby?" Royce murmurs, resting his forehead against mine. "You going to make an honest man out of me?"
"Depends," I whisper, looping my arms around his neck.
"On what? Name it," he growls, "and it's yours."
"Do I still get business time?"
His lips curve into my favorite smirk. "If you agree to marry me, babe, you get all my time."
"Deal," I whisper.
He whoops, lifting me off my feet to kiss me right there on the tarmac with my mom and dad watching. He doesn't care, though. He kisses me like we're the only two people in the world, not letting up until I'm breathless and boneless, and so damn happy I could burst.
My hand shakes as he slips the ring onto my finger.
"You're all mine," he whispers, pressing a devout kiss to the ring and then another to my lips.
"I've been yours," I remind him. "I folded my way into a future with you, remember?"
He grins, pulling me into his arms to kiss me again. "Did that game happen to mention anything about the wedding?" he whispers against my ear. "Or how long I had to wait to meet you at the end of the aisle?"
"Yes," I lie. "It said at least a year."
"Goddamn kid's game," he growls.
I bury my face in his throat, my body shaking with laughter.
Epilogue
Royce
Life has a funny way of working out. Five years ago, I thought I needed a publicist. What I actually needed was a blonde goddess with a smart mouth, an independent streak a mile wide, and the patience of a saint.
"How the fuck do you fold this thing?" I growl, meeting her gaze over our oldest daughter's head, my own full of exasperation as I wrestle with the sheet of paper our daughter handed me.
Emelia's laughter rings out around the room, bright and clear. "Like this," she says, plucking a sheet of paper from the table to work her magic. She folds the damn thing so quickly, I don't stand a chance of following.
Our daughter does, though. She watches her mom with her tongue caught between her teeth, soaking up every single line. Within seconds, they've both got fully constructed cootie catchers in front of them.
I've got what resembles a deformed paper airplane wearing a diaper. Don't ask me. I tried.