Page 195 of Never Fall for an Angel

I can’t help but smile when he starts back down the path, heading to God only knows where.

He walks for a few minutes before he comes to a stop, turning and placing me on my feet before he covers my eyes again and pulls me against his chest.

Once he’s got me situated where he wants me, he leans down, pressing his lips at my ear. Goosebumps rise on my flesh at the brush of his warm breath in the cool, damp September air.

“Happy anniversary, baby.”

I open my mouth to tell him our “anniversary” isn’t for another two months when he removes his hands, and I fall silent.

The house looks like it was constructed with the earth. Like the land was built around it. If it weren’t for the modern architecture and the glow of the warm light from within, I’d be sure it wasn’t real.

I look up at Christian and find him watching me.

“You bought a house?”

“We bought ahouse,” he corrects, taking my hand with my ring on it. His thumb circles the stone before he raises it to his lips.

“When did you buy this?”

“A few years ago. For all intents and purposes, I lived here, but we both know my life was back in LA. Think of it as a wedding present.”

The way he says it likeIwas his life and not the job he did, makes my heart swell.

He watches me carefully, like I might run at any moment.

“You’re the only woman who’s ever been here, Mila . . .”

I wasn’t even considering it, but now, I can’t fight the surge of triumph that courses through me.

“It’s ours?”

He nods once, slowly. “If you like it.”

“Why didn’t you bring me here sooner?”

“Because it wasn’t ready.”

I push away from him and make my way toward the warm, dark wooden door. He follows, his footfalls heavy on the front steps of the porch.

He doesn’t let me get far, though, before stopping and hoisting me back into his arms.

“I can walk, you know?”

He smirks down at me.

“Isn’t it tradition for the groom to carry the bride over their threshold?”

Heat blooms in my cheeks, and I roll my eyes. I can’t hide the smile tugging at the corners of my lips, though.

“You’re the most romantic, non-romantic I’ve ever met.”

He pushes through the front door, carrying me inside. Inside is warm, lit with a low burning fire in the fireplace, and the scent of vanilla warms the air. It’s everything I would expect it to be. Cozy and inviting. Like the cottage on Shipwreck Island if it had been constructed in the last hundred years. The walls of the living room are tall, reaching towards the ceiling with oak panels and a stretch of stone above a large fireplace.

The furniture is warm and something I’d pick out. Even the trees beyond the back are beautiful, adding to the space with the floor-to-ceiling windows that show off the Pacific Northwest wild.

“You can change whatever you want,” Christian murmurs behind me. “And here,” he stalks towards the windows on the far wall. “We can add a greenhouse since I know you liked the one on Shipwreck Island.” He looks back out the window, and butterflies dance across my heart at the nerves radiating beneath his carefully composed exterior.

The only other time I’ve seen him nervous was when he asked me if I wanted to be his wife.

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