Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 109783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
I didn’t need to think about it.
“Yes.” I nodded, tears spilling quick and fast down my cheeks. “Yes.”
Fyfe slipped the ring onto my finger and I barely had time to look at it before he scooped me into his arms, kissing me hard and hungrily, swinging me around as if I weighed nothing. We knocked off his glasses we kissed so hard.
He eventually lowered me but only to clasp my face in his hands and kiss me more reverently, gently, like I was the most precious thing in the world. “I love you so much,” he whispered gruffly against my lips. “I can’t wait until I can call you Mrs. Moray.”
I clung to him, my fingers curling in his shirt to pull him closer, deeper. “I love you.”
Fyfe released me to press his forehead to mine. “I’ve had that ring burning a hole in my pocket for six months.”
I reared back. “What? No way!”
He nodded. “I wanted it to be perfect, so I kept planning all these proposals and none of them felt right. Then I realized that it didn’t need to be some grand thing … and that I just wanted you to be mine.”
“This was perfect,” I promised him. “Fyfe, this is our home. It’s where our family lives. It’s perfect.” I wriggled my fingers, watching the diamond sparkle beautifully in the light. The ring was classic, elegant, no fuss or frills, and so me. “The ring is perfect too.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“I love it.” I beamed at him. “Millie will love it too. Her mumma and dada are getting married. She can be our flower girl.”
Cuddling me close, Fyfe brushed the hair off my face and asked, “Small or big wedding?”
“Small. By the loch on my uncle’s estate. He’ll close it off for a private event.”
“Sounds great. Can he do that next month?”
“What? Why?”
“Because I don’t want to wait to call you my wife.”
“Then don’t.” I tugged on his shirt with a sexy smirk before taking him by the hand to lead him upstairs. “Marriage is just a piece of paper, after all.”
“I like the way you think, Eilidh Moray.”
A delicious shiver skated down my spine. “Then come, husband. Make love to your wife.” My sudden squeals of laughter could be heard through the house as Fyfe lunged, chasing me upstairs to our bedroom.
Hours later, replete and so blissed out with happiness I couldn’t speak, I lay in my husband-to-be’s arms and considered how different life was now. How just a few short years ago, I’d felt so lost, wandering the world without an anchor.
Because it was here. With Fyfe. In the Highlands.
Waiting for me to find him. To find myself.
To find our forever together.
****