Page 99 of Perfectly Wedded

Sloan smirks. “Now who’s the impatient one?”

I hold up my card. “It wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t answer a question.” Then I turn the card around so she can see it. “What is the one rule we haven’t broken?”

“You already know the answer,” she protests.

“I do, but where’s the fun if we don’t make it official? The only rule we haven’t broken is the one we’re about toshattertonight—like an Olympic record.”

She steps closer, her eyes sayingyesas my body feels that pull, but I hold up a hand. “Not until we’ve finished the game.”

Her eyes ask—no,begme to kiss her, but I don’t give in, even though I want to. “Last question is yours.” I nod toward the lone card.

“I have a feeling you’ve got something up your sleeve,” shesays, eyeing me warily. She reads it, then looks up at me, puzzled. “You’re letting me win?”

I smirk. “You forgot. In this game, everyone wins.”

She reads the card slowly. “Is there anything Vale wouldn’t do for Sloan?” Then she shakes her head. “I already know the answer. You’d do anything for me. The fact that you married me in Vegas—and risked your reputation. You even delayed your NHL dreams for me.”

“I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat,” I say softly. “You were always worth whatever I was giving up.” I cup her face with my hands, tip her chin toward me.

“Then I win?” she asks with a gleeful smile, wrapping her arms around my neck.

“Not quite,” I say, watching her closely. “There’s one thing I wouldn’t do for you—and I need to tell you now.”

“Now?” She frowns. “You couldn’t say it later, at a more convenient time?”

“Absolutely not,” I say with a grin, sitting on the bed so I can have her full attention. “The one thing I won’t do—the one thing I’ll never consider—is setting an end date for our marriage. The first time you asked, I waslividthat you’d even think I’d agree to it. Because even back then, I already knew what I know now: I want you, I’ve always wanted you. I’ve waited my whole life to make you mine. That’s the one thing you can’t ask, the one thing I’ll refuse—every single time.”

She takes it in, pressing her body closer to mine. “Does this mean the game is over and we can finally move things along? Because in case you didn’t notice, I’m okay with losing this game.”

Something sparks in my chest. The way she’s looking at me from under her dark lashes makes me want to surrender everything to her. I’m at her feet now, completely hers.

I wrap my arms around her waist and tip my face to hers. “As long as you answer one question for me: Are you ready to be my wife? Because tonight, you lead. I’m yours, if you’ll have me.”

Even though I won the game, I’m letting her make the first move, because that’s what marriage is. Giving more than you take, making life glorious and beautiful in the most unexpected ways.

She doesn’t answer. She leaps without looking back. She launches herself into my arms, an unspokenyes, I love you. Again and again.

THIRTY-THREE

Epilogue

SLOAN

Our First New Year’s Eve as Husband and Wife

“Why does it look like Santa dropped off his luggage to stay for a week?” Leo barks when he spies three suitcases and a giant box stacked in the back hall.

The leftover decorations are still twinkling from Christmas as we gear up for tonight’s festivities. Since the team spends Christmas with their families, we always celebrate the holidays together on New Year’s Eve.

“Not Santa. Someone cuter,” I say, as the chime of the oven timer cuts through the rowdy crowd playing holiday charades in the dining room. I flip on the interior oven light to check that the Christmas bread knots are puffy and golden, the white glaze melting over them like snow on a mountaintop. I pull them out of the oven, eyeing the clock. Not long until midnight and barely enough time to prepare Leo for our mystery houseguest.

The fresh rolls are heavy on the cinnamon and vanilla and fill the house with the glorious scent of home. Lights twinkle around the windows and a fat, slightly misshapen Christmas tree fills the corner of the living room, its branches weighed down by teal, red,and gold balls, the Crushers’ colors. The fire crackles in the fireplace as overcrowded stockings line the mantel. This year, Jaz decided to gift the entire team Crushers’ stockings, decorated with the logo and each player’s number.

When we first bought the house and rented out rooms to a few hockey players, we hosted a New Year’s Eve party, complete with ridiculous holiday games and toasts at midnight. It’s become an annual tradition now, along with most of the team, a few friends, and some staff crammed into the dining room, picking the buffet clean like vultures. They’re tossing out outlandish guesses for charades—things like “Santa stuck in a chimney” and “Mrs. Claus wrestling a reindeer.” And, in true Crushers’ fashion, the competitiveness makes it feel like we’re one big, dysfunctional family.

In the background, Elvis bemoans his “Blue Christmas,” and Dad nurses a Christmas mule drink next to the fire, discussing the best Christmas movies with Tate.

“I likeIt’s a Wonderful LifeandA Christmas Story,” Dad says.

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