Page 44 of Accidentally Marrying the Billionaire

Something flickers across her face—surprise, maybe. We really had stopped counting. "Oh. I didn't realize⁠—"

"I know. Neither of us mentioned it." I squeeze her hands. "But I've been thinking about it. About what it means that we don't have to be married anymore. That there's no legal requirement keeping you here."

She frowns. "Mike⁠—"

"Let me finish." I take a breath. "Six months ago, I asked you to give me a chance. A real chance. No deadline, no countdown. Just us, figuring it out together."

"I remember."

"And you did. You gave me that chance. You let me prove it." I smile. "You also reorganized my entire closet by color and tried to convince me that there's not a wrong way to load a dishwasher."

“Dirty dishes in, clean dishes out.”

“Yeah, I’m still not buying it, but that’s not important right now.” I lift her hands to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "The point is—the prenup is over. We're not legally obligated to be together anymore. And I want you to know that I'm choosing to stay. Not because of paperwork. Not because of optics or arrangements or accidents. Because I love you."

Her eyes are bright now. Suspiciously bright.

"I love you," I repeat, because I can. Because I'll never get tired of saying it. "And I want to spend the rest of my life proving it. Starting with something we never actually got to do."

"What's that?"

I gesture to the suitcases. "We never had a honeymoon."

She blinks. "A honeymoon?"

"Two weeks. Starting tonight." I pull an envelope from my jacket pocket and hand it to her. "I had Mitchell help with the logistics. And Finley already packed your bag. I'm sorry for the conspiracy, but I wanted it to be a surprise."

She opens the envelope slowly. Inside are two first-class tickets to Santorini, along with a printed itinerary that includes a private villa, sunset sailing, and approximately twelve different restaurants I researched for hours to make sure they didn't serve mushrooms.

"Mike," she breathes. "This is⁠—"

"Too much?"

"Perfect." She looks up at me, tears spilling over now. "It's perfect."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She laughs, wiping at her cheeks. "Although I need you to know that Finley packed my bag, which means there's a ninety percent chance she included something inappropriate."

"I'm counting on it."

She swats my arm, but she's grinning. That full, real grin that crinkles her eyes and lights up her whole face. The one I fell in love with in a Vegas chapel when she joked about Elvis impersonators.

"I can't believe you did all this," she says, looking around at the crayons and orchids. "It must have taken forever."

"It took exactly as long as you deserve." I pull her into my arms. "Which is to say, I'd do it again. Every day. For the rest of our lives."

She melts into me, her head against my chest, her arms around my waist.

"I love you," she murmurs. "Have I mentioned that?"

"Once or twice. Feel free to keep saying it."

"I love you." She tilts her head up to look at me. "I love you. I love you. I love⁠—"

I kiss her, swallowing the words, tasting the truth of them on her lips.

When I pull back, she's smiling.