I can’t marry Wyatt. Not like this. I want so much more.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Wyatt

  “I don’t think this marriage thing is going to work out for you,” Uncle Cristoff says. “The firm has a certain image to uphold. We get the big clients because they feel like we’re one of them. I’m not saying you can’t have Lucy. Everyone needs a Lucy, but they keep her on the side where she belongs and they bring a...I don’t know, Estelle, to the dinners and charity events. When you find the right woman, then I’ll call that board meeting and we’ll handle the transfer of the firm.”

  “You should go.” I bury my fisted hands under the table so that I don’t punch my dad’s sixty-year-old brother in the face.

  “Son, this is nothing to be upset over. In fact, your unseemly show of emotion is concerning to me. I’m glad we had this talk. I’ll see you in the office tomorrow.”

  “I’m planning my wedding tomorrow and tying the knot on Thursday,” I reply coldly.

  Uncle Cristoff is unfazed by the sudden iciness in my tone. “Monday it is. I’ll expect you to come in with a signed prenup or unmarried.” He makes a grand exit, like I’m some juror in a big antitrust suit, and he’s just laid down his best argument.

  I sit at The Daily Drip until my coffee grows cold and the breakfast crowd with their suits and khakis and hurried demeanor gives way to the early lunch group with their joggers and yoga pants and their leisurely sips of tea and extra whip lattes. Uncle Cristoff’s opinions about Lucy don’t sit right with me. I have limited options, but there’s only one way forward.

  I crush my paper cup and toss it in the trash. On my way out, I notice Eden’s no longer behind the counter, which strikes me as odd since the woman is usually here from open to close. Maybe she’s off helping Lucy pick out a wedding dress.

  On my way back to the townhouse, I ring Ernest.

  “Vogt, Isaacs, and Packwood. We’re the VIP—”

  “Ernest, it’s Wyatt.”

  “Oh, thank God. Our caller ID is not working, and I’ve been trotting out that welcome to every incoming call and I want to kill myself.”

  “Before you do that, I want to offer you a job.”

  “A job? But I have one.”

  “I’m quitting.”

  “You’re what?” he shouts.

  “Cristoff doesn’t want me to marry. He wants me to marry a specific type of person, and he doesn’t think Lucy fits, so I’m quitting.”

  “This is your family’s firm, though,” Ernest says in a newly hushed voice. He’s probably bent over his desk with his hand cupping the mouthpiece of his phone. The sound is somewhat muffled.

  “It’s not been my family’s firm since my dad died. Uncle Cristoff took over, replaced the board members, and now runs that place like a tyrant. How many harassment suits have we settled because of him?”

  “God, so many.”

  “Right? I’m busting my ass every day working my case files, trying hard as fuck matters in federal court just so that forty percent of my verdicts are getting paid to random assistants because Uncle Cristoff can’t keep his hands to himself. I’m better off going solo, so are you in? I’ll give you a ten percent raise and a month of sabbatical every year.”

  “I would’ve left with you even if you were paying me less,” Ernest squeaks.

  “I feel like I’ve taught you better than that.” I bound up the stairs to the entrance. “Transfer me to Rose, will you?”

  “Should I get a check prepared for her?”

  “Probably, but you’ll need to run it by Human Resources and the Ethics Committee. I don’t want there to be accusations of collusion.”

  “On it.” I hear the faint sound of keys clacking as Ernest fires off emails to all the appropriate parties, and then I hear Rose’s voice.

  “Hello. This is Rose.”

  “Hey, Rose, it’s Wyatt. I’m quitting and so I’m not going to be around. Just wanted to give you a heads up.”

  She sighs. “I don’t want to sue the firm. It looks bad, and other firms won’t touch you because of it.”

  “I know. Ernest is sending some paperwork for you to get a settlement. Take the money and run. Gotta go. Take care of yourself, kid.”

  Inside, the house is dead. I hate when Lucy’s not here, and she’s only lived with me for two days. I call her, but the line goes to voicemail. I hate that, too. The doorbell rings. I spin around and am disappointed to see it’s a courier service. “Wyatt Donovan?”

