Page 96 of Bookworm and the Beast
“I saw that. But I didn’t get a chance to read it.”
“Not talking about that story—this one. Our story.”
I gave him a tremulous smile, blinking back another round of tears. “We have a story?”
“We do. It started when a brave, beautiful girl entered the home of a beast.”
“And how does it end?”
“Hopefully about sixty or seventy years from now, holding hands in our sleep. Will you marry me, Bonnie? Will you be my wife, my inspiration, and my happy ending till death do us part?”
I nodded and kissed him again, smiling mischievously.
“Hmmm… I think I’ll make you wait for the last chapter to find out.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Last Chapter
Bonnie
I sank into the hot, sudsy water up to my neck, stretching my toes and fingertips out and enjoying the luxurious spaciousness of the deep garden tub.
Jack came in and adjusted the flame in the bath-side fireplace, turning it up higher.
“You look pretty happy in there,” he said.
“I am happy. I’ve got all my favorite things in one room—a crackling fireplace, a fabulous bathtub, and a gorgeous view of the ocean.”
“You forgot to mention the world’s hottest husband.”
“Yes, and that, too. That most of all.”
The spring wedding had taken place in the rose garden. Jack had picked the roses for my bouquet himself.
In keeping with his private nature, it had been a small affair with just family and close friends in attendance.
My father had looked regal in his new navy tuxedo. Charlotte, Erin, and my sister Rachel had been my bridesmaids.
Jack’s brother Hunter, who had the same incredible turquoise eyes but a devilish grin all his own, was the best man.
Monsieur Laplume had been in his glory planning and preparing a feast fit for a royal wedding. I’d never seen so much food or tasted anything so good.
Jack had surprised us all by inviting his father to attend the ceremony. Jack had been going to Al-Anon meetings and had begun dealing with some of the more difficult emotional consequences of growing up with an alcoholic parent.
I couldn’t say it had been a pleasure to meet the bitter, haggard-looking man, but I was proud of Jack for facing the hurts of his childhood and conquering them one by one. I would be there to help him in any way possible. And seeing his father’s behavior for myself helped me understand more clearly just how much Jack and his younger brother had overcome.
Since then, life had been like a dream. For the past few months, I’d written in the library daily, working remotely for the Review and completing my own second novel—a modern day re-telling of Beauty and the Beast.
It was the one that had gotten me an agent and a contract, and Jack liked to claim credit for all the “authentic detail” he’d inspired in the love scenes.
“I hate to say it, but you’re going to have to cut your nightly soak a little short or we’ll miss our dinner reservations at the Cliffhouse,” he said. “It’s not every day you get to celebrate your very first publishing deal.”
I beamed up at him. “I know. I will. I really appreciate you making the reservation. Just a few more minutes?”
A wicked gleam entered Jack’s eyes. He started unbuttoning his shirt. Pulling it off, he revealed the fit, muscular body I would never grow tired of looking at.
He dropped the shirt on the floor. It was quickly followed by the rest of his clothing.
