He’s still so cocky. I want to kick him. And kiss him forever.
“This novel isn’t even about you,” I tell him in my haughtiest voice. “The fact that the male lead has the same name as you is a coincidence.”
Ryan smiles and shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s true, Sullivan.”
Oh, I’ve missed him. “It is,” I say. “I would never write a book about you. I don’t even like you.”
“I don’t think that’s true either. In fact, I think you love me.” He pushes off the door frame and steps back as he opens up the manuscript. I close my eyes and scrunch my face as he begins to read aloud.
“‘Nothing could change how we felt—not the mistakes we made, the pain we put each other through or even our years apart.’”
“‘When love is real you can feel it,’” I say instinctively, knowing most of the words in my manuscript by heart.
“We felt it when we were kids, and we feel it again now. Every second we’re not together is a complete waste of time.”
My eyes pop open. “Every second we’re not—I didn’t write that line.”
“I know,” Ryan says. “I did.” He puts the manuscript back in his bag and takes my hand. “I’ve been useless without you, Sullivan. I don’t even remember much of the last six months. And Duke has been impossible to live with. He’s always looking at the door and I know he’s hoping you’ll walk in.” He pauses for only a moment. “I think he’s as in love with you as I am.”
I spare Duke a quick but affectionate glance before I look back at Ryan. “Don’t say that unless you really mean it.”
Ryan grasps my hand tighter. “I do mean it. And you need to get used to hearing it because I’m going to be saying it to you a lot. I’m aiming for every day for the rest of our lives.”
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. “I’m going to ask you something now, and if there’s going to be any chance of us moving forward, you need to be one hundred percent honest with me.”
“Okay.” He looks nervous and I enjoy it.
“Did you or did you not...name Duke after The Devilish Duke?”
A grin spreads across Ryan’s face. His arms encircle my waist to pull me forward and there’s a finality about it that feels completely right. “Of course I did,” he says.
“I knew it.” He never forgot the book that brought us together. Even after all those years.
I stretch up onto my toes to kiss him just as he leans down and scoops me up into his arms. I shriek in surprise and Duke instantly springs at our feet, his bellowing barks filling the hallway.
“What are you doing?” I ask through my laughter.
“Relax, Sullivan. I’m pulling off a trademark romance novel move.”
I smile wider than I knew was possible and cover my eyes with one hand.
“Is it wrong for me to carry you over the threshold before we get married?”
“As if I’d marry you,” I scoff, bringing my hand down and secretly beaming at the thought.
“Oh, you’re marrying me, Sullivan. There’s no way I’m letting you get away again.”
I loop my arms around Ryan’s neck and pull myself even closer. “Not ever?”
“Never,” he says. And I believe him. I can see our future together so clearly. A wedding, a home, a family—they’re all there. All we have to do is make them real.
I wonder if Ryan is thinking the same thing as he smiles back at me and steps inside the apartment. Unfortunately, Duke also storms in at the same moment, causing Ryan to pivot fast. He avoids stepping on Duke but winds up bumping my head against the wooden doorway.
Sure, it hurts. And I yell. But I’m also laughing as I touch my hand to my head.
So really, I wasn’t lying when I told my mom that I fell in love in Italy. I did. And the man I love does have an accent and is handsome and charming. He just happened to be thousands of miles away at the time. Leave it to me to go all the way to Italy only to fall in love with someone who was waiting for me in North Carolina.
And as Ryan carries me deeper into the apartment, a bump forming on my head and Duke slobbering on the couch, I realize this moment is nothing like the last chapter of a romance novel. It’s chaotic, a little weird, it’s silly and it’s ours. What I mean to say is—it’s perfect.
25
Robert stepped down from his carriage and strode to the door of his London townhouse. Hollis, the eighty-year-old butler who had worked for the Weston family for the past five decades, was waiting for him when he arrived. Robert was surprised to find the ever cool and composed Hollis visibly sweating and out of breath as he stood exhausted in the entryway.
“Are you all right, Hollis?” he asked.
“Sir, there is a young gentleman and a lady waiting for you in the blue room. They’ve run us all very near to distraction.” At that exact moment, a loud crash—the sound of breaking glass—sounded through the house. Hollis gasped and Robert feared the man would collapse on the spot. “That would be the tea, sir.”
Determined to discover what was going on in his own home, Robert went directly into the blue room. He then stopped cold when he saw little George Destonbury standing above the broken tea set.
“I’m sorry, Robert. I thought I’d surprise everyone by pouring out the tea but the whole tray toppled over.”
Robert’s demeanor softened as he walked over to
