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“You told everyone we had a private proposal before our fake proposal. What was it?”
He grins. “Didn’t get that far. We’ll have to make it up. What would you want it to be?”
“Not a marching band.”
“Yeah, I figured.”
“No costumes.”
He tilts his head. “Okay. That’s a lot of things you don’t want. But what about what you would want? Candlelight? Roses? Being flown to Paris?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so. I’m not really a pomp-and-circumstance gal. I wouldn’t have wanted it to be anything planned or fancy. Just—you know, honest. Down-to-earth.”
He’s quiet before he says, “Yeah, that fits. We know it’s right between us, and it’s the one thing in our lives that doesn’t have to be a performance. So more like at home, in a quiet room, me on one knee?”
I nod, trying not to be unsettled by the wistfulness in his words—we know it’s right between us—or the image of him on one knee at home and how tempting I find both.
And maybe he senses my unease because his grin slips. He reaches out, pushing a lock of my hair behind my ear. “Ivy,” he says, his eyes dark on mine. “I just want to say—whatever happens in there, I really appreciate you doing this.”
His fingers have left a line of heat across my cheek, my temple, my scalp. I swallow, hard, and look away, trying to get my feet back under me.
That’s when I see it. A parked car on the street, with a man inside. Window down. Phone up.
Our first paparazzo.
I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding. Everything suddenly makes way more sense—the flirting, the earnest moment, the touching, the heat in his eyes. He’s putting on a show.
I swallow an unexpected surge of disappointment and steel myself for the next act. “Let’s go get ourselves an Academy Award for Best Bullshit Wedding.”
17
Ivy
“Let me just lay this on the table up front,” says the little bald-headed grumpy attorney. “I don’t buy it.”
My heart thumps against my ribs.
It shouldn’t surprise me that Weggers doesn’t believe us, and it shouldn’t surprise me that he’s being confrontational. Shane warned me it would probably go down like this.
I don’t think he’s exactly an evil guy, he told me, brow furrowed. It’s more like he promised my granddad he’d see this through and he can’t let it go.
That much is clear as Weggers eyes us suspiciously.
I could let Shane handle this. It’s not my family’s will. Technically, this isn’t my situation to save. But then I think about the lengths Shane went to earlier this week to get me the killer wedding proposal I needed. And how he said he’d handle the security stuff.
For better or for worse, it seems like we’re in this together.
I’m used to having my sister on my side—but it’s been a long time since I felt like I had a partner in crime.
The realization sends a wash of warmth through me, and I lean in, giving Arthur Weggers my best shy smile. “I know it seems like this is out of the blue. But Shane and I had mad chemistry from the start. I just didn’t think he was the kind of guy who could settle down. But when I ran into him in Rush Creek this time, I saw a different side of him.”
Weggers flinches. He’s surprised I jumped in. He was expecting Shane to do all the talking.
“If we could get on with the meeting?” Hanna inserts before Weggers can regroup for another assault.
Her timing and tone are perfect. I have no idea why Shane was worried about her. She sounds vaguely irritated and impatient, fiddling with a pen as she swings her gaze from one of us to the next.
No one dares to obstruct her. We all just nod.
