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“And unmarried,” Lennox grunted, earning himself another scathing glare from his niece.
“Honey, I think maybe you should leave these two alone,” Brie said as she grasped his arm and dragged him away.
“It’s not like we aren’t engaged!” Finley shouted, making me smile like a lunatic.
I’d put my ring on her finger and a baby in her belly. “We’re pregnant!” I bellowed, my smile nearly splitting my face in half.
Finley pointed at something behind me without looking and snapped, “Don’t say it, or you won’t be invited to the wedding.”
“I love you so fucking much,” I murmured before cupping her face and sealing our mouths together.
Unfortunately, I only had a short time to let the news sink in and make sure Finley was truly okay. Then she kicked me out and told me to win the damn game, or she’d make me wait an extra year to get married.
Right before I walked out the door, I paused and spoke to her over my shoulder. “If we lose, we wait a year, right?” She nodded. “Okay, then if we win, you marry me in a month.”
Finley blanched. “A month! That’s way too fast. I—”
“Do we have a deal, baby?” I knew calling her that and giving her my most charming smile would have her agreeing.
Finley sighed. “No fair using your sexiness against me. Fine, we have a deal.”
When the game was over, I grabbed the nearest news anchor and looked straight into their camera. “Um. Uh, how…how does it feel to win?” they stuttered. Probably because I always refused to talk to the press unless I was absolutely forced.
“We won, baby. We’re getting married in four weeks, Finley Madison.”
EPILOGUE
FINLEY
Seeing my big, strong husband—who’d been well-known as a scary grump before we met—surrounded by our daughters always melted my heart. And made my ovaries feel as though they were about to explode. Which was probably why we had six children in the ten years that we’d been together.
Each one of them was a girl, too.
We hadn’t gotten pregnant six times because we’d been trying for a boy, though. Rhodes and I had celebrated our gender reveals with our whole hearts, just thrilled to have a healthy pregnancy each time.
He loved being a girl dad, and every single one of our daughters adored their father. They also had him firmly wrapped around their little fingers. Which was why I wasn’t surprised to find him upstairs in the playroom, squished into a tiny chair, with a sparkly tiara on top of his head, surrounded by our daughters at a large, round table.
“My invitation to the tea party must have gotten lost in the mail, huh?”
Seven sets of dark eyes blinked up at me. There was no doubt that our daughters belonged to Rhodes. All you had todo was look at them, and the resemblance was immediately recognizable. Although a few of them were blondes like me. Including our eldest, who jumped out of her chair with an apologetic smile.
“Sorry, Mommy.” Circling the table, she tugged a large teddy bear out of the only chair not occupied by Rhodes or one of our girls. Handing it to Harper, she urged me to sit down. “This was an unplanned tea party. No invites. We didn’t forget about you, I promise.”
“Yeah, the natives were getting restless, so we figured this would settle everyone down before naptime,” Rhodes explained with a sheepish grin.
“Scoot over.” Evelyn—named after Rhodes’s mom—nudged Abigail’s shoulder. “Mommy needs more space than a teddy bear.”
“Cool your jets, bossypants,” Rhodes chided.
She was only eleven months older than Harper, but she took her role as the biggest sister very seriously. Basically, she figured it made her the boss of everyone. Including her dad and me from time to time. Hence her nickname.
“I can squeeze between two of my favorite girls, no problem at all.” I rounded the table, taking the time to press a soft kiss on top of each girls’ head—and one on Rhodes’s lips—before carefully perching on top of the now empty chair. “See?”
“Yay,” Hannah shrieked, clapping her hands. Our three-year-old was at the stage where she was full of energy all of the time. And she only had one volume—loud.
“Would you like English breakfast or chamomile tea, Mommy?” Caroline asked from across the table. At six years old, she was one of our middle kids and was so sweet. She had the biggest gap in age on either side of her, at two years younger than Harper and two years older than Abigail.
“English breakfast, please.”
