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He looks at me for a long beat. It's not as if we've never said this, but a lot of times, there’s liquor involved. Or we just had a narrow miss with something dangerous, or potentially illegal.
"I do love you,” he says. “And you deserve to be loved and appreciated a fuck ton more than you are."
A little choked up—the bastard—I lean over and clap him on the shoulder. "Thank you. And, just so you know, I think I can make her fall in love with me."
"Should you maybe wait for that to happen before you marry her?"
I give him a grin, actually feeling okay about this. "Maybe.”
“Really?”
“How long do you think it will take?” I ask.
“A month. Maybe two,” he says, with a shrug.
I actually chuckle at that. “Thanks, man. I was going to say six months.”
He rolls his eyes. “If it’s going to happen, it’s going to happen.”
I guess he would know. He and Linnea fell hard and fast. He even tried to fight it.
“A month,” I muse. “That’s nothing. So no, I’m not going to wait for that to happen before I marry her.”
Jonah groans. “I just want her to be as into you as you are her. That’s not so much to ask.”
“I’m going to make her a princess. Give her a crown. Jewels, a palace, a private jet.”
Jonah lifts a brow. “Yeah. Too bad none of that really matters to this particular woman.”
I actually smile at that. “I guess I’ll have to throw in some fruit trees and green rubber boots.”
Jonah shakes his head. Then he reaches over and stabs the elevator button for the penthouse. “Well, if you’re going to make her fall for you, I guess you better go up and get started.”
I laugh and we both get on the elevator.
Yeah, I have some work to do, it seems.
When I get to my room, I find my fiancée—I really fucking like that term—already under the covers of the bed we’re going to share.
“Did you get condoms?” she asks.
I give her a grin as I undress down to my boxers. Her gaze is on me the entire time.
“I did not.”
She frowns. “Why not?”
“Because we’re going to wait.”
“Wait? For what?”
Until she’s officially mine.
“Until our wedding night, of course.” Which is, after all, tomorrow night.
She seems stunned. She watches me as I go into the bathroom to brush my teeth.
“You should know, I’m not wearing pajamas,” she calls.
