My Darling Bride(41)

He glances down at me. “As soon as possible. We’re thinking a week.”

I inhale a sharp breath as Jane puts her hands on her hips and shakes her head. “No freaking way. That’s . . . she doesn’t even have a dress. She hasn’t prepared anything. What’s the rush?”

I give her a reassuring smile. “It’ll be okay. Be right back,” I say with a wave as we leave the kitchen.

“A week?” I mutter as soon as we’re out the door and into the store. “Are you crazy?”

“Yes. Fast. Before you change your mind. Or I change mine. None of this makes me happy. And your sister is a pit bull.”

“She needs to be questioning this. I raised her well.”

Mina sees us coming out from the kitchen and rushes over. “I wondered where you two went. You’re both pale as paper. What’s up?”

Whoa. I’d completely forgotten about her.

“I asked Emmy to marry me, and she said yes.” He’s got the robot voice again.

“Oh! I-I didn’t know it was so serious. Congratulations!” She tries to hide her shock as she gives us hugs.

Eventually, after nodding my head and saying things I don’t mean or won’t recall later because all I can think about is a week, I tell them that I’ve got to finish closing the store.

First, I walk them outside and inhale the night air. People bustle past us on the busy sidewalk. Mina tells us she’s heading out to meet a friend for dinner, and it’s just me and Graham left on the street.

He scrubs his face, his eyes tired as he watches her leave. “That was harder than I thought. Good job in there. Are you okay?”

“No. I don’t like lying to my family. Things tend to come apart when people lie. It turns into a tangled mess.”

“I get that, but if one person suggests our marriage isn’t real, then the inheritance might not come through for Brody. My half brother, Holden, is a lawyer, and he’ll be suspicious. You can’t tell anyone, not even your brother and sister. Promise me?”

I nod.

“Eventually you’ll have to meet my family and prove to them that we’re in love—not something I’m looking forward to.” He tips my chin up. “How’s the nose?”

“It’s fine—wait, are those calla lilies?” I ask as I walk to a bouquet of about two dozen flowers leaning against the brick of the store beneath the window display. I pick them up, my fingers stroking the beautiful creamy-white trumpet-shaped petals. A yellow spike with tiny flowers is in the middle of the petals. The scent wafts, sweet and delicate, and memories of Gran wash over me. Out of all the lilies, she’d say, this one is the most fragrant, the most elegant, the hardest to find. She carried them at her wedding. She wanted them at her funeral. Mark, my grandfather, bought her a bouquet each month. He died before I was born, but she’d still bought lilies each month.

“Who do they belong to? Is there a card?”

I shuffle through the flowers, a cold feeling settling in my chest. “No, but Kian must have left them for me. He knows they were Gran’s favorite—and mine. Ugh.”

I hurl the bouquet to the ground, anger and fear mixing together, over Kian, over this fake marriage and lying to my family. Jane knows something is up, and I hate not telling her the truth.

Why did I steal that damn car?

“So much has happened, so fast . . .” My chest rises rapidly, and tears prick my eyelids. I’m supposed to avoid stress with my heart issues, but with everything going on, it feels impossible. “I’m sorry for being emotional, but . . .”

“Hey, Emmy . . .” Graham pulls me into his embrace, and I fall into him. It’s the sort of comfort I haven’t experienced in months. My worries slip away for a moment. Maybe because we’re in this predicament together.

Moments pass as my heart settles. I’m not sure how long we stay like that, but it feels as if I’ve been here before, my face tucked against his chest. His hand runs softly through my hair.

When we finally break apart, the warmth of his proximity lingers.

He gazes down at me, his eyes searching mine as his hand slides over the collar of my dress to the back of my head, where he palms my scalp. “Are you okay?”

I nod.

He tugs down my messy bun, his fingers trailing through my hair. “So beautiful,” he murmurs as he tips my face up. He fuses his lips to mine, tasting me with soft, hesitant brushes.

My hands curl around his waist, and his sensual mouth deepens the pressure. His tongue tangles with mine, stroking against it. I feel the warmth of his hand as it heats my nape, tightening. I hear the pounding of his chest. He kisses like a dream, and oh Jesus, his hand is trailing down, across my arms, to my elbows, to my hips. I smell and feel everything, the scent of his hair and skin, the scratch of his jawline. His fingers dig into me, tugging me closer and closer as his lips suck on my bottom one tenderly. My nipples harden, aching. His hands brush my ass, sparking heat between my legs. I melt into him.

Oh.

This feeling.

Heat.

Desire.

My fingers tangle in his hair, tugging him closer as the kiss intensifies. A rumbling, needy sound comes from his throat, one that urges me on.

Fire licks in my veins.

Suddenly, he pulls away, both of us breathing heavily as his forehead rests against mine. He brushes a thumb over my cheek, seeming to gather himself faster than I do.