A little velvet box and my hands are shaking.
As we’re filling out the paperwork, I look over what Lila’s written. My attention snags on her date of birth.
“You were born on Halloween?” I ask.
“Another knock against me, as far as my family’s concerned.”
“What do you mean?”
“‘As my mother liked to say, ‘such a crude, middle class holiday. I wouldn’t mind so much except they have to ‘desecrate the neighborhood with their foul decorations,’’” she says, imitating her mother’s icy patrician voice. She gives me a flat smile. “Mother was appalled by the new money families that would move in and have the gall to decorate their houses in such ‘tacky’ ways. Me being born on Halloween was apparently evidence of my fate to be the family misfit. She did her best to ignore the holiday and my birthday along with it.”
I just stare at her for a moment.
What the fuck is wrong with those people? That’s what I want to say. But I’m not about to insult my fiancee’s family to her face.
I tell her, “We do things different here. Whole town goes all out for Halloween. Decorations everywhere. Parade on Main Street. At Wild Rose we grew up doing hayrides and pumpkin carving. My mom made all of our costumes.”
A wistful smile. “That sounds really lovely.”
A strand of pink has escaped the pearl barrette she has clipped in her hair. I tuck it back in for her, being careful so I don’t rip out any of her silky hair. “Ain’t a bad thing to be a Halloween baby around these parts.”
I look back at the paperwork, at her date of birth. October thirty-first. She’ll officially be my wife by then.
“I think you should take my last name,” I tell her.
Her pen freezes on the paper as she looks up at me.
“It’s more convincing that way,” I explain. “Seems more permanent.”
She nibbles her bottom lip. “Are you sure? I mean, I’mhappy to leave the Sherwood name behind. But your family might be upset that the Rhodes name is going to an imposter.”
I tap on her paper with my own pen. “This right here is the real deal. You’re going to be my wife in the eyes of the law, in the eyes of my family. You being Mrs. Rhodes will help convince your family too.”
Her gaze searches mine. “I can change it back. After we?—”
I put a finger on her lips. “Not here. You don’t know who might be listening.”
There’s also the fact that I just don’t want her to finish that sentence:after we divorce. Not the kind of thing you want to hear when you’re filling out your marriage license.
Lila’s mouth is plush and pillowy beneath the pad of my finger and I have the urge to drag my fingertip across her bottom lip. To push it between her sweet lips and feel her tongue.
I drop my hand.
Over Lila’s shoulder, I catch the clerk watching us, her head tilted. When she sees me notice, she drops her eyes to her keyboard.
We finish the forms. My eyes linger on the line where Lila’s written her name asLila Rhodes.
A surge of possessiveness courses through me—to my surprise. It’s not an emotion I expected to feel. I’ve never been a man who wanted to claim anything or anyone.
And yet.
“Mrs. Lila Rhodes,” I murmur, my gaze sliding to her. “It suits you.”
Her cheeks flush as she smiles back at me. “Has a certain ring to it, doesn’t it?”
The clerk processing our paperwork looks up from my license and does a double take.
“Oh my god. Slade Rhodes?" She sits up straighter. “It’s Kaylee. Kaylee Cole? We went to high school together.”
