Page 127 of Miami Ice

“Before you walk in—” I start, but he interrupts me.

“I should prepare to be dazzled?” he asks, a smirk playing on his lips as he sets Minnie down on the floor.

“No. Prepare for a hot mess. I’m still creating my vision.”

Now a full smile appears on his face. “I will keep that under advisement.”

I take his hand and walk with him into the den. I stop once we reach it, watching him as he takes everything in.

“I went with a masculine aesthetic for you,” I say, moving over by the window. “I have a ten-foot-tall tree that will go here. It will have plaid, amber, and black ornaments and ribbons on it. It would look better with white lights, but I went with multicolored lights because you like them.”

I look over at him. To my surprise, his gaze is traveling around the room, but there’s a look on his face that makes my stomach sink.

And instantly I know he hates it.

I swallow down my disappointment as Beckham goes over to the mantle, staring at the ribbons and ornaments I’ve so carefully woven into it. He pushes down on his baseball cap, as if he’s delaying telling me he can’t stand it. He shifts his gaze to me and clears his throat.

“I’m always going to be honest with you, Georgie. And don’t think I don’t appreciate everything you’ve done, because I do. I know how much thought you put into this, and that matters to me. More than you could know.”

“You hate it,” I say, wincing.

“Not hate. I could never hate anything you’ve done for me.”

“But you don’t like it,” I counter.

“Ask me why,” he says, staring down at me through his fringe of lashes. “Ask me.”

“Why don’t you like it?”

“Because I don’t seeyouin it, Georgie. I need to see you in my home.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I stare at Beckham, shocked by his revelation as to why he doesn’t like the current Christmas decor.

Because I don’t see you in it, Georgie. I need to see you in my home.

He moves over to me, gently drawing me into his arms. “I thought I’d walk in here and be dazzled,” Beckham says softly. “It would be full of sparkle. Pink. Gingerbread men and candy canes and everything that would have made me nauseous before I met you.”

“I didn’t think you liked that,” I confess.

“I didn’t like it until I began to associate it with you. I know you could make this room look like Christmas in a completely understated way. But that’s not my girl.”

My girl. He saidmy girl.

Forget going feral over the words “my wife.” I’ll take “my girl” over that in a heartbeat.

“I guess I thought I’d come home and see you in the space everywhere I looked,” Beckham continues. “And truth be told, I like that idea. I like the idea of seeing you when I walk in the door, even if you aren’t here. So yes, that means I want to be dazzled. I want pink and candy and multicolored lights. I want it in my den, I want it in my kitchen, I want it all over my house. Iwant this space to be what makes you happy, Cupcake. Because that makes me happy, too.”

I blink back tears.

“What did I say?” Beckham quickly asks, a look of alarm filtering across his face.

“You are giving me so many feelings right now,” I confess, my voice wobbly. “All of them good ones.”

“Yeah?”

I nod happily. “Very good ones.”

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