Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
“Quinn . . .” she whispers.
“I don’t want to wait,” I tell her, and my voice is raw with emotion. “I don’t want to spend years dating and wondering when the right time is. I want to start our forever now. Tonight. Tomorrow. I want to wake up every morning knowing you’re my wife.”
She looks at me like I’m saying exactly what her heart wants to hear, even if her head screams caution.
“What are you saying?” she asks, though I think she already knows.
“I’m saying let’s get married tomorrow. After the show. We’re in Vegas. My family is here. The time seems perfect, right, and ours.”
She stares at me for a long moment, and I can practically see her thinking through every reason this is insane, every reason we should wait, every logical argument against what I’m proposing.
Then she takes a shaky breath, and her whole expression changes.
“You’re absolutely crazy,” she says, but she starts to smile through her tears.
“Crazy about you.”
“This is insane. People are going to think we’ve lost our minds.”
“Probably.”
“We’ve been together for a few months.”
“The best few months of my life.”
“Your family is going to flip out.”
“In the best possible way.”
She stays quiet for another moment, and I can see the exact second, she makes her decision. Her smile grows wider, and suddenly she’s laughing and crying at the same time.
“Okay,” she says.
“Okay?”
“Okay, yes. Let’s do it. Let’s get married tomorrow.” She throws her arms around my neck, and I lift her off the ground, spinning her around on the balcony overlooking Vegas. “But I have conditions.”
“Name them,” I say, setting her down but keeping my arms around her.
“I want everyone there. Your whole family, both bands, everyone who matters to us. I want the people we love to witness this.”
“Done.”
“And I want it to be real. Not some Vegas chapel Elvis thing. I want vows that mean something.”
“Whatever you want.”
“And I want to look beautiful. I know it’s short notice, but—”
“You’re always beautiful,” I interrupt, kissing her softly. “But yes, we’ll make sure you have everything you want.”
She grins up at me, and the sight makes my heart race. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
“Having second thoughts?”
“No,” she says immediately. “Scared out of my mind, but no second thoughts. When you know, you know, right?”
“Right.”
We spend the next hour planning and dreaming and calling each other fiancé and fiancée just to hear how it sounds. We’ll tell the family after tomorrow’s show, find a chapel that can accommodate our group, and make it official.
“Hey, Justine?”
“Yeah?”
“The road to forever starts tomorrow.”
She grins, and the sight makes my heart skip. “I love the sound of that.”
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THE ROAD TO FOREVER
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EPILOGUE
TWO MONTHS LATER - HORSESHOE BAY, BERMUDA
The pink sand is warm beneath my feet as I watch Eden paddle out for her final heat of the Horseshoe Bay Invitational. The turquoise water of Horseshoe Bay is perfect today. Clean, consistent four-foot waves that seem almost designed for competition. In the distance, I can see the officials’ boat and the camera crews documenting every moment of what could be Eden’s invitation to the Olympic trials. Everyone we know is here, sitting on the beach, watching our girl compete.
“She’s got this,” Justine says, settling into the beach chair beside me. She’s wearing a white bikini that shows off the tan she’s developed over our three days here, and her hair is sun streaked and pulled back in a messy bun. She looks relaxed, happy, completely at peace in a way that still makes my heart skip sometimes.
But more than that, she looks like she belongs here. With my family, in my world, by my side. Six months ago, I worried she might feel overwhelmed by the chaos of the James-Westbury clan. Now she texts with my mom about baby photos and has standing FaceTime dates with Eden to discuss her surfing technique.
“I hope so,” I say, though I’m confident too. Eden’s been surfing like she’s possessed lately, and the waves here in Bermuda suit her style perfectly.
“Hold still,” Justine says, squeezing sunscreen into her palm. “You’re starting to burn.”
I lean forward slightly as she starts rubbing the lotion across my shoulders, her fingers gentle over the fresh tattoo that covers most of my left shoulder blade. The ink is still healing. We got them done just two weeks after Vegas, during our unofficial honeymoon in Los Angeles.
“Does it still hurt?” she asks, tracing the edge of the design carefully.
“Not anymore. Just tender.” I close my eyes as her hands work across my skin. “I still can’t believe we actually did it.”
“The tattoos or the wedding?”
“Both,” I laugh. “But I was talking about the tattoos.”
She pauses in her ministrations, and I can feel her smile against my back.