“What did you think?” His words rumble against me.
I can’t think, actually. What’s floating in my brain are downy feelings that drift like clouds. Fading starbursts, as if I traveled to the sun and back while he touched me.
Somehow, I say, “I think we should have been doing that for years.”
He chuckles and passes a hand over my spine.
“What did you think?”
He drops a kiss on my shoulder. “I think you should marry me.”
52
TRISTAN
The world inhales. I don’t. I’m balanced on a horrifying precipice. A potent cocktail of nerves and adrenaline is racing through my veins, making my hands shake as I skim them up her spine. I’ve never done this. Never gone after something that feels so essential to me.
Did I just say that? Did I really just blurt that out? Am I that stupid?
“What did you say?”
No, wait. This is a great idea. Fuck taking it slow. Fuck scaring her. I can’t live without her. I’m not willing to.
“You should marry me.” I say it again, just to feel that shot of giddiness. Turns out, being honest is better than drugs. Is that what feelings are like? Because if so, I’m doing it all the time.
She pushes to sitting, and I lounge back on the cushion. I prop my arm behind my head. She blinks furiously, then blushes. She has my love bites on her neck. I just came inside her. I mussed her hair and I made her gasp and there’s absolutely no way I’m letting her go after this.
“I can’t marry you.”
Her words are unsteady. They’re shaky and choked and terrified. And before I can let my fear drown me too, I pause. I take in the tension in her shoulders and the flare of her nostrils. I know this expression of hers. It’s the one she made when I offered her a birthday present that first year. She wants it, but she won’t let herself have it.
Oh, Katie.
Good thing I’m cunning and confident enough for both of us.
I run a hand over my stomach, flexing in that way that the Prince PR team always asks me to do when they take photos. I never thought forty-seven hours of media training would come to this—trying to get my best friend to marry me.
She bites her lip.
“Katie,” I say, every ounce of coaxing I possess in my voice. “You should marry me.”
“Oh god.” She pushes off the cushion and jogs up the two steps from the sunken seating area. I slowly stalk her, my eyes on the taut curve of her butt and the gentle swell of her small breasts. We end up facing off on the deck, with the late sun behind her head, haloing her in light.
“I can’t marry you.” Her arms are tight against her chest.
My heart lurches briefly before my vision sharpens. I try not to want anything, but this, I want. More than anything. My fingers clasp around her wrist, feather against her racing pulse. “Give me a reason.”
“You’re not serious.”
“I am. I’ve never been this serious in my life.”
I reel her toward me until her posture eases and her hands go to my chest, like she’ll push me away. She won’t. Iknow everything about Katie Bailey. I know she wants me. I know she’s scared.
“A reason, Katie.” I drop a kiss against her neck, picking up the salt and Katie taste of her skin.
“You would break me.”
Her voice trembles. My chest aches.
