Page 12 of Forever Mr Black

“I’ll think about it,” he insists, pressing a kiss to my lips.

I know he’s trying to distract me, but this time, I let him.

“How long does it take to properly arrange a wedding?”

My eyes snap open at the out-of-the-blue question. I draw my head back to see him looking at me intensely. He’s not joking, and I know he’s not going to like my answer. He’s already said he wants us married within six months.

“Realistically, about a year, to find a venue—”

“That’s not an option,” he cuts me off. The reality of him having to wait that long is clearly inconceivable. “Like I’ve said, six months. Max.” His eyes search mine. “And even that’s too long for me to wait.”

“Well, if you’ve already made up your mind, why the bloody hell did you ask me?”

“I’m sorry. It’s just the longer we’re engaged, the more I want us to be married. You’re my chance to do something good and decent with my life for a change.”

I feel a pang of remorse. I hate hearing him talk about himself like this. “Don’t say that. Don’t talk about your life as if it were nothing. You’re a successful—”

“Businessman,” he interrupts. “Professionally, my life’s been blessed. Personally, it’s been a total fuck-up from birth. It changed when I went to live with Mum and Dad, but I was still lost. Even though business took off, the professional successes felt like hollow victories. None of it meant anything … until I met you.”

“Is that why you want us to get married quickly? You see it as your chance to somehow start afresh?”

“Yes. Me and you. Us together.” His eyes shine with sincerity. “December, Sophie. I want us to get married in December. Is that enough time?”

That’s four months away.

“It’s possible, I suppose, but it’s a bit short notice …”

“I don’t care where we get married or if it’s just you and me …”

“We’ll need at least two other people to act as witnesses.”

He shrugs, and I really believe that he wouldn’t care if it were just me and him and the registrar.

“Okay,” I agree. “December it is then.”

His face lights up. “You’ll be officially mine by the end of the year.”

I know all too well how much of a challenge it’s going to be to find a wedding venue in four months—not to mention, my dress and the suits and the cake. Butdespite my better judgement and the fact that I know I’m asking for a headache, I can’t stop myself from grinning like a fool.

Four

When I walk into the kitchen the next morning, I can’t decide which delightful sight to behold first. The two plates of eggs Benedict waiting on the dining table or Art, naked from the waist up, brandishing a kettle as he pours boiling water into two mugs on the counter.

“Ah, perfect timing.” He flashes me a smile and carries the mugs over to the table. “I’ve made breakfast. Tuck in, or it’ll get cold.”

My eyes glide over the dips and curves of his bare torso and down to the grey sweatpants hanging from his hips. Art, I decide, is easily the most delightful sight, but the rumble of my stomach tells me the eggs Benedict comes a close second.

“This looks very nice.” I pull up a chair and survey the delicious-looking plate of food, savouring the mouthwatering smells of bacon, eggs, and hollandaise sauce. “And it’s definitely a step up from toast and fruit salad.”

He flicks me a grin. “Impressed?”

“Very,” I agree, picking up a fork.

He sits down next to me. “Like you said, we can’t live on fruit salad and toast, so I’d thought I’d try a bit harder.” He lifts his mug to his lips and watches as I take a bite of toasted muffin and bacon. “Good?”

“Mmm.” I nod. “If this is your first attempt, I’m seriously impressed. In fact, it’s so good, you can make it again for me if you like.”

He smirks. “It is, and noted.”

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