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My eyes widen, and I look down at her as she moves back. “Are you…?”
She smiles and nods. “Twelve weeks.”
“Oh Ken, I’m so happy for you.” I give her a big hug again, and she laughs as she tries to wipe her eyes.
“It really is amazing,” she tells me, looking up at the painting. “I know you’ve made him into an angel, but you’ve really captured that mischievous look he used to have.”
“I’d like you to have it,” I tell her softly. “If you want it.”
“Oh Damon, really?”
“Yeah. I think he’d much rather watch over you and your children than me.”
“I’d love it,” she whispers. “Thank you.”
“Does she like it?” Belle asks, joining us in front of the painting.
“It’s wonderful,” she whispers.
“It was Belle’s idea,” I reply, putting my arm around my fiancée. I kiss her temple, and she turns her head so I can kiss her lips.
“I’m thrilled you’re engaged,” Kennedy says. “And I’m so excited about the wedding! December isn’t long to plan everything!”
“I know,” I reply, “but neither of us wanted to wait until next year.”
“It’s well doable,” Belle says, “with plenty of planning. It’s going to be huge!” She grins.
“I didn’t think you were the sort who’d want all the fanfare,” Jackson says to me, amused.
“I want it all,” I tell them. “Several hundred guests, a big church do, and Belle’s going to wear a gown fit for a princess. And we’re going to the northern hemisphere for a honeymoon.”
“We’re traveling from London right across Europe by train,” Belle says enthusiastically, as we all start walking back to the living room. “It’ll be amazing.”
“You’ll have to take millions of photos,” Kennedy says.
“Oh God, yes. Everyone’s going to be so bored with my Insta account.” Belle giggles, and Kennedy links her false arm through Belle’s as the two of them walk off, talking about dresses.
“That’ll keep them occupied for a few months,” Jackson says with a grin. He hefts Eddie in his arms. “Let’s get you a drink, little fella.” He wanders off to the kitchen, and I hear my mother asking Eddie whether he’d like some juice.
Smiling, I walk over to where Alex is standing looking out at the view of Wellington, sipping a whisky.
“Is that the Balvenie?” I ask him, nodding at his glass. I bought the forty-year-old sweet, honey-filled whisky for the occasion. I knew he’d appreciate it.
“Yeah,” he says. “It’s great. Want me to get you a glass?”
“In a minute. I’ve got something to ask you first.”
“Oh?” He lifts an eyebrow.
“Yeah. You’re going to be my best man, right?”
He looks genuinely taken aback. “Really?”
“You must have guessed I’d be asking,” I say, amused. “I thought we had an unspoken agreement.”
“That was years ago. I assumed you’d have Saxon or Kip, or maybe both of them.”
“Nah. They’re cool, but you’re my best mate.” Like most guys, we rarely talk about our emotions, but I’m feeling unusually warmhearted today, and I want to spread my good cheer. “You’ve always been there for me,” I tell him, “right from the early days.”
