Page 82 of Mischievous Lies

I pepper kisses all over her face. This beautiful fucking woman. All mine. Every bit of her. I’ll give her everything, knowing that she chose me. This beautiful goddess of a womanwho can literally bring any man to their knees, and she’s chosen me.

“Promise me you won’t tell anyone yet,” she says, holding her pinkie up.

I groan as I throw back my head. “That’s torture, lover.” But when I look at her again, she’s smiling.

“Trust me, it’ll be worth it.”

I wrap my thick pinkie around her delicate one because no matter what, it always feels like it’s us against the world —mischievously getting up to no good.

“Then I guess this is a good time to bring this out,” I say, setting her back on the chair so I can drop to one knee. I fish out the ring from my back pocket, my heart falling for a moment when I think I’ve lost it. But it’s still there, thank fuck.

Her hands go to her mouth.

I pull out the yellow diamond engagement ring, and tears begin to spill down her cheeks. My smile wavers as I can’t help but notice that dust has somehow found its way into my eyes as well.

“Ivy Walker, will you do me the honor of first and foremost becoming my wife, then being the mother of my children?”

“How long have you been carrying that around?” she squeaks as she stares at the ring in disbelief.

“I’ve been carrying it around since the day I told you I loved you,” I confess. I knew then that Ivy was definitely the one for me, and I wasn’t going to let her slip through my fingers. Up until now, I’d just been waiting for the right moment. But every ordinary moment felt perfect, then I’d accidentally fuck her instead, and it began this fabulous cycle of not getting down on one knee. “You kind of haven’t said yes,” I nervously remind her.

She bursts out into laughter. “Yes, you big oaf,” she says against my lips, and I feel the wave of relief pass through me as I take her breath as my own. Finally, she’s mine.

Not that she ever had much of a choice in the matter.

Her hand is shaking as I slide the ring onto her finger. I can’t stop kissing her. Can’t stop breathing in her scent and that of the fresh rain that seeps through.

I never imagined this for myself, only offering myself brief daydreams of someone accepting me so completely. But I should’ve known from the start that Ivy was that woman. I had, but I wasn’t ready to admit it then. Wasn’t ready to be the man she needed. But I’ve since grown to meet her expectations.

A mischievous twinkle dances in her eyes as she says, “Why don’t we have one more prank together?”

CHAPTER 50

Ivy

“Shotgun!” Hawke and I yell together as we gather with our family and friends in our backyard, where an officiant waits underneath a beautiful white arch. Seats with lovely bows tied to them are arranged on the lawn, and an excessive number of flowers are on display.

“Come here,” Anya grits out as she tugs Hawke by the ear and then whispers not so quietly, “I don’t care that you’ve done this, but you didn’t think to tell me first so I could wear better jewelry on the day?”

“Let me have a word with him,” my father is quick to say, and I cringe as Alek Ivanov places his hand on his chest to stop him. He simply shakes his head no. My father looks like he’s going to cry.

“Wow, this is unexpected. But it’s very you, I suppose,” Billie says, giving me a hug and congratulating me.

Ford is with River, the two of them trying to figure out what the fuck is happening. I catch Hawke’s eyes, and he’s grinning like a complete dick. I bite my bottom lip, silently congratulating us on our mischievous lie.

We’d told everyone we were having a barbeque, and everyone was expected to attend. What they weren’t expecting was me tobe wearing a wedding dress and Hawke wearing a suit. Which, might I add, he looks ridiculously handsome in.

“I thought you were going to elope,” Hope says, giving me a hug. I love my friends dearly, but the person I need to creep over to is my father, whose blue eyes are scanning the area, most likely for the closest weapon.

My mother tries to reassure him by patting him on the chest as she whispers to him. Neither of them has noticed I’m behind them, and I catch their conversation.

“He didn’t even ask for my permission,” Dad growls in complaint.

“You gave him your permission when you bet a sixteen-year-old he couldn’t steal your daughter’s heart,” Mom reminds him.

My heart falters. Did I hear that right?

“Little shit,” Dad grumbles as he spots me.

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