Page 89 of Hunter

“I’m not,” he says. “It feels pretty even to me. Fair. A good compromise for us and our families. One I’m happy to make.”

“Will Parker, Sawyer, and Reeve ever forgive me for taking you away?”

“They’ll have to.” He shrugs, trying to look nonchalant, though a twitching muscle in his jaw betrays less confidence than he projects. “How about your family? Will they forgive me for taking you away this summer and next?”

I mimic his shrug. “They’ll have to.”

He reaches for my hand, entwining his fingers through mine in a sweet act of solidarity. We ride that way in companionable silence until we’re home.

***

“Give me a hint!” I demand as we wait outside my condo for an Uber to pick us up.

“No way,” he says. “It’s our first date night in Seattle, and you promised I could plan it.”

“I know,” I say, smoothing the skirt of my navy-blue cocktail dress. “But I’m not used to dressing up. You’ve got me curious!”

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” he says, kissing my forehead tenderly. “You look completely gorgeous, baby.”

Ifeelcompletely gorgeous, if not a tiny bit sore. Even though he must have been exhausted after three flights that took over twelve hours and got him here late this morning, we had sex four times after getting to my condo. In a handful of hours, we’ve already christened the kitchen, the living room, my bedroom, and one of the bathroom showers. So yes, I’m a little achy now, but I welcome that feeling; I love feeling—in every possible way—like I belong to Hunter Stewart.

The Uber picks us up, and he waits for me to slide into the back seat before joining me. Because he’s arranged our destination with the driver, I still have no idea where we’re headed, though we’re moving north, so it looks like we’re going to downtown Seattle.

Fifteen minutes later, we pull up to the special valet parking area reserved for patrons of the Loupe Lounge, located on top of Seattle’s most iconic landmark, the Space Needle.

I turn to him when the car stops. “We need reservations.”

“We have them,” he says, grinning at me. “Have you ever been to the top?”

“Of course,” I say. “But never to the lounge! It’s super expensive and fancy!”

He opens his door and jumps out, then opens my door for me.

“Are you impressed?” he asks, helping me from the car.

He got his hair cut, as promised, and is wearing khaki slacks, a starched, white button-down shirt, and a navy blazer—he’s so handsome, I can’t believe he’s mine.

“Absolutely!” I tell him, lifting one stiletto-heeled foot as I kiss him.

As our car drives away, he takes my hand and leads me to the VIP check-in reserved for patrons of Loupe. A glass elevator takes us up to the glass floored, 360° rotating cocktail bar and restaurant 500 feet over the city of Seattle.

When we arrive, it feels like we’re on top of the world, the lights of Seattle twinkling like gemstones at our feet. It takes my breath away, it’s so stunning.

We’re led to a table by the windows, where a bottle of champagne is chilling in a silver ice bucket. Once we are seated, the waiter pours us each a glass, then leaves us alone.

“Hunter! This is beautiful!”

“It’s perfect. Just like you.”

He holds up his champagne flute, like he wants to make a toast.

“What did I do to deserve you?” I ask.

“You gave us a second chance,” he says, his voice deep and earnest. His blue eyes seize mine. “Isabella…”

He puts his flute back on the table and takes a deep breath. Before I can fully process what he’s doing, he slides from his chair onto the floor. On one knee, looking up at me, he reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a small black velvet box with “Freya’s” written in gold script on top.

I gasp, my eyes filling with tears as I finally realize what’s happening.

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