Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
“Oh my God,” I whisper, my hands trembling as I cover my mouth, tears spilling hot down my cheeks. The candles glow and shimmer through my tears. I’m overwhelmed with happiness.
“Aunt Amelia, say yes!” Jason tugs my hand, his gray eyes wide, pleading, his voice high and quivering with nerves. “Please say yes! We worked so hard, and I was so nervous!” His small face is earnest, his curls bouncing as he bounces on his toes, and my heart melts, love for him flooding me.
I kneel, laughing through my tears, a shaky, joyous sound, and pull him into a hug, my arms tight around his small frame. “It’s so beautiful, Jason,” I say, my voice thick as I kiss his cheek. "You and your dad—you’re amazing. And my answer is yes. Most definitely yes.”
“You’re saying it to the wrong guy,” Max’s voice says from behind, low and warm.
I turn, my breath catching, and there he is, on one knee, his blue eyes, a velvet box open in his hands. A ring sparkles inside, a gorgeous diamond, its facets catching the candlelight, radiant and breathtaking.
“Amelia,” he says, his voice rough, breaking on my name, “I can’t put into words how much I love you—they’ll never be enough. But you know. You’ve always known me, seen me, understood me like no one else. Having you to spend the rest of your life with me, to be my wife, it’ll be the greatest joy I’ll ever have. You’ll make me the happiest man alive. So will you marry me?”
My tears fall faster, my throat too tight to speak, my heart pounding with a love so fierce it hurts. I nod, my vision blurring, and choke out, “Yes. Of course, I’ll marry you.”
His grin is wide and radiant. He rises and slides the ring onto my finger. The metal is cool, and the fit is perfect. It's also so freaking dazzlingly gorgeous. I’m startled by its beauty, but before I can speak, he pulls me into his arms, his lips crashing into mine. The kiss is all fire and tenderness, his tears mixing with mine, salty and warm.
Jason cheers and shouts, “Congratulations!”
I feel him barrel into us, his small arms wrapping around our legs, his giggles bright and infectious. We laugh, crouching to pull him into the embrace. Max’s arms encircle us both, his warmth grounding me, Jason’s laughter filling the room, and I’m home, wrapped in the family of my dreams. My heart is overflowing, the future is bright with love.
Epilogue
MAX
Five Months Later
The ballroom of the Drake Hotel is gorgeous, chandeliers dripping crystal scatter light across polished oak floors. The air’s thick with the scent of champagne and roses. Voices weaving through the jazz quartet’s smooth melody. The release party for the book Amelia was illustrating for is a spectacle, bigger than she expected, but I couldn’t help it.
Her publisher was all in when I pitched the idea of turning it into an art exhibition too, and now all of Chicago’s elite—my associates, friends, art collectors, critics—fill the room, their eyes drawn to the walls where her paintings hang like a gallery of dreams. Dragons, foxes, starlit forests, each one vibrant, alive, her brushstrokes, at once bold and delicate, a window into her soul. They’re magnificent, every line a testament to the fire inside her.
I’m so proud of her it hurts.
I move through the crowd, shaking hands, nodding at compliments about her work.
“Her work is simply magical,” a gallery owner enthuses, his glass raised.
I grin, my heart swelling.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” a critic murmurs.
I grin, my heart swelling a little more.
Every now and again, my eyes keep finding Amelia. Across the room in her emerald dress, the same one from the gala, its silk hugging her curves, the slit at her thigh unbelievably sexy and provocative. Her hair is loose, framing her face, but I see the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers twist around her champagne flute. Her bewitching eyes dart to me. She’s nervous, but she’s happy.
I know she is—but the crowd, the pressure, it’s got her wound up tight.
I’m talking to a board member, his voice droning about investment portfolios, when I glance over, and she’s gone, slipped out like a shadow. My pulse quickens, a quiet worry flaring. I excuse myself quickly and weave through the crowd. I go past the glowing displays of her art. One of the dragon’s eyes seems to follow me.
The lobby’s quieter. And there I find her, leaning against a column, her eyes closed.
“Amelia,” I say, my voice low, crossing to her, my hand grazing her arm. Her eyes snap open, as green and as wide as a field of dewy grass. She exhales, a slow smile curving her lips.
“You’ve come.”
“Of course.”
“I just needed some air,” she says.
“Don’t be nervous. It’s going good, Amelia. Great, even.”