  “Yeah.” I take the clipboard and sign. This is Lucy’s ring. I wanted to get her a pink diamond because she loves pink, but it wasn’t a stone they had set. It was in a vault, shipped by plane to my jeweler, who put it in a platinum setting surrounded by a dozen VVS white diamonds. It’s a show stopper. I hope it makes all the rich bitches bleed with envy.

  “I’m going to need to see an ID first.”

  I grab my wallet and flash my license. The courier hands over the box, and I hand him a big tip. We both leave happy. I kick the door shut and text Lucy.

  Don’t know what you’re doing at this moment, but I quit my job. I might’ve gotten fired. That was the subtext with Uncle C. I’m not standing outside with a box of personal goods but I do need some good loving from my fiancée. Any idea when you’ll be home?

  I don’t have to wait long for a response.

  You quit your job? That was your family’s firm! Your name is on the door.

  Why is everyone so surprised? I’m not married to my job. Or that firm. The only one I’m marrying is you. Besides, I own that building, and the fourth floor is free. I’m going to hang out my shingle there after we have a honeymoon. You should office share with me. There’s plenty of space. Uncle C’s secretary will be looking for a new job too. Come home and hold me and I’ll tell you all about it.

  Okay

  Luv u

  It feels right to type that last bit out.

  Chapter Twenty

  Lucy

  I try not to cry as I read the text over and over while I sit in the back of the cab. If anyone should know how fast life can change it’s me. Here I was running home about to tell Wyatt I couldn’t marry him. Now I’m running to him for a whole other reason.

  Everything is going to be okay. I feel it in my heart. For so long I’ve been trying to protect it. Now I realize that there is no protecting it. Especially not from Wyatt. He’s had it from that first day he strolled into my life like a white knight. If I ran, my heart would break in the same way as it would if I stayed and things didn’t work out between us. But staying at least gives me a chance at a different outcome while running guarantees heartbreak.

  The cab barely stops before I jump out. I throw a bunch of cash toward the front of the car while thanking the driver. The door to the townhouse opens before I even get to it. Wyatt’s whole face lights up with a smile when he sees me. I throw myself at him. He catches me.

  “I love you,” I say before I kiss him, pouring in everything I’ve ever felt for him. He kisses me right back.

  “Fuck I love you too, beautiful.” He kicks the front door closed, pinning me to it. “I’m going to quit my job every day if this is the reaction I get.” I snort a laugh. “Are you crying?”

  I nod. “I’m scared but…” I lick my lips, still tasting him there. “I don’t want a fake marriage, but I guess you don’t need to be married now that you quit.” I trail off at that realization. I was so focused on the fact that Wyatt’s job wasn't number one to him that I forgot that small detail. Shit. I’ve been trying to not get married this whole time and now all I feel is disappointment at the knowledge that I won’t be. I want to be his wife more than anything. I want to be his everything.

  “We’re still getting married.” The smile drops from his face and a look of determination takes over as he carries me through the house into the living room. He sits down on the sofa with me in his lap. “I’m not doing this shit anymore.” His hands on my hips tighten.

  “Doing what?” I place my hands on his chest, trying to ignore my arousal. We need to have this conversation, but it would be so easy for us to fall into bed.

  “Tiptoeing. I’ve been doing it from the moment we met. I’ve been giving you time to heal. I knew you needed it, but you keep pushing me into this fucking friend zone and I’ve never wanted to be there. But I was afraid that was the only way I’d be able to keep you in my life. I was willing to have a small part of you rather than no part at all.”

  “You don’t want to be my friend?”

  He sucks in a deep breath, and I can tell he’s trying to choose his words wisely. Or maybe he’s losing his patience.

  “No. I don’t make love to my friends, Lucy. I sure as hell don’t fuck them without condoms and try to marry them.” My face flushes with heat. His words might be crude, but they’re real. I open my mouth, but no words come out. “I love you.” He cups my face with his big hands. “I ran with that getting married shit because I wanted it so badly. I want you more than anything. I always have, and I can’t do this friends bullshit anymore. You’re mine, Lucy. In every fucking away. Friends is nothing compared to what I feel for you.”

