by Dana Marton
Jess didn’t have some big, teary mother-and-daughter-reunion scene with Rose, but she was OK with that. They’d simply been taking steps toward each other. They’d built a pretty good relationship over the past year.
Her family had gathered around her, Jess thought, as she drove home, Derek relaxing in the passenger seat. She’d once thought that they all had abandoned her. Yet life was never that black and white. She’d grown up a lot since she was eighteen. They’d all changed. They’d all had losses, and some of those losses had been staggering. They were all rebuilding.
She pulled into the driveway, shut off the engine, and reached to the back seat for the silver stilettos she’d taken off for driving. Before she could put the shoes on, Derek was at her door, opening it. He simply leaned in, scooped her out, and carried her up the walkway to the front door.
The way his strong arms felt around her never got old. Jess leaned against his wide chest and sighed, contentment settling into her and relaxing her muscles. This. This was what she wanted. Forever.
Inside, he flipped the switch, and light flooded the spacious living room. Most of the furniture was California modern, but they’d found space for some of her father’s antiques. As a gift, Derek had had the grandfather clock repaired for Jess’s last birthday. Their home was a comfortable mixture of their present and their past.
As he locked the door behind them, she raised her head so she could capture his gaze. “Yes.”
“Yes?” He raised an eyebrow, carrying her farther into the room.
“I’ll marry you.”
He’d gotten into the habit of asking, at least once a month, almost as bad as Chuck had been.
He stopped to stare at her, his warrior’s body completely still, his handsome face utterly unreadable.
Oh God. Her heart clenched. He hadn’t asked in weeks. Maybe he’d changed his mind. Maybe he’d given up. She wiggled, trying to disentangle herself from him and put her feet onto the floor, but his arms were locked around her.
“I’m sorry it took so long,” she rushed to say as she gave up her struggles for the moment. “I spent most of my formative years with a giant crush on you, being hopeless in unrequited love. When I went back home last year, we spent less than two weeks together. And still, I fell for you all over again. But when you told me you loved me, it bowled me over. I wanted to be sure. I wanted to know it wasn’t just something that came from past guilt, or because you felt you needed to protect me. And I wanted to be sure of my own feelings too, that they weren’t just echoes of my besotted teenage years. I want to get this right. This is important to me, Derek.”
“Are you sure now?” His gaze was intensely focused on her face. As if her response to the question made the difference between life and death. As if he were on a sinking ship, and the question had been, Do we have life jackets?
“Yes,” she said, her throat suddenly dry.
“How soon?”
“As soon as you want. Turns out, I already have the whole wedding blueprint, in detail. Planned it all out in the fifth grade.”
“In that pink diary you’ve been reading lately?”
She nodded. “It’s a princess wedding.”
“Fine with me. As long as I don’t have to wear the princess dress.” A blinding smile lit up his ridiculously handsome face and stole her breath. “I knew you’d make an honest man out of me sooner or later.” He headed toward the bedroom with her at a pace that said he was in a hurry. “This is just the beginning of our story. And it’s going to be spectacular.”
“But no more books about us.” Giving him an I mean it look wasn’t easy while she was smiling uncontrollably.
“It’d have to be a romance novel.” He strode straight to the bed and laid her down. “Did you know that romance novels outsell mystery, horror, and sci-fi combined?” He stripped off his tuxedo jacket.
“Regardless. No.” Her entire body tingled.
“But you’ve just started saying yes.” There went the bow tie.
“Not about everything.”
He lay next to her, on his side, supporting himself on one elbow, and kissed her breathless. He pulled back only to murmur against her lips, “You’ll always be the heroine of all my stories, Jess.”
Acknowledgments
With my most heartfelt gratitude to the wonderful team at Montlake, especially my editors: Alison Dasho, Selina McLemore, and Sarah Engel. Thank you!
About the Author
Photo © 2011 Tunde Tucsek
Dana Marton is the New York Times bestselling author of the Mission Recovery series, Agents Under Fire series, the Hardstorm Saga, and the Broslin Creek novels. She is the winner of the Daphne du Maurier Award of Excellence, the Readers’ Choice Award, and the RITA Award. For more information about Marton and her work, please visit her at www.DanaMarton.com or on Facebook at www.facebook.com/danamarton.