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“She’s gone. She sent me a text saying she knows how to fix all of this and that Thorn is helping her. We should be running, Gulliver, not waiting around for Mom and Dad to regroup and come at us with something even more stupid and dangerous.”
“You’re not running, Izzy,” he snarls, reaching for me and pulling me into him.
“We have to. This is never going to end. My parents are certifiable; they were prepared to drug us and then have my sister rape you,” I cry, pushing away from his chest.
“I know!” he shouts. “But if you run now, where would you go? What would that solve? It’s only Penelope that needs to go. She needs to get away from their influence and then figure out a way to break one of the will’s clauses. Maybe she can just refuse the inheritance.”
“She can’t refuse it until after she turns twenty-five; it’s another one of the stupid clauses my great-grandfather had written into this will as if all the other ones weren’t bad enough.”
“Look, let’s just wait for tonight and see what she and Hawthorn have been up to. Then if she wants to run, I’ll help her. I’ll help her hide. Then I’ll hire the best lawyers money can buy to go over every word in that will and find her a get-out clause. I promise.”
The dress I’m wearing is beautiful, a red so deep that it almost looks black depending on the light. Strapless and figure-hugging, it clings to my curves before billowing into a mermaid skirt just above my knee, with chiffon ruffles that look like roses flowing to the floor. My hair is loose, natural, and wavy around my shoulders, and my only jewelry is the Winslow diamond adorning my finger.
I feel like a princess, and I wish this was all real so I could enjoy it.
Gulliver’s fingers are wrapped around mine, and I glance at him walking next to me. He looks just like the king he is in his tailor-made tuxedo. Unlike last night, his hair is messy in that un-styled way that takes twenty minutes of preening to achieve. Somehow tonight he looks softer despite the tattoos that seem more visible than ever, peeking over the top of his crisp white dress shirt.
“I don’t want to share you,” Gulliver says, surprising me.
“What?”
“I want to keep you to myself, Little Ghost. You look too beautiful to share, and I’m a selfish asshole. If I could, I’d take you home and hide in our room, forget everything else, and just be together in a little bubble where nothing and no one else matters.”
My feet stop moving, and I turn to look at him. “I don’t want to go down there either,” I admit.
“We could bail,” he says with a mischievous grin.
“There are two hundred people downstairs all here to celebrate our engagement,” I say, my tone a little bitter.
“So. Fuck them.”
“Are you serious?” I snap. “It’s bad enough that we’re lying to everyone. We can’t just decide not to turn up to our own party.”
The smile falls from his lips, and his eyes harden, visibly darkening as his intense gaze searches my face.
“Is that how you really feel, Izzy? Like we’re lying?”
“Well, aren’t we?” My breath catches in my throat as I ask the question. I don’t want this to be a lie anymore. I don’t want this to be fake, because it feels real.
“Then fucking marry me,” he snarls.
“What?” I ask, pulling my fingers free of his and taking a small step backward.
“I’ve been telling you for weeks that this isn’t fucking fake anymore. I’m in love with you, Izzy. I would do anything for you, be anyone for you. Do you not feel anything for me at all? Is this really all still pretend for you?”
His brows are pulled together, and for the very first time since we met, I can see doubt and insecurity in his eyes. My heart misses a full beat, and a gasp escapes from my parted lips. “You love me?” I whisper.
“Yes, Little Ghost. I’m completely, ridiculously, obsessively in love with you. I see you, and I want you to fucking marry me. Today, tomorrow, ten years from now. I don’t care. We can be rich or poor. I don’t give a fuck. All I want is you. The rest is insignificant.”
I can feel my eyes widening as I take in his words—his beautiful words that are so out of character, so important, that I can’t speak because nothing I could possibly say would ever be as perfect.
As I stare at him, his eyes dim, his mouth pulls down at the corners into a frown, and he scoffs. “Nothing; you’ve got nothing to say?”
The anger in his voice jolts me, and I realize that I haven’t said anything. I’m just standing here like an idiot. “I love you too,” I whisper.
“What?”
“I’m in love with you too. Completely.” I take a step closer to him. “Ridiculously.” I press my palms against his chest and push up onto my tiptoes. “Obsessively in love with you,” I whisper against his lips a moment before he kisses me.
