Page 144 of Playbook
“No?” I’m surprised she doesn’t care about the details. She’s an artist after all.
“No. After helping Sierra, I think I’ve had enough wedding planning for a lifetime.”
“Leave it to me, then. I’ll plan us the best wedding ever.”
“Oh, we’re getting married, are we?” she asks. We haven’t talked about it, but I know I can’t live without her and the thought of her having my last name makes me giddy.
“Hope so.”
She hums and nuzzles back into me. “We’ll see.”
I smile, knowing it with every fiber of my being. She’s my endgame.
“I’m gonna buy you a big diamond so everyone knows you’re mine. You’ll wave and blind anyone within a mile of you.”
She chortles. “Not a bad idea. Maybe I should get you one too. My cousins are staring a little too hard.” She glances over to a table of young women. They are in fact looking so I tip London’s chin up and steal her mouth.
She tastes like champagne and forever. My forever.
“How about I just do that a whole lot?”
Her lashes flutter open slowly. “That would probably be okay too.”
I steal one more and then wrap my arms around her and breathe a sigh of contentment.
Someone taps me on the shoulder and when I turn, Chris stands there.
“Mind if I cut in?” he asks. “It’s tradition for the best man to dance with the maid of honor.”
London says nothing, but one dark brow arches and she inches closer to me.
“Ah well, don’t worry about it. You’re not much of abestman anyway, right?” I cuff him on the shoulder and then give him my back.
London drapes her arms back over my shoulders with an amused smile. “He and Gretchen broke up,” she says.
“Shocker.”
“Yeah, apparently she ended things with him because he’s, and I quote, ‘a terrible human who can’t back up the big dick energy.’” Her smile widens.
“Aww, poor Chris,” I say sarcastically. I don’t feel the least bit sorry for the guy.
When the music ends, I take her hand and we walk through the fading reception. London’s father steps in front of us.
“Hello,” he says, nodding to me and then smiling at London.
We haven’t talked all night, and although I have rehearsed a dozen apologies, at the end of the day, I’m not sorry about what I said, only that I let my own shit muddy the message I wanted to send him.
“Tonight turned out beautifully,” he says.
“Yeah, it did.” London leans into me, and I wrap an arm around her waist.
“I apologized to London, but I feel like I need to do the same to you,” he says, locking eyes with me. “I let my fears and worries cloud my judgment. She’s talented and hardworking, things I already knew, but you reminded me. Thank you. I don’t know how long it would have taken me on my own, but I’m grateful I don’t have to find out. You’re a good man. She’s lucky to have you.”
“Not as lucky as I am,” I tell him.
London steps forward and wraps her arms around her dad’s neck. “Thank you.”
When she pulls back, he clears his throat and then extends a hand to me. We shake and he excuses himself.
