Picture Perfect Marriage Page 16

  Exaggeratedly, I glance left and right, then point at my chest. “Are you sure you’re talking to me?”

  “I deserve that.” She flushes dully. “And yes, I’m talking to you.”

  “Good to know.”

  “I deserve that, too.”

  What about what I deserve? I can’t ask that because unlike the oyster roast at the King compound, I can’t drag Quinn away from this cozy outdoor party without everyone noticing.

  God forbid anyone notice anything about us.

  “Anyway, um, I hope you stick around so we can talk afterward,” she says, almost tripping over her words. There is no way she’s nervous. No way at all.

  “Maybe.” I scan the crowd, pretending not to have any feelings for the woman in the white sundress and nude heels standing in front me.

  “Are you sure you can’t decide now?” she asks.

  “Nope.” The little voice in my head becomes louder, protesting over the way I’m treating my wife.

  Why is that? Because your ego won’t allow it?

  I don’t have an ego when it comes to her.

  Seems to me that your ego is controlling every single thing you say to her.

  And your conversation with Barron was a lie.

  None of what we talked about was a lie.

  Prove it.

  She nods. “All right. Well, hopefully, you’ll decide to stay.”

  “Like it’ll make a difference,” I scoff.

  You’re such an asshole.

  Shut up.

  The look she gives me is devastating in its earnest beauty. “To me it will.”

  Fuck. “Quinn, I...”

  “Yes?” Hope blooms on her face. I want to encourage that. Want to learn if she’s being nice to me because she wants to talk things out, or because she’s going to serve me with divorce papers and needs to make sure I won’t cause a scene.

  “Yo, sis! Get over here,” Knight calls. He’s holding a microphone, and most likely wants to get Quinn to lead everyone in karaoke. I swear to God they won’t allow her to have a moment’s peace.

  An impatient expression replaces the hope. “Be right there.” She turns to me. “Please stay, Tate. I’m begging you to stay and hear me out.”

  She rushes away before I can say anything more, only to swipe the mic from her brother. Tapping it, she asks, “Is this thing on?”

  “Jar,” Campbell says, holding up a mason jar labeled Clichés with Microphones.

  Quinn rolls her eyes and digs her hand into her pocket, pulling out a dollar bill. She shoves it in, the ring on her left hand glinting in the sun.

  Ring?

  I peer closer.

  Sure enough, she’s wearing the wedding band I gave her, along with the necklace... and fuck it all, that’s the dress she wore the day we actually got married. Why in the hell hadn’t I noticed that before?

  Because you were stuck too far up your ass with self-pity, that little voice says.

  “I’d like to make a couple of toasts. The first one to my brother, Knight, and his sweet little family, Campbell and Hazel. Come up here, y’all.” They join her in the makeshift stage area. “We are so glad that you convinced him to come home where he belongs, Campbellicious.”

  Campbell blows Quinn a kiss.

  Knight wraps one arm around his sister, whispering something in her ear. She nods happily before handing the mic to him.

  “Cam and I also want to announce that Hazel is going to be a big sister. We’ll have two under two, so you guys pray for us.”

  That gets a laugh from the crowd. Even I grin a little as everyone converges on the couple with congratulations and hugs. I do notice they don’t stay that way for long, understanding that a guy with Knight’s wartime experience isn’t keen on it.

  Laughing, Quinn takes the mic back. “I’m done. There’s no way to top that, so I’m not going to try, but I am going to ask Tate to join me up here.”

  I blink at her, not moving an inch from my spot.

  Her lips quiver, and her smile starts to slip. “Don’t be shy, Tate. Or don’t be sad there isn’t a camera around for you to direct. I’m sure we can get you one.”

  Her teasing tone is laced with desperation, but I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who can hear it. Shit, as much as my anger and hurt wants me to humiliate her by leaving, I simply can’t.

  Plus, my curiosity is getting the better of me.

  Barron slides up beside me. “Get your ass up there or I will kick it from here to Timbuktu.”