  My eyes fill with tears. For so long I wished that he would say these words to me.

  “Soulmates,” I whisper. That’s what we are. I think on some level I’ve known that from the very start. I’d so easily fallen into a friendship with him. From the moment we met it had been easy to be close to him. To share my grief. He took it all in and healed me. “Why that night when I tried to kiss you did you stop me?”

  “You were drunk. I wanted you to remember our first kiss.” I melt into him. Of course. Wyatt is a good man. “It looks as if someone is finally starting to put all the pieces together.” He smiles, looking as handsome as ever.

  “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here.”

  “As long as you’re here, that’s all that matters.” He lifts me off his lap sitting me on the sofa. I watch as he slips down going to one knee. He pulls a box out of his pocket. I put my hands over my face trying not to burst into tears. “Lucy Loo.”

  I slowly lower my hands to see the ring he’s holding in his fingers. The giant shiny pink diamond couldn’t be more me. The size of it is completely Wyatt.

  “Will you…”

  “Yes!” I launch myself at him. I kiss him everywhere I can get my mouth. He rolls us, pinning me to the floor.

  “Give me your hand,” he orders in the dominant tone he always gets in the bedroom. I lift my hand for him to slip the ring onto my finger. It’s a perfect fit. “You and our family will always come first. There will never be another for me.”

  I know he says that last part because my Wyatt knows I still have scars that my father left behind. He might not have set out to be my friend, but the reality is that bond we formed early on makes us know each other in the deepest of ways.

  “I love you, Wyatt. More than I’ve ever loved anything in my whole life.”

  “I love you too, my beautiful wife.”

  “Not yet.” I smirk, making him growl. “But soon.”

  “Very soon,” he vows, sealing it with a kiss.

  Wyatt never needed a wife. He always needed me.

  Epilogue

  Wyatt

  “Crystal, can you hand me the flour?”

  “I don’t think this looks right.” My daughter eyes the dough on the counter. “It’s too hard.”

  “I followed Eden’s instructions precisely.”

  “I know, but I think it’s supposed to be smooth and soft, not a rock like this.” She knocks her fist against the lump.

  “Once this bakes, it’ll soften up in the middle.”

  “Dad, you’re great at law stuff, but you should leave the cooking stuff to the professionals. Why not just buy scones from Eden?”

  “Mom’s scones are the best,” chimes in the brown-haired boy seated next to my eldest, Dre. Dre’s head is buried in his AP math. When he is focused on something, not even an earthquake would shake him.

  “See?” Crystal says.

  “What else would Liam say? That his mom’s food sucks? This is a biased opinion, and therefore I’m not giving it much weight.”

  “Oh my God, Dad, we are not in a courtroom, and no one has ever said that Eden’s food sucks,” Crystal says.

  “At least no one has said that and lived to tell about it,” jokes Liam. Crystal, my fifteen-year-old angel, meets Liam’s eyes for a half second before grabbing the flour and pushing it across the counter. I’d have to be sight impaired not to recognize a blooming crush. I wonder how much Eden would hate me if I murdered her son.

  “Don’t,” warns Crystal in a soft, low tone that only I can hear.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t do whatever it is that you’re thinking about. Liam is a family friend and that’s all.”

  “Better stay that way,” I caution.

  “Just finish making the scones.” She wipes her hands down the full apron she slung over her neck and announces, “I’m taking a break. I’ll be back in fifteen.”

  “Hey.” I catch her apron strings and haul her back before she can escape. “Don’t go and buy new scones. These will turn out.”

  She eyes my efforts with skepticism and says, “Sure, Dad.”

  I know a lie when I hear it, but at this point, I opt to just let my kid go. After all, her leaving the kitchen removes her from the zone of danger, which I now realize is within twenty feet of Liam. I wonder if Lucy knows about this.

