"He also threatened bodily harm if I ever hurt you, but I thought that was implicit in the father-of-the-bride role."
"Definitely." I cup his face, overwhelmed by the love shining in his eyes. "You really planned this."
"Strategic thinking is my specialty," he reminds me, brushing his lips against mine. "Though I had originally planned to wait until Christmas Day. But tonight, seeing you in that dress, watching you charm everyone from the town council members to my mother's socialite friends... I couldn't wait anymore."
"Such an impatient CEO," I murmur against his lips. "Always demanding immediate results."
"Only for the most important acquisitions," he teases back.
"Did you just compare marrying me to a corporate takeover?"
"Merger," he corrects solemnly. "Definitely a merger of equals."
I can't help but laugh again, happiness spilling over in ways I can't contain. "Take me to bed, Atticus," I whisper, suddenly desperate to celebrate our engagement in the most intimate waypossible. "I want to show my future husband exactly how much I love him."
His eyes darken at my words, desire mingling with tenderness as he rises, drawing me up with him. "Future wife," he says, testing the words. "I like the sound of that."
"Me too," I admit as he sweeps me into his arms, carrying me toward the bedroom with easy strength. "More than I ever thought I would."
The emerald on my finger catches the firelight as I wrap my arms around his neck, my heart so full it feels like it might burst.
Chapter 9
Atticus
Iwake to sunlight streaming through the large windows of my cabin, the brightness suggesting it's well past my usual rising time. The weight of Sloane's head on my chest, her honey-blonde hair spilled across my skin, explains my uncharacteristic indulgence.
My fiancée. The word reverberates through me with a sense of rightness I've never experienced before.
Last night replays in my mind, her surprised joy when I proposed, the way she'd whispered ‘yes’ through tears and laughter, how we'd celebrated our engagement with increasingly passionate lovemaking that left us both deliciously exhausted. I hadn't planned to propose after the gala, I had intended to wait for a Christmas, but seeing her in that burgundy dress, I couldn't wait another day.
Impulsive; a word rarely, if ever, used to describe Atticus Morgan. Yet another way Sloane has changed me, undoubtedly for the better.
She stirs against me, her body warm and soft where it's draped half across mine. When her eyes flutter open, findingmine immediately, the sleepy smile that spreads across her face makes my chest tight with emotion.
"Morning," she murmurs, voice husky with sleep. Her left hand comes up to rest on my chest, the emerald ring catching the sunlight. "So it wasn't a dream."
"Very real," I assure her, covering her hand with mine. "Having second thoughts in the harsh light of day?"
"Not a chance." She stretches up to press a soft kiss to my lips. "Though I am wondering how we're going to tell everyone. Your mother might spontaneously combust from satisfaction."
I laugh, the sound rumbling through my chest beneath her ear. "She'll be insufferable. Already was, after she spotted us on the terrace."
"That's what she whispered to you," Sloane realizes, propping herself up on one elbow to see my face better. "When we were leaving."
"She said, and I quote, 'The emerald was the right choice. Don't overthink the proposal, darling. She's going to say yes’." I shake my head, still amazed by my mother's perceptiveness. "Apparently she knew my intentions before I'd fully formed them myself."
Sloane's eyes widen. "She knew you were going to propose? Wait, did she help you pick the ring?"
"More like she invited herself along when I mentioned I was visiting the jeweler," I admit. "But her input was... surprisingly valuable. She has excellent taste."
"And uncanny intuition," Sloane adds, looking down at the ring with new appreciation. "I would've expected her to push for something more traditional. More... Manhattan socialite."
"She said this suited you better. 'As unique as she is,' were her exact words."
A soft smile plays on Sloane's lips. "I underestimated Vivienne Morgan."
"A common mistake," I assure her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "One she cultivates deliberately."
