Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
He’s not just my guy. He’s my man. My baby daddy. My everything.
My eyes drift to his face as he presses another kiss to my bare belly. “Are you sure you can handle it? I can get a job if I need to.”
When he smiles, I roll my eyes.
“A real job, I mean. Where I make money.”
He laughs. “I can handle it, but more than that, I want to. If you want to work, I think you should—for yourself, for the passion, for…fashion. Because let’s be honest, that’s where you belong. But that money is yours. I don’t want it and I don’t need it and I promise I’ll never push you not to spend it. That guy who talked to you in the airport hangar like he knew something was a fool, Ave. You’re a brilliant, capable woman, and you deserve every bit of financial independence you want. My job is to be smart enough, quick enough, and savvy enough to keep up.”
“All right.” I let out a dreamy sigh and pretend my eyes roll back in my head. “You’ve done it. I think I just came.”
He laughs, his deep chuckle vibrating against my skin, and I can’t help but grin. But then his laughter fades, replaced by a look in his eyes so hot it feels like I’m standing on vigorously shifting tectonic plates. Before I can say another word, he moves back up the bed, pulling my body over his until we’re nose to nose, chest to chest.
“I want to marry you,” he says, his voice soft but sturdy.
I blink, my heart stuttering in my chest. “Are you asking me or telling me?”
“Avery,” he begins, his voice tinged with that playful yet serious tone he gets when he’s about to say something that’ll change everything. “You’re the person I want to wake up next to, the person I want to argue over throw pillows with, and the only person who could make me consider tossing out my favorite couch because ‘it doesn’t match the vibe.’”
His gaze locks on mine, and I drown in the intensity of it. “You’ve turned my world upside down in the most beautiful way, and honestly, I can’t imagine my life without your sass, your fire, and the way you somehow make me believe I’m better than I am.”
He presses a kiss to my lips, soft and lingering, before pulling back just enough to look into my eyes again. “You’re it for me—my past, my present, my forever. So yes, I’m asking you to marry me. Begging you, actually. Not because life will be perfect—it won’t be—but because I’ll make damn sure it’s one hell of a ride. And there’s no one else I’d rather have by my side, rolling their eyes and giving me attitude and constantly surprising me the whole way.”
Tears fill my eyes before I can stop them, and I nod, my forehead brushing against his. “Yes,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “Yes.”
He kisses me again, this time deeper, and I feel everything in that kiss—his love, his promise, his unwavering commitment to us. My heart feels like it’s going to burst, and for the first time in what feels like my entire life, I’m not uncertain of what’s next. I know. I’m ready.
But then a thought pops into my head, one that makes me pull back and look at him with a determined gleam in my eye. “But I don’t want to wait.”
He looks at me, his brow furrowing slightly. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” I say, tracing a finger along his jawline, “I want to get married now.”
“As in, right now?”
“As in, however quick you can get us a flight to Vegas,” I clarify, grinning. “But, like, a private flight. No commercial bullshit, Henny.”
His laughter rumbles through his chest, and he pulls me closer, his eyes shining with amusement and love. “What’d I say?” He kisses me again, his smile pressed against my lips. “I’ve got to be ready to keep up, and I promise I’m up for the challenge. Vegas it is, baby. Let’s do it.”
February 24th
Henry
The private airport in Miami is sleek and modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows that let the bright Florida sun pour in. Planes of every size sit on the tarmac, their polished exteriors gleaming like mirrors. Avery stands next to me, looking effortlessly beautiful as always, with her single suitcase parked neatly by her feet.
“I’m impressed,” I say, nodding toward the suitcase. “One bag? Really? Who are you, and what have you done with Avery Banks?”
She smirks, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “What can I say? Surviving on whatever I could fit into a fanny pack for two weeks changes your perspective.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re so full of shit, baby. I know your ass is already planning on doing some shopping the moment we land.”