Page 64 of The King's Fake Bride

“She was, and we have her to be thankful for.” I reach into the picnic basket and pull out a plate of little custard tarts. “And she made these. Dropped them off this morning while you were working. She told me that you deserve to be spoiled.”

“As if you don’t do that already.” Amy rolls her eyes and sits up to pluck one of the tarts from the plate once I get the plastic wrap off.

“Well, I had some time to make up for.”

“I don’t think we need to talk about that tonight, do you?” She groans after taking the first bite of the tart. “This right here is the reason why I’m doing a dessert bar and bakery instead of a café. Beatriz would put me out of business.”

Chuckling, I stretch out on the sand beside her as streaks of pink and orange dance across the sky. “So, after one year of marriage, are you still as happy as you used to be?”

“Happier.”

She shifts closer to me, putting her head on my shoulder.

I run my hands up and down the curve of her waist. “I keep thinking about what would’ve happened if we met another way. Maybe we would’ve crossed paths in New Jersey sometime.”

Amy hums. “It could’ve happened. I was working at a fancy hotel. Maybe you would’ve stayed there sooner or later. It’s possible that you could’ve wandered your way into the kitchen and found the lowly pastry chef getting chewed out by her boss.”

“And then I would’ve come swooping in to rescue you.” I smirk and kiss the corner of her mouth. “I believe that we were always going to meet. I couldn’t do half the things I’ve done in the last year without you.”

“You’re only saying that because Cora and I worked together to convince Stavros and Meri that they should retire to their castle in Scotland.”

Laughing, I hold her a little closer. “That’s only part of it.”

“I forgot about the sad orphan story. It wouldn’t be nearly as moving without both of us telling it every chance we get.”

“And there it is,” I say, my tone dripping with sarcasm. “There is the real reason I married you. For convincing orphan stories to get more money for charities at fundraisers.”

She laughs and sits up. “I knew it. Maybe we should get remarried. This time we can come up with a new reason, like my beating you in races to the tree.”

I sit up beside her, reaching into the basket and pulling out a bottle of champagne and the containers of food the kitchen prepared for us. “I don’t think that’s going to happen, but you can keep dreaming, Ames.”

“That’s not what I’m dreaming of.”

Scoffing, I grab her by the chin again and pull her back to me. “If you keep that up, you’re going to end up with sand in places that sand really doesn’t belong.”

Her eyes dance with amusement. “That a threat or a promise?”

“Always a promise when it comes to you.”

I pop the top off the bottle of champagne, the foam pouring over my hand before I haul out two glasses to go with it.

Amy leans forward and takes the top of the container off the roast chicken with a lemon and hot honey sauce. She picks a piece of the skin off, nibbling at it while I pour a glass of champagne.

“None for me,” she says when I go to hand her the glass.

I arch an eyebrow and take a sip. “It’s good. Your favorite and still bubbly.”

“Well, I hear it’s a bad idea to drink when you’re pregnant, so it’s probably for the best that I don’t.”

“What?”

She laughs and gets up, walking a little up the beach to where our tent and bags are. It takes her a couple minutes to root for something before she comes back with a little present.

“This is for you.” She sets the present in my lap with a broad smile, sitting down beside me.

I hand her the glass of champagne to hold. “Hold on, back to the baby thing.”

“Nope. I’m not saying anything else until you open your present.”

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