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Hanna stands up, dings a fork against a glass, and says, “Hey, everyone. I think you all know pretty words aren’t my strong suit, but I wanted to say thank you for—well, for everything. For being my family and friends, for showing up, for being ready to do anything to save this wedding if necessary—which also means saving our family’s land and my business. Maybe I could have pulled this off without all this help, but it would have been a lot harder and a lot scarier, and I’m so glad I didn’t have to. I—I love you guys.”
“We love you, too!” Sonya calls out, and there are echoes from around the room.
Shane leans over and whispers into my ear: “I’ve seen my siblings all in one room more times this last year than any other time since my mom’s funeral. My grandfather was a hard man. He never made any of our lives any easier. I don’t approve of his tactics, but he gave me my family back, and he gave me you. I can’t hate him.”
“Shane,” Rhys singsongs.
“Shit,” he says. “Did I say having all my brothers in one room was a good thing?”
“I think I speak for all the Hott brothers when we say we’re so glad to finally meet your fiancée.”
Beside me, Ivy flinches, and I realize:
In all of this?
We’ve never discussed the status of our engagement.
I flick my glance at her hand. Yup. Ring’s there, on the ring finger of her right hand. Sparkling in the low light of Hanna’s living room.
“Rhys,” Hanna chides. “Cut them some slack. It was a fake engagement. They’re not actually engaged.” Then her eyes get really big. “Are you?”
Trust Hanna to make things slightly worse while trying to make them better.
Before I can say anything, Ivy says, “Uh, we haven’t actually talked yet about whether— We’ve really only just?—”
I don’t think. I just…act. Not the fake kind. The real kind, where your heart knows exactly what it wants, where the decision is made before your brain can step through all the pros and cons and whys and wherefores.
“Yes,” I blurt. “That’s my ring on her finger, and I intend to keep it there.”
Ivy’s eyes meet mine, huge and surprised. And even in the face of her shock, my heart is steadfast. I stare back, level and sure, holding her gaze.
“Can you all excuse us for a second?” she asks.
Oh, shit.
I hear some oh, shit echoes rumble around the room as she drags me out of the living room, up the stairs, and into the nearest empty room—which I recognize as Hanna and Easton’s bedroom, from the time Hanna spent on bed rest lying in this bed. She pushes the door shut behind us and turns on me.
I expect anger.
I expect a lecture.
I get ready to apologize for being an alphahole. To walk it back and tell her that of course this can wait till she’s ready.
I open my mouth to do all of the above, but before I can get a single word out, she says, “Wrap your hands around my wrists, put my hands over my head, and say it again.”
Relief sweeps me, followed by a wave of raging lust because holy shit, that’s hot. A moment later, my hands are around her wrists, her hands are over her head, and I’m growling into her ear, “That’s my ring on your finger, and I intend to keep it there.”
She whimpers.
I crowd my body against hers. She’s wearing a small, flippy skirt (she did not obey Hanna’s instructions about not changing her clothes), and I reach under and tug her panties to the side. Her hands are on my belt buckle, then my zipper, then reaching cool and sure into my boxer briefs, finding me rock hard.
There’s a pounding on the door outside.
“No sex in my bedroom!” Hanna says.
There’s a chorus of laughter from my brothers, hoots and hollers and more pounding.
“Go Shane! Go Shane!”
