Page 133 of Love What's Left
“I haven’t agreed yet.”
“Name the rest of your terms.”
“You mentioned working on charities. Would you consider creating a new one?”
My heart rate picks up speed at the realization that she’s seriously considering saying yes.
I lean in. “Tell me more.”
“I want to start a program for foster kids who are aging out of the system.” She speaks faster than usual in her excitement. “I realize it’s a huge undertaking, but if we start out small, it could be doable. Maybe ten kids?”
I shake my head. “It wouldn’t make sense to start out that small. Do you have any projections on cost or other programs that exist so we can attempt to fill the gaps?”
“I onlyknow what it costs me one at a time.”
I shouldn’t be surprised. “That’s what you spent the money on?”
“Not all of it. I had a scholarship, but I still had to take out loans for books and living expenses. I paid those off too.”
“It’ll take time to build this from the ground up.” And if she becomes invested in it enough, she won’t be willing to walk away at the end of our year of marriage.
Her eyes light with that sparkle I adore. “Really? That’s a ‘yes’?”
My lips tug up. “My yes depends on yours, or did you forget that I proposed marriage?”
She extends a shaking hand. “Yes.”
I get to my feet and walk to stand beside her. “I’m not shaking the hand of the woman who just agreed to be my wife. Part of this is convincing people we’re in love. We may as well start as we mean to go on.”
I take both her hands in mine and she rises, her eyes searching mine in stunned confusion. “What?”
The open door to the main dining room means we’re fully on display to the crowd beyond this room. I lean in close and murmur, “We have an audience.”
She twists to look behind her.
I place my palm on her jaw and guide her face back to mine. “Don’t look,” I chide in teasing exasperation.
“Oh.” Her brows come together.
“You’re frowning.”
She overcompensates by lifting her eyebrows so high that she looks surprised. When I laugh quietly near her ear, she shudders, and her nipples visibly harden beneath her dress.
I draw her slowly into my arms, watching for any sign she wants me to back off.
“May Ikiss you?” I ask, my lips an inch from hers.
“Okay. Yes. You should kiss me. For authenticity,” she breathes.
Was I ever this nervous about a kiss in my life? No, but there was also never this much riding on it. This kiss is the culmination of years of longing. It’s my chance to convince her she needs my touch, and to make her crave more.
Sleeping Beauty woke to True Love’s Kiss. Surely, we have more going for us than a half-dead princess and a prince she’d never laid eyes on before.
Her fingers twist into the fabric of my shirt.
I place my palm on the center of her back, the warm strength of her reassuring. Yeah, I’m nervous, but this is Sydney. The worst-case scenario is her challenging me to do better next time.
Sydney whimpers and rises on her tiptoes to close the distance, impatient with my teasing. My lips touch hers gently, barely making contact, then I raise my head. For the space of three heartbeats, we simply stare into each other’s eyes, both of us breathing hard from something that should have been nothing but feels likeeverything.
