Chapter fifteen
Rosanna
“Areyousurewehave to tell them tomorrow?” I love bonfires, but knowing I’m going to meet everyone at his parents’ bonfire leaves me a little nervous. His parents and his brother’s family... All of them.
And if that’s not enough to give a person a crippling bout of anxiety, I don’t know what is. The brush tangles in my hair, and I give it a frustrated yank, biting back my nasty language. But it’s more than just his family and my hair that’s giving me fits.
It’s the ring on my finger. The one that barely weighs anything at all, but feels so heavy. So different. Placing the brush on the bathroom countertop, I twist my hand, letting the light catch on the tiny cluster of diamonds adorning the thin rose gold band.
It was more money than I’d ever felt comfortable spending in one go, but Connor refused to let me get anything cheap. And for himself, he picked a thick charcoal band with rose gold accents that match mine perfectly. An engagement ring and two wedding bands later, and now we’re a day closer to being married.
Mrs. Rosanna Shay.
“Kitten, they’re going to know the moment they see us.” He must mean the minute they see the ring. The brush disappears from view, and Connor gently works the bristles through my tangles. “Let me. I’m going to need the practice, anyhow.”
Lowering my hand, I meet his gaze in the mirror as his last sentence tickles my brain. “Wait...practice? What for?”
A small smile plays at his lips. “For when I grow my hair out so you have something to hold.”
Tangles and rings and family all forgotten, I squeal and jump on him. With a surprised grunt, he drops the brush to catch me, hoisting me higher so I can wrap my legs around his waist. “Connor Shay!” I exclaim, cupping his handsome face in my hands. This close, I can see the love in his eyes, shining like little flecks of gold in the darkness surrounding his pupils. The love that he says he feels for me and my—our—babies. “Are you really?”
At his answering nod, happiness explodes inside of me and I kiss him in gratitude. His lips chase mine as I ease back, but I need to take another look at him. “Wait.” I cover his mouth, ignoring the tickle of his tongue against my palm as I study him. “How long are you talking about?”
“Oh,” he replies easily as he pulls my hand down to speak, “I was thinking of keeping the front pretty short but letting the back grow long.”
He’d better be joking. “No way am I letting you grow a mullet, Connor Shay.”
“No?” His lips turn down in a pout. “And here I was getting all excited about sharing hair stuff with you.”
I collapse into the crook of his neck with laughter and kiss his tattoo. “Hmm,” I think out loud as my legs lightly swing back and forth behind him. “I know just the thing,” I announce with a tap to his nose. “A man bun.”
“Bun?” he scoffs. “May as well grow a mullet. I really just intended for it to be just a couple of inches.”
The image is already in my mind, though. “Oh, baby...” A toothy grin appears on his lips at the endearment. “You’d be so freaking hot with a man bun. Yeah, shaved sides and longer on the top...” It’s enough to make me clench my thighs.
“Well, if that’s what my little wildcat wants, then that’s what she’ll get.” Our noses rub together before our lips touch. “Now, let me finish brushing your hair and then I’ll show you my books.”
Oooh! Books. I’m definitely on board with that.
TurnsoutConnorandI have differing definitions for books. He has not one single romance book. Nope. And not even other books, really. Not that I’m complaining, because he practically forced an e-reader into my hand two weeks ago and told me to buy all the books I wanted. More than that, actually.When you feel like you’ve bought enough, buy more,he’d said. I didn’t want to spend his money frivolously like that, so he compromised by buying a monthly reading subscription for me.
Sweet man.
But when he opens the door to his office now, it takes me a minute to process what I see.
No books.
Just piles upon piles of loose papers that decorate the surface of a solid wood desk that he built himself. A veritable mess of hand-kept business financials. I’ve been here for three weeks, but because he’s been with me every waking moment instead of working, I haven’t had a need to go into his office that he keeps in a spare bedroom. He’d said he was in-between projects for the moment and had some down-time, so I just enjoyed taking a break from work. I’m itching to do something productive, though.
“Sheesh, Connor. This is a freaking mess! And you weren’t kidding when you said you had terrible handwriting!” I lift a sheet of lined, yellow paper to decipher the contents. Chicken-scratch looks better than these bold, slashing lines that don’t even resemble numbers or letters. “How am I supposed to know the balances for your chart of accounts?”
A big hand comes up to sheepishly rub the back of his head as it dips a little in embarrassment. “Well, I’ll have to go over it with you. Believe it or not, it’s fairly accurate. Doesn’t look pretty, but my accountant never has to correct much.”
“May as well start now. Wanna grab a chair for me?” I roll the sleeves of my light pink sweater up, a hint of excitement running through me at the thought of tackling this mess.
“You sit in that one, baby. I’ll get one for myself.” It doesn’t take him long at all to wrestle one through the doorway from the living room.
For the next two hours, he shows me how he records his income and expenses. Surprisingly enough, he was right about the state of his books—they’re pretty much in good order. It’s just the organization that’s ridiculous.