  “I’m coming,” I announce, then lower my voice. “I was already headed that way.”

  “Not fast enough for me.” He slams his hand on my back with more force than I think is necessary, but then again, I don’t have a sister to protect at all costs.

  With a smile, I stride to Quinn, the small crowd of people parting like the Red Sea. When I get to her, she visibly relaxes, then tenses up as she grabs my hand.

  “Please don’t be mad, and please, please still love me,” she whispers, then holds the mic to her mouth. “Tate and I also have an announcement to make.”

  Barron’s fiancée gasps, her gaze going straight to Quinn’s flat stomach. I barely restrain myself from rolling my eyes. There is no way Quinn would announce to the world that she’s pregnant before telling me.

  My stomach knots up anyway.

  “About five months ago, Tate and I finally decided to make our relationship official by getting married.”

  What the hell? “Quinn...?”

  “I know... it was three years too long of a wait to make an honest man of you.” Her smile is tentative, her nerves trying to break through. “Because of what happened with our sweet brother, Tate and I put off celebrating until now. We would like to invite everyone here today to our party next month. It’ll be held at my parents’ house because mine is up for sale. So if you know of anyone in search of a super awesome beachfront home, hit me up.”

  A murmur runs through the crowd. I just stand there, flabbergasted, blindsided, and with my brain racing too quickly to coherently interpret her words. But she continues, still gripping my hand.

  “Anyway, with Knight coming home and Tate returning to Castle Beach, I thought it was time to confess everything to our family and friends.” She turns to me. “I love you, Tate Prescott, and the day you asked me to marry you was the second happiest day of my life.”

  “What was the first?” I can’t help but ask.

  “The day we actually got married.” She squeezes my hand. “I’m hoping for years more of happy days. Days that will top all the others.”

  My heart cracks wide open, letting her in once again. “Wild child, you...” I kiss her there, in front anyone and everyone... and I don’t give a damn who sees us either. “I love you.”

  A cheer goes up and we break apart again, smiling. Quinn’s cheeks are pink as we turn to face our family and friends, finally together as husband and wife.

  She gives the mic to Campbell, then we make our way through the well-wishers to a spot under the tall deck where we can have semi-privacy.

  “I meant what I said,” she begins. “I want to celebrate our marriage.”

  “What about last week?”

  Her gaze drops. “I had a moment of weakness. I forgot you’re the one who chases away all the bad things in life.”

  I hook a finger under her chin, lifting it so I can stare into her pretty eyes.

  “I’m so sorry, Tate. This was the only way I knew how to fix it. I had to put it out there that we are married, and that it’s an occasion to celebrate.”

  “And your house?”

  “It’s really for sale. I couldn’t keep the thing I bought only because of my irrational anger.”

  “We can live at mine.”

  Her brows crease. “I thought it was for sale, too.”

  “Nope.”

  “Then why all the renovations?”

  I grin. “Because I wanted it to be a place you’d love to call home while we visited. Or whe
n I was away. Or when you needed to have alone time with River or Hazel or the next new niece or nephew. We’ll babyproof the hell out that house. As for your salon, I’m thinking that if you’ll allow it, I could—”

  “About that... Roxi’s buying me out.”

  Her news is almost more shocking than her announcement about our marriage. “Are you serious?”

  She nods shyly. “She’s been after me for a while now to make a decision. I used to be afraid... used to think I couldn’t live my life without hurting everyone else. But then my momma and Ophelia helped me realize it wasn’t the case. That I need to spread my wings. Maybe go to art school. Oh my Lord, that sounds super corny.”

  “Nah,” I say in a slow drawl. “It sounds like you.”

  “Does that mean you’ve forgiven me?”

  I cup the side of her face. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

  “Have we reached an accord?”

  “Forever, Captain, my Captain,” I reply, then kiss her before I say something so corny that even she’ll cringe.

  Only... isn’t that us?

