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“I’m not spending the next five minutes stroking your ego.”
She shifted to her original seat across from me. The long-sleeve dress
was low and scooped at the neck and short at the skirt. It hiked up her
thighs, leaving only the mystery of a shadow between her legs when she sat
across from me. All I had to do was put my hands on her knees and exert a
little pressure to spread them apart.
“You will. You’re marrying me.”
She crossed her legs, and the shadow shifted to where her thigh met the
leather seat. Her little booties were red.
“I forgot shoes,” she said, leaning back, arms out to each side.
“It’s fine.”
“So why do I love you enough to marry you?” She looked out the
window. “You’re different than anyone I’ve ever been with. You’re…” She
turned back to me. “Well, really hot, obviously. But you make me feel safe.
Like everything’s going to be all right. Like it’s all under control.”
“Is that what you want in a husband?”
The car entered the Civic Center. Almost there.
“It’s what you have to offer, so yeah. I’m not marrying you for the wild
times.”
“Obviously.” The car stopped in front of the courthouse.
“And you’re marrying me for what?” she asked.
“For the wild times.” I took the small velvet box out of my pocket.
“Wear this. We can get it sized if it doesn’t fit.”
I tossed it to her and she caught it.
“Jesus, Logan,” she said when she opened the box. She put on the ring
and held out her hand.
The ring had been meant for Mandy Bettencourt. The perfect two-anda-half-carat
square-cut would have suited the socialite just fine, but on Ella,
it looked exaggerated and gaudy.
Would that make my family suspicious?
“You love it,” I said. “Which is out of character, but you’re surprising
and that’s why I love you, remember?”
“Actually? It’s gorgeous and I do love it.”
Loranda opened the back door. I got out and helped my fiancée onto the
street.