A frown tugs at my mouth, and I have to force it back to a smile. There is no reason for me to ruin what I know to be an incredibly special occasion.
Knight’s return home is remarkable in more ways than one. He’s been deployed more times than I can count. The fact he plans to live in the one place he couldn’t leave fast enough has given me hope.
Hope for the future.
Hope for my marriage to Quinn.
Except I have no hope in her now. She’s effectively taken it away from me and—
“Hi,” Quinn calls as she walks to me. Her hair is quite unexpectedly her natural color of light brown, shot through with highlights of gold that gleam in the sun. My beautiful girl of summer. “I’m glad you came.”
Exaggeratedly, I glance left and right, then point at my chest. “Are you sure you’re talking to me?”
“I deserve that.” She flushes dully. “And yes, I’m talking to you.”
“Good to know.”
“I deserve that, too.”
What about what I deserve? I can’t ask that because unlike the oyster roast at the King compound, I can’t drag Quinn away from this cozy outdoor party without everyone noticing.
God forbid anyone notice anything about us.
“Anyway, um, I hope you stick around so we can talk afterward,” she says, almost tripping over her words. There is no way she’s nervous. No way at all.
“Maybe.” I scan the crowd, pretending not to have any feelings for the woman in the white sundress and nude heels standing in front me.
“Are you sure you can’t decide now?” she asks.
“Nope.” The little voice in my head becomes louder, protesting over the way I’m treating my wife.
Why is that? Because your ego won’t allow it?
I don’t have an ego when it comes to her.
Seems to me that your ego is controlling every single thing you say to her.
And your conversation with Barron was a lie.
None of what we talked about was a lie.
Prove it.
She nods. “All right. Well, hopefully, you’ll decide to stay.”
“Like it’ll make a difference,” I scoff.
You’re such an asshole.
Shut up.
The look she gives me is devastating in its earnest beauty. “To me it will.”
Fuck. “Quinn, I...”
“Yes?” Hope blooms on her face. I want to encourage that. Want to learn if she’s being nice to me because she wants to talk things out, or because she’s going to serve me with divorce papers and needs to make sure I won’t cause a scene.
“Yo, sis! Get over here,” Knight calls. He’s holding a microphone, and most likely wants to get Quinn to lead everyone in karaoke. I swear to God they won’t allow her to have a moment’s peace.
An impatient expression replaces the hope. “Be right there.” She turns to me. “Please stay, Tate. I’m begging you to stay and hear me out.”
She rushes away before I can say anything more, only to swipe the mic from her brother. Tapping it, she asks, “Is this thing on?”
“Jar,” Campbell says, holding up a mason jar labeled Clichés with Microphones.
Quinn rolls her eyes and digs her hand into her pocket, pulling out a dollar bill. She shoves it in, the ring on her left hand glinting in the sun.
Ring?
I peer closer.
Sure enough, she’s wearing the wedding band I gave her, along with the necklace... and fuck it all, that’s the dress she wore the day we actually got married. Why in the hell hadn’t I noticed that before?
Because you were stuck too far up your ass with self-pity, that little voice says.
“I’d like to make a couple of toasts. The first one to my brother, Knight, and his sweet little family, Campbell and Hazel. Come up here, y’all.” They join her in the makeshift stage area. “We are so glad that you convinced him to come home where he belongs, Campbellicious.”
Campbell blows Quinn a kiss.
Knight wraps one arm around his sister, whispering something in her ear. She nods happily before handing the mic to him.
“Cam and I also want to announce that Hazel is going to be a big sister. We’ll have two under two, so you guys pray for us.”
That gets a laugh from the crowd. Even I grin a little as everyone converges on the couple with congratulations and hugs. I do notice they don’t stay that way for long, understanding that a guy with Knight’s wartime experience isn’t keen on it.
Laughing, Quinn takes the mic back. “I’m done. There’s no way to top that, so I’m not going to try, but I am going to ask Tate to join me up here.”
I blink at her, not moving an inch from my spot.
Her lips quiver, and her smile starts to slip. “Don’t be shy, Tate. Or don’t be sad there isn’t a camera around for you to direct. I’m sure we can get you one.”
Her teasing tone is laced with desperation, but I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who can hear it. Shit, as much as my anger and hurt wants me to humiliate her by leaving, I simply can’t.
Plus, my curiosity is getting the better of me.
Barron slides up beside me. “Get your ass up there or I will kick it from here to Timbuktu.”
“I’m coming,” I announce, then lower my voice. “I was already headed that way.”
“Not fast enough for me.” He slams his hand on my back with more force than I think is necessary, but then again, I don’t have a sister to protect at all costs.
With a smile, I stride to Quinn, the small crowd of people parting like the Red Sea. When I get to her, she visibly relaxes, then tenses up as she grabs my hand.
“Please don’t be mad, and please, please still love me,” she whispers, then holds the mic to her mouth. “Tate and I also have an announcement to make.”
Barron’s fiancée gasps, her gaze going straight to Quinn’s flat stomach. I barely restrain myself from rolling my eyes. There is no way Quinn would announce to the world that she’s pregnant before telling me.