  Our love story is the stuff movies are made of... and I guarantee this one will have a happily ever after.

  Epilogue

  Quinn

  Four years later

  “Close your eyes,” Tate whispers in my ear, sending shivers of delight down my spine.

  For once, I do exactly as he says, not even trying to peek. We’re in our hotel room on location in Venice, where he’s shooting one of those spy movies with an up-and-coming actress in the lead. She’s so new that, for the life of me, I can’t remember her last name.

  Maybe she only goes by her first name. Either way, Tate will use her talents to make her a huge star and I’ll—oh, I’ll simply support him because who cares about some starlet with one name kicking ass and taking names in a movie where her code name is Q.

  Apparently, my husband had been keeping the fact he’d been trying his hand at screenwriting for years and now... now every heroine has a piece of me in her.

  I giggle.

  “Hold out your hand.”

  “Oh, this is going to be good.” I hold it out, palm up. He sets something in the middle of it. An envelope? “Can I look now?”

  “Absolutely.” He’s grinning with pride as I take a gander at the envelope. There isn’t anything on it, so I have no clue who it’s from—other than Tate, that is. “Open it.”

  “All right.” Carefully, I rip it open. Yes, ripping can be done carefully when someone wants to make sure not to tear the contents. “A letter?”

  “Read it out loud,” he orders.

  I spread it open. “Dear Ms. Prescott.” I wink at Tate, even though I’d rather they’d used Mrs. We worked hard for our marriage in that first year, and I don’t want to forget it, nor do I ever want to stop. Happiness takes work and love. Anyone who says it doesn’t is selling a load of bull. “Already sounds great.” Then I continue to read, my heart beating faster and faster with each word. “We are pleased to inform you that you’ve been accepted into the Institute of the Arts, in Valencia....” My voice fades away. Tears cloud my vision as I struggle to speak.

  “Is this real?”

  “The realest.”

  “I got in.” I’d spent the last three and a half years studying art on trips with Tate as he’d scouted out locations, as well as attending every class that was open to nontraditional students, until I felt confident enough in my work to apply.

  “You got in.” He takes me in his arms. “I think it’s going to be so hot dating a college woman.”

  “I don’t know. We artsy types aren’t the kind to be pinned down to one man,” I tease.

  “Then you’ll go to the college that does encourage that.”

  My jaw drops. “I got into more of them?”

  “All ten of them.” He kisses my nose. “Don’t look so shocked, wild child. You are amazingly talented. Soon, the entire world will know it.”

  I eye him suspiciously. “Why is that?”

  He shrugs. “Maybe I want to do a documentary on it.” He holds hands up, as if framing a title with it. “Quinn King Prescott—The Journey from Pirate Queen to Art Student Extraordinaire.”

  “You’re ridiculous.”

  “So damn ridiculously in love with you.”

  “Which one should I pick?” I ask, the amount of choices almost overwhelming.

  Almost.

  “Whatever one suits you the best,” he replies. “Consider it an early anniversary gift.”

  Warmth fills me, all the way to my toes. “You spoil me.”

  “Because I love you. “

  I bite my lip, then smile through fresh tears of happiness. “And after art school.......”

  He gives me a quizzical look. “Yes?”

  “I want to try for a baby.”

  Quizzical gives way to heated. “I’m really going to enjoy trying to give you one.”

  “I love you more than I can possibly tell you in this lifetime.”

  He lowers his mouth to mine. “I’m thinking you can show me instead.”

  “Do you?” I laugh, then toss the acceptance letter to the side and proceed to show him exactly how I feel.

  Ready for a second chance romance? You’ll love reading about Duke King and True Prince as they fall in love during one picture perfect summer. Sign up for my newsletter for new book alerts and then, keep going to read Chapter 1 of Picture Perfect Summer

  Chapter 1

  True

  Only a dare could convince me to talk to the hot surfer as he waxed his board.

  Which is exactly what my best friend did two seconds earlier.

  “You can’t wimp out, True,” Sunny teases. “You totally pinky-swore.”

