Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 113812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
“Keep it down,” McCall says, banging on the mesh separating us from him.
You know what? Fuck that. “I’m not going to keep it down. I’ve been hiding too long.” Turning to my girl, I say, “When I get back to the city, I’m going to figure out a way to make this work. I don’t want you sleeping alone in our bed, and I’m tired of missing you so much. I promise you the whole fucking universe, Pris, because you deserve nothing less.”
A sniffle fills the air, but it’s not Pris.
“That was beautiful, Tagger.” McCall is pulling a tissue from a box in the front seat.
“Thanks, man.” I look at the woman beside me, caring more about what she thinks, though. “What do you say?”
“I do love that bed.” She falls to the side and rests her head on my arm. “So is that bed in Texas or New York?”
CHAPTER 37
Tagger
Three weeks later . . .
“Thanks for meeting me, Tagger.” Anna takes a sip of wine, our eyes meeting in the mirror over her glass.
I’ve wanted to talk to her for so long about the promotion and Paris, but voicing it gave it life I wasn’t prepared to face yet. I’m on a mission, but I need to respect that there are two parents to consider. “What’s this about?”
She turns to face me, spinning the stem of the wineglass and resting her other hand on the wooden bar top. My gaze is drawn to her finger. “Oh . . .” It’s all I can muster.
“That’s all?” she says with a trickle of a laugh. “I almost expected something snarky.”
“It’s a beautiful ring. Quite the statement piece.”
“Five point five carats and the only statement it’s meant to make is that I’m engaged.”
“Congratulations. Marcel?” I don’t purposely rub her wrong. It just works out that way. Another reason we’re not together any longer.
“Funny. Of course, it’s Marcel. He popped the question last week when you had Beckett.”
“Have you told him?”
Her eyes travel to the solitaire on her finger, a wistfulness coming over her as she sighs quietly. “I have.”
I imagine it’s a difficult conversation to have and one I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. “How did he react?”
Righting her shoulders, she sits straighter. “Marcel adores Beckett, but it’s not necessarily mutual. But these things take time.”
It didn’t for Pris. He took right to her. Not having met Marcel myself, I’ll assume our son has a good judge of character.
She says, “The wedding will be next spring.”
Hate stating the obvious, but I’m unclear how the pieces are falling together. “Beck will be in school.”
“I think it’s best. It’s going to be a large affair in the French countryside. Royals will be in attendance.”
“Sounds like all your dreams are coming true.”
She moves the diamond back and forth on her finger, then sets her hands in her lap. “We’ll do a smaller celebration with Beckett and some family when he can visit in the summer.”
“Visit?” My chest tightens for my son. “What are you saying?”
“I took the promotion, and I’m moving to Paris. I’m engaged and starting a life there. Marcel wants children.”
I stare at her, waiting to see where she’s heading with this. “Of his own.”
“Doesn’t every man?” She turns to her wine and takes another sip.
“I don’t know about every other man. You’re allowed to start a new life, but I’m wondering how Beckett will fit into it. That’s my only concern.”
She seems to be at a loss, but when tears fill her eyes, she says, “I love him more than anything, but I can’t compete against what you’re offering him.”
“What are you talking about, Anna?”
“He doesn’t want escargot or the Louvre. I could tempt with chocolate croissants because he loves those.” She smiles as if a memory has returned. Her eyes shift back to mine, and she says, “He loves horses, Peachtree Pass, the ranch and being a cowboy, painting the house with you, and . . .”
I can see the pain she’s fighting through, but she still carries her smile bravely. I need to know, though, so I ask, “And?”
Taking a deep breath that has her leaning back, she exhales slowly. “Your Christine.” My Pris. There’s a pause where her lips twist as if she doesn’t want to admit defeat. But it was never a contest. “He adores her. He’s told me so much about her that I think I adore her.” Dropping her hand, she shakes it under a humorless laugh. “I was so rude to her, too, and to you. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I was jealous, but I’ve thought so much about it and I’m happy you’ve found someone who not only loves you but also our son like her own. Though I don’t want him calling her mom. Okay?”
“Okay. Same goes for Marcel.”
“Do you love her?”