My stomach knots up anyway.
“About five months ago, Tate and I finally decided to make our relationship official by getting married.”
What the hell? “Quinn...?”
“I know... it was three years too long of a wait to make an honest man of you.” Her smile is tentative, her nerves trying to break through. “Because of what happened with our sweet brother, Tate and I put off celebrating until now. We would like to invite everyone here today to our party next month. It’ll be held at my parents’ house because mine is up for sale. So if you know of anyone in search of a super awesome beachfront home, hit me up.”
A murmur runs through the crowd. I just stand there, flabbergasted, blindsided, and with my brain racing too quickly to coherently interpret her words. But she continues, still gripping my hand.
“Anyway, with Knight coming home and Tate returning to Castle Beach, I thought it was time to confess everything to our family and friends.” She turns to me. “I love you, Tate Prescott, and the day you asked me to marry you was the second happiest day of my life.”
“What was the first?” I can’t help but ask.
“The day we actually got married.” She squeezes my hand. “I’m hoping for years more of happy days. Days that will top all the others.”
My heart cracks wide open, letting her in once again. “Wild child, you...” I kiss her there, in front anyone and everyone... and I don’t give a damn who sees us either. “I love you.”
A cheer goes up and we break apart again, smiling. Quinn’s cheeks are pink as we turn to face our family and friends, finally together as husband and wife.
She gives the mic to Campbell, then we make our way through the well-wishers to a spot under the tall deck where we can have semi-privacy.
“I meant what I said,” she begins. “I want to celebrate our marriage.”
“What about last week?”
Her gaze drops. “I had a moment of weakness. I forgot yo
u’re the one who chases away all the bad things in life.”
I hook a finger under her chin, lifting it so I can stare into her pretty eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Tate. This was the only way I knew how to fix it. I had to put it out there that we are married, and that it’s an occasion to celebrate.”
“And your house?”
“It’s really for sale. I couldn’t keep the thing I bought only because of my irrational anger.”
“We can live at mine.”
Her brows crease. “I thought it was for sale, too.”
“Nope.”
“Then why all the renovations?”
I grin. “Because I wanted it to be a place you’d love to call home while we visited. Or when I was away. Or when you needed to have alone time with River or Hazel or the next new niece or nephew. We’ll babyproof the hell out that house. As for your salon, I’m thinking that if you’ll allow it, I could—”
“About that... Roxi’s buying me out.”
Her news is almost more shocking than her announcement about our marriage. “Are you serious?”
She nods shyly. “She’s been after me for a while now to make a decision. I used to be afraid... used to think I couldn’t live my life without hurting everyone else. But then my momma and Ophelia helped me realize it wasn’t the case. That I need to spread my wings. Maybe go to art school. Oh my Lord, that sounds super corny.”
“Nah,” I say in a slow drawl. “It sounds like you.”
“Does that mean you’ve forgiven me?”
I cup the side of her face. “There’s nothing to forgive.”
“Have we reached an accord?”
“Forever, Captain, my Captain,” I reply, then kiss her before I say something so corny that even she’ll cringe.
Only... isn’t that us?
Our story is the stuff movies are made of... and I guarantee this one will have a happily ever after.
Epilogue
Quinn
Four years later
“Close your eyes,” Tate whispers in my ear, sending shivers of delight down my spine.
For once, I do exactly as he says, not even trying to peek. We’re in our hotel room on location in Venice, where he’s shooting one of those spy movies with an up-and-coming actress in the lead. She’s so new that, for the life of me, I can’t remember her last name.
Maybe she only goes by her first name. Either way, Tate will use her talents to make her a huge star and I’ll—oh, I’ll simply support him because who cares about some starlet with one name kicking ass and taking names in a movie where her code name is Q.
Apparently, my husband had been keeping the fact he’d been trying his hand at screenwriting for years and now... now every heroine has a piece of me in her.
I giggle.
“Hold out your hand.”
“Oh, this is going to be good.” I hold it out, palm up. He sets something in the middle of it. An envelope? “Can I look now?”
“Absolutely.” He’s grinning with pride as I take a gander at the envelope. There isn’t anything on it, so I have no clue who it’s from—other than Tate, that is. “Open it.”
“All right.” Carefully, I rip it open. Yes, ripping can be done carefully when someone wants to make sure not to tear the contents. “A letter?”
“Read it out loud,” he orders.
I spread it open. “Dear Ms. Prescott.” I wink at Tate, even though I’d rather they’d used Mrs. We worked hard for our marriage in that first year, and I don’t want to forget it, nor do I ever want to stop. Happiness takes work and love. Anyone who says it doesn’t is selling a load of bull. “Already sounds great.” Then I continue to read, my heart beating faster and faster with each word. “We are pleased to inform you that you’ve been accepted into the Institute of the Arts, in Valencia....” My voice fades away. Tears cloud my vision as I struggle to speak.
“Is this real?”
“The realest.”
“I got in.” I’d spent the last three and a half years studying art on trips with Tate as he’d scouted out locations, as well as attending every class that was open to nontraditional students, until I felt confident enough in my work to apply.