  I want to point out we’re twenty-two-year-old recent college graduates, not five-year-old kindergarteners, but Sunny won’t back down.

  Plus, I did pinky-swear and only the worst friend imaginable would break one.

  “Fine,” I huff, and Sunny cheers, beaded bracelets clicking together, and she claps in excitement.

  Pasting a confident smile on my face, I stand, tip up my chin, and saunter in his direction.

  “Go get ‘em, tiger,” she calls out.

  My face flames as half the beach turns to stare at us.

  “Just keep walking. Just keep walking,” I chant, the sand under my feet hot as all get out under the three o’clock sun.

  The object of my promise flips his board around and sets to working on it. His skin, brown from weeks, possibly months, in the sun gleams and his muscles... oh his muscles are divine. I want to forever commit them to memory.

  “Way out of your league, Prince,” I tell myself. “So far out he’s not even in the same galaxy.”

  Also, I’m pretty certain he already has a girlfriend, even if it’s only for the summer. The beach bunnies have been hopping around him for a while now, but he hasn’t acknowledged them once.

  Cold fear makes my heart stutter as I draw closer. Maybe that’s exactly why I should stay away. I mean, Sunny will understand if I tell her he’s taken. It’s not like I need hard facts to present to her.

  Basically, I can stand as close as possible to him, pretend to say something, wait a second for his non-reply, and then walk right back to her with the saddest, I got denied face that ever existed.

  I nod to myself. That will totally work.

  “Watch out!”

  Suddenly realizing that I’m practically on top of the hot surfer and not in a sexy way, I attempt to pivot but end up hitting my shin against his board.

  Pain shoots up to my brain and tears spring in my eyes. “Son of a motherfrecking biscuit eater.” Grabbing my leg, I hop up and down, yelping like a scalded dog.

  “Damn. Are you okay?” he says, dropping the wax and moving closer to me. “Thought you heard me.” He bends, visually inspecting my injury and sucks air through his teeth. “That’s going be a big one.”

  Still perfectly balanced on one leg, I
peer at him. “Maybe not. I don’t bruise easily. It’s all good.”

  He raises his dark brows and pushes his long-ish brown hair out of his face before straightening to full height. “Then my work here is done.” With a grimace, he nudges his board up with his foot and executes a perfect one-handed catch. “Later.”

  Later? Oh hell, no. After all this I am not about to let him get away without a firm denial or affirmation of a summer girlfriend. I put my foot down, both literally and figuratively. “Wait.”

  He stops, his gaze quizzical. “Yeah?”

  “I’m True.” Extending my hand, I wait for him to take it. A beat later he does and I swear that all the swoony tingles I’ve read about whoosh over my entire body.

  “Duke.”

  Oh crap. “As in King?” As in the oldest son of the rival to Prince Global Shipping? Double crap. While I haven’t been forbidden to be in the company of a King, I’m fairly certain that my parents think I have the good sense to stay away from them. The only thing... because I don’t live in Castle Beach, I know next to nothing about the King siblings, and since I’ve been gone for the last four years, attending college at Arizona State to get my teaching degree, I haven’t caught up on the latest gossip about them.

  There’s always gossip about them.

  Duke’s mouth quirks, his full lips so sexy that I follow the movement. What can I say? I’m a mouth girl. Oh, and an arm girl.

  All right, so I’m the entire male body girl. Sue me.

  “’Fraid so,” he replies.

  I squint at him, jutting out my hip and planting a hand on it. “Should I be afraid?”

  “You’re an odd duck.” His gaze drops, a frown on his lips. “I was right.”

  “About what?” I ask, still mesmerized by him. This is really getting out of hand, but I can’t help myself.

  He gestures to my leg. “The bruise.”

  I glance down. Sure enough my leg’s beginning to look like a Rorschach image as it swells up to the size of the planet Jupiter.

  Or a grapefruit.

  You get the gist. “Awesome,” I mutter.