Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 52355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
“Ladies and gentleman, may I present Mr. and Mrs. Colby Harrison,” Cal says.
At that moment, a fireworks display begins. As planned, Mila gives me a shocked look and I kiss her and wink. Quentin and I coordinated this “surprise” fireworks show from me to her, but it was her idea. She leans against me, playing her part like a pro.
When the excitement of the fireworks comes to an end, I raise Mila’s hand in the air and everyone cheers. I glance at Heath and he looks so damn happy that guilt stabs me in the gut. But he’s the last person I want finding out this isn’t real.
I take Mila behind the stairwell door, where she grins at me and leans in close.
“We did it,” she whispers.
“We did.”
“How do you feel?”
I have no idea how to answer that. All I can think about is the way she’s looking at me, both warmth and happiness swimming in her eyes. If I’m doing half as well at pretending as she is, no one will doubt we’re crazy about each other.
“Good,” I say. “Yeah, good, how about you?”
“Great, other than having to see that hellbeast Elle Lawrence at my own wedding.”
There’s the real Mila. She and Ford’s girlfriend have a strong mutual dislike for each other, but I wasn’t about to tell him he couldn’t bring her tonight.
“Look at you, though,” I say. “If you have to see her, at least you look like a queen.”
“I do, don’t I?”
“You do.”
“We should get back out there.”
“Hey, are you taking my last name?”
Her jaw drops. “Uh…no. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, I just wanted to know.”
She takes in a deep breath and lets it out. “Okay, game face.”
Quentin spared no expense on our celebration dinner, which we eat at circular tables already set up in a corner of the rooftop area. We have shrimp cocktail, filet mignon, sushi, and several sides. As soon as we finish eating, Mila and I have our first dance, and she melts into my arms like it’s the most natural fit in the world.
“You smell good,” I say in her ear.
“Thank you. And um, not to make things awkward, but there’s something pressing against my stomach, and…”
I laugh softly. “Sorry. Like I said, you look good and smell good, and I’m a man, so…”
“Okay, well…” She laughs lightly. “Thanks?”
After a couple of dances, the photographer takes Mila and I to the other side of the roof for photos, and when we return to our guests, Quentin is standing next to a silver rolling cart with a large domed cover.
“Mr. and Mrs. Harrison, I present to you your wedding cake!”
It’s a two-tier chocolate cake with raspberry filling, which Mila chose and I agreed to. Cake is cake.
“Holy hell,” Quentin mutters, giving Mila a frantic look.
There’s a silver-tinted letter “M” pressed into the top of the cake where a plastic bride and groom would normally go.
“Where’s the C?” Quentin demands at one of the catering assistants. “It’s supposed to have a C and an M.”
My teammates snicker and elbow each other. I ignore it because I’m man enough to stand beside a woman as strong as Mila. And honestly, it is kind of funny since Mila is known for being strong and independent.
“It’s a good thing my name’s not Steve,” I murmur to Mila. “We’d have an S and M wedding cake.”
She laughs. It’s a real, full-throated laugh that makes me smile. And then she walks over to the cake, pulls out the letter “M” and sets it down on a nearby plate.
I join her and together, we cut the first piece of cake. She puts a small first bite on a fork and feeds it to me, glowing with happiness. I do the same for her, and the moment feels right for a kiss, so I give her a soft one.
“Time for cake and drinks?” she murmurs against my lips.
“Absolutely.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mila
Turns out weddings are exhausting. By the time Colby and I get to my place with a bag of fast-food burritos, it’s almost one in the morning.
“Didn’t we say no gifts?” he says, a stack of cards from our guests in hand.
“People never listen.”
I turn on the lights as we walk into my penthouse apartment and Colby gives a low whistle.
“What a dump,” he cracks.
When I bought the Coyotes and moved to Denver, this apartment wasn’t for sale. It was close to our arena at the time and I wanted it, so I offered the owner a price he couldn’t refuse. Then I had the place gutted and renovated.
Now it’s wide open, with rich dark wood floors and white walls displaying decorative pieces by Russian artists. I collect paintings from my native country, keeping what isn’t displayed in a secure, climate-controlled storage so I can rotate pieces in and out and keep adding to my collection.