  “Dad...Dad...Dad.”

  I look up from the counter to see my son standing next to me. He moves my fist away from the dough that I’ve been hammering at. “Just take these.” He shoves a bag into my hand. “Come on, Liam, let’s go to my room.”

  I open the bag, and the scent of freshly baked scones wafts up to my nose. There’s a commotion at the entrance, and I hear my wife’s voice.

  “Shit.” Swiftly, I sweep the remnants of the battered dough into the garbage, dump Eden’s scones onto a plate, and throw a towel over the dishes in the sink. All evidence of my baking attempts are gone or disguised when Lucy walks in.

  “Mmmm, what smells good?” she says.

  “Me, of course.” I pull my wife into my arms. “Happy anniversary.” I present the plate of scones to her.

  “Isn’t our anniversary next week?” She sniffs the scones appreciatively.

  “It’s in six days, and we’re celebrating for a week. It’s our twentieth, and I thought we should do something special.”

  “A week-long celebration. I like it. I wonder where you got the idea.” Her eyes twinkle in mischief.

  I grin. “A very smart businesswoman I know offers it as part of her event planning services.”

  “So you stole it.”

  “I stole it,” I confirm.

  “And these scones.”

  “Not stolen. Paid for.”

  She takes a bite of one. “Blueberry. My favorite.” Lucy reaches for her phone. “I’ll have to let Eden know how much I like these with the sugar on top.”

  “Did you think for a moment that I made these?”

  “No, darling. You’re good at a lot of things, but you’re terrible in the kitchen. I do appreciate the annual attempt to make me something.” She peers around my shoulder. “What was the sacrifice this time?”

  “It was scones, Mommy.” Crystal comes bounding in. My daughter, the spitting image of her mother, gives Lucy a peck on the cheek. “We made him throw them away. You can thank me later in the form of in-game crystals for my latest game.”

  “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “Hey, Mom. You’re home.” Dre pushes his sister—and me—out of the way to lift Lucy up in the air. “Happy A day. We saved you from having to choke down a block of wood.”

  “You were making me wood?” Lucy arches an eyebrow up.

  “I was making scones.”

  “It was hard as a rock, though,” Crystal adds.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” I fold my arms across my chest and mock-glare at my daughter.

  “It was,” Dre says. “He was pounding on it, pretending it was Liam’s face.”

  “Shut up, Dre!” Crystal yells and tries to hit her brother. The older boy dodges the blow. He grabs four of the scones and then disappears out of the kitchen, followed by an incensed younger sister.

  “Oh, you finally noticed Crys has a thing for Eden’s boy.” Lucy smiles.

  “What’s there to smile about?” I grouch.

  “Nothing, darling.” Lucy pats my cheek. “She’s only fifteen. Nothing will happen until they’re both ready.”

  “You are not making me feel better.”

  “You can’t want Crys to remain—”

  I kiss Lucy. It’s the only way I know how to make her not say the things I don’t want to hear. It’s been the way I’ve handled things since I first met her, and it is surprisingly still effective. I lift my mouth and gaze appreciatively at Lucy’s now glossy lips and her bright eyes.

  “The only two people in this house that should be kissing and making eyes at each other is you and me,” I tell my wife of twenty years.

  She laughs and lays her cheek against my chest. “I knew you were going to have a hard time when we saw that we were having a girl.”

  “Am I being unbearable?” I wonder.

  “No. Not at all. Adorable, actually. I love you,” Lucy says. “Now kiss me some more so you can forget what is happening upstairs.”

  “Something is happening upstairs?” I nearly shout in alarm. But before I can charge up to my daughter’s bedroom, Lucy captures my mouth with hers. I guess she’s learned to shut me up too.

  Readers!

  It was hot today! Like I was actually debating whether to turn on my air conditioner. You know what that means, right? It’s almost summer and we’re going to the beach and reading under an umbrella with a fruity cocktail at our side. I hope one of my books is downloaded on your Kindle such as Make Me Yours which is another Friends to Lovers story.

 

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