Page 73 of Love You, Mean It
“And what about you, Violet Beaumont. You told me Montana’s hashtag. You said it tells a lot about a person or a couple. What would your hashtag be if you ever walked down the aisle? Hashtag ‘I’m going to wear the pants in this relationship’?”
“That’s not bad, actually.” I tipped my chin up and smiled at him. “But I don’t think I’m the marrying type. The only way I’d ever have a wedding hashtag is if I felt confident enough to use the only one that I’d ever consider.”
“Tell me,” he said, surprising me that he wanted to hear it.
We’d just had sex for the first time. We didn’t know where this was going, or if it would last longer than tonight. But he was pressing me for my wedding hashtag?
Clearly, Charlie Huxley and I have the strangest relationship.
“It’s actually pretty simple, which is a shocker because I’m kind of a complicated gal.” I chuckled. “But if in some alternate universe I wanted to get married, I’d insist on the hashtag ‘love you, mean it.’ It would have to be real. Because I’ve had a lifetime of not real.”
“It seems simple enough. But I’m sort of baffled by your lack of interest in getting married,” he said, his thumb moving along my collarbone. “You’re a wedding planner, for God’s sake. It’s your holy grail, right?”
“Hey, consider yourself lucky. At least you know I’m not trying to lock you down.” I smirked. “I believe in happily ever after for those who want it. But I don’t think it’s for everyone, and it’s definitely not for me. But Montana was hell bent on me doing this business with her, so from a business perspective, I like it. Doesn’t mean I have to do it.”
“That would be like me being a contractor who refuses to fix what’s broken in my house,” he said over his laughter.
“Hey, I am who I am. I don’t want the fairy tale.”
“But you have a hashtag,” he said, arching a brow when I looked up at him.
“I have a hashtag because my partner insisted that we pick one. Montana is a real stickler when it comes to the wedding planner rule book.”
“So I’m guessing you don’t plan on having kids?” he asked, as if he was trying to figure me out.
“I don’t particularly care for most kids. But I adore Harper. She’s not a normal kid, though. So sure, if I could have a couple Harpers, I’d be fine with it. But what if you get one of those hellions like Denise Quigley?”
He roared in laughter, and my head bounced on his chest. “She’s a real piece of work. But I blame her mother. She’s been taught that behavior.”
I pretended to shiver dramatically. “She’s a lot. I wanted to call her out so bad for what she said to Harper a while back. I tend to hold a grudge.”
“I get it. When you love someone and you see them hurt, it doesn’t go away. That’s what I felt today with Caroline. She hurt Harps, and I won’t stand by and allow her to do it again.”
“Hashtag ‘here comes Papa Bear,’” I said as he flipped me on my back and tickled me.
“Hashtag ‘do you want to have sex again, Firefly?’”
“Oh, that’s clever, Charles. Hashtag ‘one more orgasm before we call this done.’”
He rolled his eyes. “Hashtag ‘one day at a time, you smart-ass.’”
“Fine. Have your way with me, because tomorrow we might hate each other again.”
“I never said I stopped hating you.” His voice was all tease as he nipped at my bottom lip.
“Hashtag ‘samesies, Charles!’” I said over my laughter.
And then he kissed me.
He really kissed me.
And I forgot that I was supposed to be careful.
Because at the moment, it was far too easy to get lost in this man.
So I’d allow myself tonight, and then I’d get my shit together tomorrow.
But tonight ... I was going to enjoy every minute.
