Page 150 of Runaway Bride and Prejudice

Van flinches. I curl my fingers around his shoulder, squeezing.

“That’s not how it works,” Dad says, shaking his head. “Marriage takes time, and love is hard work and it’s?—”

I cut him off. “That’s not what you raised me to believe.”

“Excuse me?”

“You always told me about how you and Mom fell in love. You were friends first, and it grew into something more.”

“Exactly,” Dad says, stabbing a finger into his desk. “Over time.”

“But you also said everyone has their own love story waiting to be told. If that’s true then why can’tthisbe my story?” I flip my palm and lace my fingers through Van’s, offering him a shy smile. “Ourstory.”

“But he?—”

I hold up my other hand. “Stop. I won’t let you disparage him. As I said before, you don’t know him as well as you think. You see a part, not a whole.”

“You really think you know him better than I do?”

“Yes.” Firm. Concise. Sure.

I silently will my father not to press me for details. Somehow, I doubt he would want me to categorize all the ways I know Van better than he does.

Van gets it. I know from the way he tilts his head, faking a sneeze to hide a laugh.

Thankfully, Dad moves in another direction.

“You’re sure this is what you want? Being withhimtil death do you part?” Dad chokes a little. “Raising babies together?”

Van chokes a little too.

“I’m … not totally sure about all the details, though that’s definitely an important point to cover. For the future,” I say, looking at Van. “No babies today.”

“Good,” he says, then gives me a little smirk that I swear tells me he’s thinking about themaking babiespart of babies. I squeeze his hand hard enough to make the smirk disappear.

“I mean, I’m scared. I have doubts. I have questions,” I say. “There are things to figure out.”

“You barely know him,” Dad protests, circling back to this argument.

I smile at Van again. Wait—did Istopsmiling at him? “In some ways, you’re right—I barely know him. Which makes this more exciting than it is terrifying. I’llgetto know him. But I already know enough. I’m all in.”

This is said more for Van’s sake than my father’s. And I wish I were saying it alone, but I think it actually may mean more to him being said this way, in front of my father.

“Sir, I’d like to say—” Van starts.

But my dad interrupts.

“If you’re going to try to convince me your worthy of my daughter?—”

Van barks out a laugh. “I wouldnevertry to convince you of that. I’m absolutelynotworthy of her. I’ll never be.”

“For once, we agree on something,” Dad says dryly. But there’s a little spark in his eyes that makes a matching tiny spark bloom in my chest.

It’s not quite a baby step. What’s smaller than that? A baby … crawl? A scoot?

“It’s a good start, wouldn’t you say?” Van says.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself there, son.” Dad’s eyes go wide the moment the word son leaves his mouth. So do Van’s. “I didn’t mean to call you son likesonson. Literally son—or son-in-law. It was just an expression!”

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