I look at the love of my life. “Yeah?”
“When you first arrived in Woodvale, it surprised me how much I cared about you. That feeling has only grown since the very first day we met. Now, I look forward to seeing how my love for you swells. I wake up every day a little bit more in love with you, and I know it’ll never stop. I dream about sharing a life with you, and nothing else seems good enough. I’m not afraid to say I need you.”
Tears cling to my eyelashes and a lump forms in my throat.
Benji continues. “I love you, Rae. I love you from head to toe. Front to back. Inside out. I love your strength. Your determination. Your selflessness and your stubbornness. You’re the woman for me. Make me the happiest man in the world and tell me you’ll marry me.” His voice is gravelly, deep, and drenched in emotion.
My heart sings.
I try to say yes, but my throat is too tight. A gargled sort of squeal escapes me as I throw my arms around him, trembling as I kiss his neck, his jaw, his lips. We hold each other under the night sky, feeling our love swirl around us like a warm blanket.
“Of course I’ll marry you,” I finally manage.
He flips the jewelry box open, and a sparkling diamond stares back at me. When he slides it onto my finger, I let out a deep sigh.
It feels right to have it on my finger. It feels good to commit to him.
“There’s something else,” he says.
I arch my brows, waiting for him to continue.
“I want things to be equal for us.” He pauses, gulping. “You know I always dreamed of owning the garage. I’d like to buy half of the business from you.”
I tilt my head, grinning. “Are you using your marriage proposal to tack on a hostile business takeover, too?”
“It’s not hostile.” He smiles, touching his nose to mine. “Never hostile. I just want to share everything with you. I want you to have a future you enjoy. If I buy out half of the garage, it’ll give you enough money to start the landscape architecture business. Not just random freelance jobs, Rae. Really start the business. The way you always wanted to.”
My heart thumps, and now, tears really are falling down my face. Benji brushes them away with his thumbs, staring into my eyes with a hopeful smile.
“Well?”
“You’d do that for me? So I can start my own business?”
Benji chuckles. “I mean, I’m getting something out of it, too. But yes. I don’t want you to work at the garage when your heart is in garden design.” He takes a deep breath. “My father gave me money ages ago, and I never thought I’d use it. But he’s the one who told me to go find you in Houston. He’s the one who made me realize that having money—and giving money away—isn’t the root of all evil. I’d like to use his money for something that will benefit us both.”
I sweep my hand over his cheek, shaking my head. “You drive a hard bargain, Benji, but I accept.”
Benji’s face splits into a smile, and he kisses me with all the strength of his emotion. I cling onto his shoulders, feeling his warmth, his kindness, his passion beneath my palms.
Selling half of the garage to Benji is the right thing to do. Even though we’ll be married, and he’ll own half of it anyway, it feels significant to have it officially his, too. To have documents that detail ownership, so no one can doubt that we’re in this together.
We’re starting a new life. We’re sharing our money, our businesses, our futures. We’re uniting every aspect of our lives and figuring out a way that works for both of us.
I pick up my glass of champagne again, staring at the ring on my finger, and my heart feels full. I lean my head against Benji’s shoulder, sinking into his body and taking my rightful place beside him.
This is what Sawyer meant when he said you had to choose your own family.
I choose Woodvale. I choose my siblings.
I choose my love, my light, my everything—Benji.
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Bad Prince
Royally Unexpected: Book 1
1
Elle
The rhythmic squeaking of my housemate’s bedsprings gets louder as the sound of her first moan floats through the wall. I stuff my earplugs in deeper, hoping they’ll help block out the noise—even though I already know they won’t. Dahlia’s headboard taps against our shared wall. It starts gently, barely grazing the thin separation between our bedrooms.
And then it gets louder, and louder, and louder…
… until the wall actually shakes.
Another moan sounds out and a man says something barely audible. I assume it’s something filthy. Dahlia, my best and weirdest friend, likes it dirty.
Why do I know this?
Because I hear everything in this rundown, mouse-infested house of ours.
Everything.
Groaning, I turn to my side, stuffing my pillow over my head to try to muffle the noise. I check the time on my phone. It’s already past midnight, and I have to be up in four hours for crew practice. I’m going to be out on the water, rowing my little heart out as I train for the biggest regatta of my life, with less than four hours’ sleep.
Sunday is—or rather, was— my day off, as usual, and Monday practices are notoriously tough after a rest day. Coach Bernard doesn’t tolerate lateness, sleepiness, or excuses like my roommate is a sex maniac.
The banging on the wall continues, and my blood pressure rises. Every knock on
