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A muscle jumps along his jaw, defying his arrogance for a solitary second.
“Maybe we should take a break?” He leans in and burrows his nose in my hair, inhaling deeply. I gasp when he moves my hand directly over his zipper, pressing it against the hard bulge behind it. “My bride seems to have more engaging activities on her mind.”
My eyes widen, and I swear Patricia smirks, but I can’t hold her gaze long enough to be sure.
“No, no.” Jerking my hand free, I smile politely, even though my thoughts about what he’s packing are anything but. My chest and neck are as red as Kenzie’s face when I say, “We can continue. Please.”
For hours, we sort through color palettes, decorations, and music. It’s exhausting, and despite the occasional grumble, Rowan never leaves my side. In fact, the man’s got surprisingly good taste, and I’m amazed by how much we agree on.
Reginald enters the room at eleven on the dot, offering a curt bow. “Lunch will be prepared within the hour, sir. Shall I bring it to the dining room when it’s ready?”
“That would be great, thank you.”
My hand falls to Rowan’s forearm, and his gaze snares on my touch. “Actually… I was thinking we could have lunch in town. There’s a place I’d really like to show you.” Turning to Kenzie, I add, “I want to see if they’ll cater the wedding, too.”
“Apologies, Miss Hart.” Her response is sharp, as if I’ve offended her. “I’ve already prepared a list of caterers for you to choose from. Specifically, ones who have the capabilities to handle an event as large as this one.”
Tipping his head intently, Rowan lifts my fingers from his arm. With sly arrogance, he examines each nail, flicking his eyes to mine in challenge. “Let’s see those claws, shall we?”
Kenzie frowns, but sham or not, this is my wedding, too, and I should have a say in it.
“Are the caterers local?” I ask.
She blinks, as if she hadn’t expected me to question her. “I… Well, no, ma’am. None of the local businesses here could possibly?—”
“I’m sure the vendors you’ve picked are great, but with the wedding open to everyone, I think it’d be amazing to get some of the hardworking businesses in the community involved.” I close the binder she placed in front of me and slide it across the table.
Rowan’s arm winds across the back of my chair, a lazy, sexy grin gracing his lips. “Well, you heard her.”
“But, sir…”
“I think we’re done for now, if you all don’t mind.” He’s cordial, but his tone doesn’t leave room for argument.
I curl my lips under my teeth to hide a smile, but his support is surprisingly refreshing. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he says sincerely, but he doesn’t take his eyes off me, not even when he asks Reginald to bring the car around for us.
Standing, he dismisses the room with a wave, and then offers me a hand.
Kenzie’s face sours. “What about the rest of the details? The wedding is six weeks away, and there’s still much to discuss.”
“We’ve got plenty of time to work out the details.” I place my hand in his, blushing furiously when he adds, “But when my woman says she’s hungry, I see to it that she’s fed.”
* * *
Rowan and I pick up our marriage license from the courthouse, and I place it in my backpack beside the song folder I snagged off the bookcase before we left the house.
He doesn’t know it yet, but my favorite restaurant isn’t the only thing I’m planning on showing him today.
The sun is high, casting bright rays on the town square, and in the distance, staggered mountain ranges are shadowed in deep purples and smoky grays. Come summertime, they’ll be unbelievably green against a cerulean sky, and my heart pinches with disappointment that Rowan won’t be here to see it.
A hoard of bubbles float around us from a machine on the opposite side of the quad, and I can’t help but grin when one pops against Rowan’s forehead.
He frowns before wiping at the spot. “All right. Now that that’s done, where’s this restaurant you claim will have ‘the most delicious food I’ve ever tasted’?”
“Not so fast.” I cuff my hand around his wrist and drag him down the courthouse steps. “You said we could check out the festival first, remember?”
Apathetic, he says, “I should know better than to hope you’d forgotten.”
