Page 92 of The Bitter Heir and the Beauty

“Funny like?—?”

She bites her lip. “Like you keep looking over your shoulder or?—”

Just then, a car honks. I startle and blurt, “I’d hoped to get one of those giant bows, but they didn’t have one available.”

Her forehead furrows. “What are you talking about, Maddock?”

Taking Honey’s hand, I say, “Let me show you.”

Outside, the driver from the dealership hands me the keys to a Porsche Cayenne, their version of an SUV. “I thought it was time for a sensible family vehicle.”

Her jaw lowers, her lips part, and she inhales sharply. “Maddock, you didn’t.”

I pass her the keys. “I did, Hotcakes. I’m not telling you not to drive the Spyder, but Leonie likes this model better.”

Honey runs her hand along the edge of the hood, admiring the vehicle, then she leaps into my arms.

Leaning back, she asks, “This is for us?”

I nod, unable to suppress my smile at the sight of hers.

“Thank you.” Honey dive bombs me with a kiss, lots of kisses, right here on the street.

When we part, I say, “Hop in.”

She slides into the driver’s seat like a pro. “Okay, but where are we going?”

“I was thinking we could head over to the clock tower.”

She points. “We could just walk there.”

“Let’s drive.”

She laughs and puts the Porsche into gear. I get a running commentary of all the features, which suggests she’s somewhat familiar with this model, considering she’s a big fan of the make.

When we reach the clock tower, I glance up. It’s still set to the wrong time, but we’ll soon be doing something about that.

Even though I’m in the passenger seat, I get out and open Honey’s door. Taking her hand, I stand in the same place we did a week ago.

She looks at me quizzically. Taking a deep breath, I say, “We got off to a stormy start, but the past doesn’t matter as much as our future and I want one with you.” I lower onto my knee and add, “Will you marry me, Honey?”

Her hand flies over her mouth and she says something. Her eyes shine and her head bobbles.

Concerned, I say, “Hotcakes, I can’t hear you.”

Taking her hand off her mouth, she says, “I was screaming. Sorry. I didn’t want anyone to call the sheriff. Yes, the answer is yes, I’ll marry you.”

I slide the ring on her finger. Again, we hug and I spin her around.

“Okay, but I need to sit down,” she says. “I can’t believe—” she stares at the engagement band. “Is this where?—?”

Unable to get out full sentences, I’ve never seen Honey so ruffled. Usually, she’s the picture of composure.

“Leonie helped me narrow down the choices,” I say, getting into the driver’s seat.

The Porsche handles well as I drive down Main Street and onto Metairie Road.

Honey only looks up from her dual study of the ring and the interior of the car when we get to Marais Way. “What are we doing here?”

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