Page 90 of No More Billionaires

“This is Kenley Carpenter, our assistant producer on Overstreet Live and also the love of my life. Say hi, Kenley.”

I gave the camera a bewildered glance and raised a weak hand.

Larson addressed the lens with a rueful smile. “Kenley told me she wouldn’t take my money if I begged her on bended knee.”

Turning away from the camera, he looked into my eyes. “I hope you’ll change your mind, because that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

He dropped to one knee on the set.

“I’m asking you to have me—andeverything that’s mine—asking you to forgive me for not trusting what my heart knew was true. You were right. I can’t change the name I was born with, or the fortune I didn’t ask for, or the things that happened in my past. They’re all part of my life. But I’m through letting them run my life. And Iwon’tlet them drive you away. I’m asking you to take me just as I am, obscene wealth and all.”

Now I really was crying. But not answering. Larson didn’t seem to mind. He was on a roll.

“Kenley Carpenter,willyou take this man, Larson Overstreet for richer or… richer still…” He grinned.

I nodded and picked up his sentence, speaking through tears. “…in sickness and health, on camera and off, to love and to cherish. I will… but I have a condition.”

“What is it?” He beamed at me.

I swiped at my wet face, laughing a little now.

“Will you take me… for thinner or thicker, for good hair or bed head, in makeup and without, as long as we both shall live?”

He rose and took me in his arms, laughing with me. Lifting me so that our faces were even, he said, “I will. I do want you just as you are, whatever that may look like, for the rest of our lives. Ibelievein you. I love you, Kenley.”

“And I love you, Richie Rich.”

The audio guy must have turned on the producer’s mic in the booth because the studio was filled with clapping and cheering as we kissed.

Deb’s voice rose above them all. “I told you! I told you!”

The floor director said, “And we’re out.”

He pulled off his headphones and walked toward us, offering Larson a handshake.

“I’ll say this for ya. You sure do know how to kick off a ratings period.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

Invitation

“Oh my God. Larson, it’s here! Look.”

I handed him the heavy cream-colored card embossed with a beautiful magnolia design.

“Oh—Heidi and Aric’s wedding. Do I get to be your plus-one?”

“You—” I said, giving his lips a light peck, “are myonlyone. And thank God they know better than to hold it during sweeps. Wait till you experience East Georgia in June. It’ll sweat all the Yankee right out of you.”

He laughed. “There’s not much left. Mom accuses me of talking like a southern gentleman thanks to your influence—not that she’s complaining. She’s having too much fun designingyourdress.”

“We don’t even have a date yet. What if I gain two hundred pounds between now and the wedding?”

He got up from his barstool and came around to my side of the counter, grabbing me from behind and squeezing me around the middle.

“Then we’ll just wrap you up in one of your bed sheets and let you walk down the aisle in that instead.”

He pulled me tighter against his body and his mouth went to the side of my neck where he spoke between kisses.

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