Page 136 of Exposed

Mom floats off to the kitchen, probably creating wildflower crowns in her head for me to wear while standing barefoot in a meadow.

At.

My.

Wedding.

I tear myself away from the jerk in front of me. “How did you find me?”

He stuffs his hands in his pockets and pulls in a deep breath before letting it out. His wide chest rises and falls with the simple human action, which on most people wouldn’t be so noticeable. But on him, it makes me want to rip that stupid linen shirt off him and ask him to breathe deeply.

He doesn’t even seem apologetic when he answers. “I installed an app on your phone. I can track you. When you headed north, I assumed, but I kept tabs on you the whole way. Which, by the way, you were speeding when you first left. So, you do break the rules from time to time.”

“I can’t believe you,” I whisper. “Of all the creepy, possessive things to do.”

He ignores my rant and drops his voice as low as his deep timbre will go. “You ran away.”

“Yes,” I confirm. “From you. That means you’re supposed to stay there so I can be here without you.”

He shakes his head, smiles, and tips his head as he gazes at me like I’m a puppy or those baby ducks that they sell at Tractor Supply in the spring. I mean, really, he’s never been this happy since I met him. “I made sure no one from Dex’s organization followed you out of the city, booked the earliest flight today, and grabbed a ride out here to the beautiful Virginia countryside. I know nothing about your dad, but you got the best of your mom. Trippy will like her.”

“Trippy is not going to meet my mom!” I yell in a whisper.

He shrugs.

And smiles.

“Why are you so happy?” I exclaim.

He takes a step, wraps his arms around me, and presses his hips into my tummy, reminding me that I might wet my pants in front of him if I don’t make it to the bathroom soon. “I’m happy because you’re here, you’re safe, and we’re back together. We have things to talk about. That should’ve happened last night, but now it’s happening tonight.”

“I have nothing more to say to you. And you want me to continue this ruse in front of my mom? What happens when it’s over? I’m going to have to break it to her that there is no Daniel Armstrong, there will be no barefoot wedding, and no grandbabies. Why are you doing this to me?”

He squeezes me tighter. If I don’t go to the bathroom soon, I’ll drown from the most disgusting death ever, and all he has to say is, “Baby, I’m not getting married barefoot.”

If I could kill him with my glare, I would. “You’re crazy.”

“Go to the bathroom,” he says. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen with Alina. She’s making cauliflower steaks for dinner. I’m…” he lets that thought trail off and finally loses his smile. “Really excited about that.”

“Mom is a vegetarian,” I inform. “I hope you wither away and die from lack of iron.”

“King!”

I gasp when my mother yells his real name from the kitchen. He told my mother that I’m engaged to the real him, not the fictional him.

How dare he!

He hikes a brow, as if he’s one-upped me on this game of let’s-get-hitched.

And of course he smiles again.

Jerk.

My mom does what she does best—boss everyone in her general vicinity. “King! Dang it, I love your name. Hey, scoot to the basement for me and grab me a quart of canned tomatoes. I think I’ll whip up a quick marinara to go with the steaks. Get the ones dated two years ago. That was the best batch. I save those for special occasions!”

Most people save special bottles of wine for things like celebrating an engagement, but not Mom. She breaks out her best homemade canned goods.

“You go. Looks like I have a job. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

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