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She touched his cheek, her gaze locked with his. “And I’ll love you forever for what you’ve done for me, for who you are. For everything.”
Quint propped himself up on his elbow, his skin flushed from their lovemaking, small beads of sweat still standing on his brow, his hair tousled and mussed. He’d never looked sexier. “You don’t know how glad I am you said that.”
“I can guess.”
“Damn, I love you.”
She smiled, tingly and light all over. “I know.”
“I can’t wait any longer,” he said. “I have to ask. I have to.” He sat up fully, one hand slipping into hers, their fingers intertwined.
“What?”
“Will you marry me? I don’t have a ring right now, but I’ll get you one. Will you marry me, though? I can’t imagine a life without you, and I don’t want to. Let’s raise our son together. I’ll be good to you, Amara, always. I swear it. You’ll never regret saying yes.”
She didn’t need to hear more. She sat up and kissed him ferociously, and when she pulled back she made her own promise. “Yes, I’ll marry you. You make me happy, so happy. And I swear I’ll be good to you, too.”
They settled back together, leaning against the headboard. He sighed contentedly as Amara curled up beside him.
His pale eyes shone in the moonlight streaming through the window. He squeezed her tightly. “Damned if you aren’t the best deal I ever made. I’m one lucky devil.”
She laughed.
Epilogue
THE CLASSIC STRAINS OF A Viennese waltz filled Amara’s senses as Quint swept and twirled her around the ballroom of the Forsythia Heights Hotel. The train of her wedding gown was draped loosely over her forearm, and the silky fabric fluttered and glistened with their movements.
She’d never been one to dream of a happily ever after with her ideal man. She’d always been pragmatic more than romantic. But sailing around this sparkling, glamorous room in the arms of her true love convinced her that romanticism had it all the hell over pragmatism.
Quint watched her with an enamored and lustful expression that hit all the right notes. “I can’t believe you’re mine.”
“And you’re mine, don’t forget.”
“I’d better be, Mrs. Forbes.”
Amara Forbes. She smiled.
The dance ended, too soon for Amara. Before the orchestra could begin another song, one of Amara’s distant cousins swept up to the newlyweds, shoving her way through the crowd like a bulldozer.
“Oh my God, Amara!” Lanae gushed. “This is so amazing. My mother says this is the nicest wedding reception she’s ever been to, and she went to one of Richard Pryor’s weddings back in the day.”
“I’m so glad you’re enjoying yourself,” Amara said.
“Can I see your ring?”
Amara patiently held out her hand to show off the big gem at its sparkliest advantage.
Lanae oohed and ahhed. “It’s gorge. You’re so lucky, Amara. Oh, and you too, Quint.”
Quint nodded and smiled graciously.
Lanae laughed and fluttered away, back to her half-skunked dance partner who appeared to think the music was still playing and was currently doing a bad disco solo.
“You had no idea what you were marrying into, did you?” Amara asked wryly.
“Hey, I’m impressed. Richard Pryor’s wedding, really?”
“It’s not true,” Amara said. “My aunt has told that story for decades, and it’s all nonsense.”