“You got in.” He takes me in his arms. “I think it’s going to be so hot dating a college woman.”
“I don’t know. We artsy types aren’t the kind to be pinned down to one man,” I tease.
“Then you’ll go to the college that does encourage that.”
My jaw drops. “I got into more of them?”
“All ten of them.” He kisses my nose. “Don’t look so shocked, wild child. You are amazingly talented. Soon, the entire world will know it.”
I eye him suspiciously. “Why is that?”
He shrugs. “Maybe I want to do a documentary on it.” He holds hands up, as if framing a title with it. “Quinn King Prescott—The Journey from Pirate Queen to Art Student Extraordinaire.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“So damn ridiculously in love with you.”
“Which one should I pick?” I ask, the amount of choices almost overwhelming.
Almost.
“Whatever one suits you the best,” he replies. “Consider it an early anniversary gift.”
Warmth fills me, all the way to my toes. “You spoil me.”
“Because I love you. “
I bite my lip, then smile through fresh tears of happiness. “And after art school.......”
He gives me a quizzical look. “Yes?”
“I want to try for a baby.”
Quizzical gives way to heated. “I’m really going to enjoy trying to give you one.”
“I love you more than I can possibly tell you in this lifetime.”
He lowers his mouth to mine. “I’m thinking you can show me instead.”
“Do you?” I laugh, then toss the acceptance letter to the side and proceed to show him exactly how I feel.
THANK YOU FOR READING Tate and Quinn’s story in Big Talking Man. Please consider leaving a review to let others know what you think.
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Keep reading for a Sneak Peek of What Lovers Do and meet Barron King!
Sneak Peek of What Lovers Do
Barron
I tug on my bow tie as I scan the area for Eden. My fiancée should be here by now. Calming me down. Maybe rubbing my shoulders, which feel like they’re wrapped as tight as a constrictor knot.
After all, she’s the one I wore this monkey suit for tonight. Don’t get me wrong—I enjoy a suit and tie as much as the next man, but for Blackbeard Days, I should be representing my family’s past and the town’s history, not the future Eden thinks I should embrace.
A future I’m not too keen on.
“Where’s your pirate costume?” Wren Marten asks, one dark red eyebrow cocked.
Naturally, my night would have to include the one woman in town who hates me. I don’t even think my opponent’s base in the election blasted me as much as Wren has over the years.
“It didn’t go with my speech.” I snap the notecards that contain said speech against my hand. “What about you?”
“Not really into pirates.”
“That’s not what local historians say.” I love digging at Wren because it’s so damn easy. And tonight, I need the distraction of it. At least with her, I know she’ll never see me as anything other than a pain in her ass.
Wren rolls her eyes. “Just because your bastard of an ancestor bragged in his diary about having an affair with one of mine doesn’t make it true.”
“It wasn’t diary,” I protest. Except it was. Everyone kept diaries back then—well, if they were educated enough to write in one. “Fine. It was a diary, but I don’t understand why you’re so upset. They didn’t have children together.”
“Praise Jesus,” she mutters.
“Which makes me think you’re secret
ly attracted to me and don’t have an excuse as to why we can’t happen.”
As we talk, the tightness in my shoulders eases up and my jaw relaxes.
“You’re engaged for one.”
“So if I weren’t...?”
She narrows her pretty blue eyes at me. “I wasn’t done.”
“By all mean, continue.” I take a step closer. She’s taller than average, but I tower over her since I’m well over six feet. “Give it to me, Marten. Tell me exactly why we could never be lovers like our ancestors.”
Rolling her eyes, she pretends to gag. “I don’t like you.”
I snort. “Is that all?”
She plants her hands on her hips. “Isn’t that enough?”
With a shrug, I say, “I think the lady doth protest too much.”
“Shakespeare,” she says on a groan. “It’s always Shakespeare with you.”
“There you are,” Eden calls out, pale hair shining in the lights strung about the boardwalk. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
“Been here the entire time.”
Wren frowns. “I’ll be going. My grandparents are probably waiting for me anyway.”
I don’t want her to go, mostly because I was finally having fun tonight. And okay, so Wren calmed my nerves over the speech I’m giving. I’m the youngest mayor to ever be elected in Castle Beach and to me, it’s a big fucking deal.
“Do you need help getting them to their van?”
Wren smiles. It’s pretty and—shit... It’s not pretty. It’s Wren, and I am pretty much ignoring my fiancée in order to see to another woman’s needs.
“Thanks, but we were able to purchase some automatic lifts and scooters, so yeah, it’s a lot easier now. You should have seen them at the Spring Moon Pow Wow. They were really involved this time.”
“Isn’t that great, Barron?” Eden chimes in, laying a possessive hand on my shoulder. “Was this due to a grant for the local tribes?”
Wren’s lip curls. “Of course. You know how we natives love handouts from the government.”
Eden’s eyes widen. “You’re a native? You don’t look... um...”
Wren nods tightly, crossing her arms over her chest. The auburn hair she keeps tightly constrained in a ponytail sways with the movement. “How should I look?”
Big Talking Man (Kings of Castle Beach #2) Page 16