Page 97 of Trade It All

I stare at her. Actually stare. My brain trying and failing to process the fact that she is looking at me like I just handed her the moon when all I did was panic propose like a lunatic.

“You can’t just say yes.”

“I just did.”

“To that?” I ask shocked.

She shakes her head. “To you.”

My throat goes tight. “Maddie, Baby…” I shake my head, still not convinced she understands. “I had nothing. No ring. No setup. No—”

She slides one hand up and cups my jaw, forcing me to stop talking. “I do not need all that.”

“You deserve all that.”

She smiles. “Maybe.” I frown at her response. “But I don’t need it,” she whispers. “I need you. I need the man who busted down a door for me. I need the man who can’t sleep unless I’m beside him. I need the man who apparently manipulatedan entire hotel floor so he could have a connecting door to my room.”

A reluctant huff of laughter leaves me. She presses closer.

“So yes,” she says again, eyes locked on mine. “I will marry you in the middle of your emotional breakdown in front of this window.”

Something hot and overwhelming cracks straight through my chest. I haul her into me so fast she squeals, laughing as I bury my face in her neck.

“Jesus Christ,” I breathe.

She wraps her arms around me. “That’s usually the reaction people have when they get engaged.”

I lean back enough to look at her. Still stunned. Still half convinced this is not real. “You are insane.”

She smiles. “And you’re taking too long.”

My brows pull together. “For what?”

She grabs my hand. Then starts dragging me toward the hotel door. “We’re in Vegas, fiancé.”

My heart nearly stops. “Maddie…”

She glances back at me, eyes sparkling. “You wanted dramatic?”

Chapter 39

Maddie

Ihaveabsolutelynoidea what has come over me. None. Ten minutes ago I was standing at the hotel window talking about how happy I am. Now I am in the back of an Uber speeding down the Las Vegas Strip with the man I love beside me because apparently I decided getting engaged wasn’t enough chaos for one evening.

We are getting married. Tonight. The thought should terrify me. Should make me feel reckless or impulsive or at the very least wildly irresponsible.

Instead it feels…right.

So right that I can’t even picture us going back to that hotel and just going to sleep like normal people after this.

Dean has been trying to talk me out of it since the elevator. Not aggressively. Not because he doesn’t want it. Because hedoes. I know he does. I can see it every time his fingers tighten around mine like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he loosens his grip.

Every time he looks at me with that overwhelmed, disbelieving expression like he still can’t believe I said yes. He wants this. He just thinks I deserve some sweeping fairytale version of it.

Candles. A ring. A ballroom. A hundred rose petals or whatever Pinterest tells men women want.

He doesn’t understand that none of that matters to me. Because how could anything possibly be more romantic than this?