He tilted his head, curious. “Why what?”
She leaned in so only he would hear her. “Why do you want to marry me?”
He gave her a sexy grin. “I think we mesh rather well, don’t you? Or do I need to find another mushroom around here to convince you?”
Oh dear lord, now she was blushing. “Meshing’s great. But . . . marriage?”
He nodded.
“Do you . . . love me?” Because she was dizzy with lust over him, but she wasn’t sure if lust was the same thing as love, was it? Had they even been together long enough to figure that out yet?
Loch reached out and took her hand in his. “I do love you, Taylor. I know it’s fast, but . . . I feel like we’re meant to be together. I love everything about you, and you make every day more exciting just by being in it. Will you be my wife?”
She sucked in a breath. He loved her? He felt as goofy over her as she did for him? How was that even possible? She had to be dreaming.
Hell, if she was dreaming, she didn’t want to wake up. Taylor flung herself at him, arms going around his neck. She might have knocked him to the floor and caused his chair to crash backward. It didn’t matter. She kissed him hard, letting him know her answer.
“I think that’s a yes,” someone murmured.
The entire room broke into applause.
Taylor looked up, embarrassed, and slowly detangled her limbs from Loch’s . . . or tried to. She ended up tripping over her long skirts, and he had to help her get to her feet. Once she was standing, he opened the ring box and showed her the enormous diamond and the beautiful band. She gasped and slid it onto her finger, trembling. It was too big, but who cared? It was hers and it was gorgeous.
She kissed Loch again, ecstatic. “I love you, too.”
***
Much later that night, in bed after several rounds of intense, passionate sex, Loch’s back ached from Taylor’s enthusiastic clawing and he stroked her hair as she dozed against him. He was tired, and he should have been able to sleep, but for some reason, he found himself staring at the ceiling.
Do you love me?
He’d been hoisted on his own petard with that simple question. He’d thought he’d been so clever, coming up with the perfect gamer proposal for Taylor that she wouldn’t be able to turn down. He’d had the right ring, the right place, everything. He just hadn’t had the right words.
At that point, he’d felt trapped in the situation. Did he love her? He loved being around her. He loved having sex with her. He loved her funny, exuberant laugh. But he wasn’t sure if that was love love. Not yet. It was too soon.
So he’d lied and reassured her that of course he loved her.
That was the part that was sticking in his craw. He felt like an arse, like he’d been leading her on. The moment the words escaped him, he’d wanted to take them back. Couldn’t they just get married for fun? It wouldn’t bother either of them as much when it was inevitably dissolved. But she’d thrown her arms around his neck and declared that she loved him, too, and then he was trapped in his own lies.
He should have been thrilled—he was getting everything he wanted. He’d marry Taylor, give it a few weeks for the news to trickle back home, and then he’d be able to return home. Taylor would like his house in Bellissime, he was sure. It wasn’t large but it was charming and he had land and horses. She’d like his family, too. They were a little starchy—most royals were—but overall they were good people with warm hearts.
His plan had worked beautifully . . . so why was he staring at the ceiling and feeling like such a jerk? It wasn’t that he didn’t want to marry Taylor at all. He liked her. He liked her a lot, actually. They were perfectly compatible in bed and she always amused him out of it.
But when he closed his eyes, he saw the excited light in her eyes again in that exact moment before she’d flung her arms around him and said yes.
And he felt like an ass all over again.
A sound like a phone buzzing interrupted his thoughts, and he pulled Taylor’s phone off the nightstand, glancing at the screen.
Sigmund: Congrats.
Seeing that lackluster response from Sigmund made him feel worse about the whole thing, and it should have made him feel better.
***
“Home sweet home,” Taylor said as she flopped down on the bed in Loch’s New York hotel room. She twisted her loose ring—now fitted with a wad of tape at the back—and admired it. So pretty. She was so stinking happy.
“Mm,” Loch said, and leaned down to kiss her. “I’d join you in bed but after all those plane rides, I feel like I need to stretch my legs and go jogging.” He nipped her lip and then stood up, frowning. “Just as soon as I remember where my jogging clothes are.”
She giggled. “I think you put them in the first drawer?”
He moved across the room and she rolled over on her side on the bed, stifling a yawn. They’d just gotten back from the convention, and while it had been awesome and lots of fun, she was ready to go home. There was so much to think about now that they were getting married. She glanced down at her ring again, then looked up as Loch pulled out a pair of shorts and began to change. “When should we tell the others we’re getting married?”
“I suppose we can tell them after we do it.” He glanced back at her. “I’d like to get married sooner rather than later.”
“Really?” That was a little surprising, but her heart pitter-patted anyhow. “Because you can’t wait?”
“Don’t see the point in waiting. I’m ready to move forward now.”