Whiskey Moon

“I always wanted you.” He kisses the top of my head.

“That’s not the point,” I say. “Is it better to love and not be loved in return, or is it better to love someone knowing you can never be together.”

“They’re equally awful in my book.”

My heart hasn’t been this full in forever, yet it’s painfully heavy at the same time. I can’t stop thinking about everything he gave up and all the loneliness and longing he must’ve felt … and then be forced to bottle it up and keep it inside?

At some point, I’ll have to go home and get my things, which means facing my father. I haven’t thought about what I’m going to say in great detail yet, but I’ll make it clear under no uncertain terms that if he so much as thinks about selling the farm out from under the Buchanans over this, I’ll never forgive him.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask him because it’s a little too quiet in here.

“New York,” he answers without pause.

My mouth tugs at one side. “Oh, yeah? What about it?”

Wyatt runs his finger down my arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps.

“I was thinking I’d like to see it someday,” he says.

Rolling to my stomach, I rest my chin on top of my hand. “Come with me Tuesday.”

He begins to say something but stops himself.

“I’m serious,” I say. “I’ll give you the grand tour of the city, take you to all of the best restaurants, and at night, we can fall asleep to the soothing sounds of drunk tourists and firetruck sirens.”

Not to mention, if I’m going to uproot my life in the city, I have a handful of loose ends to tie. I’ll need to give my boss at the restaurant a proper notice, talk to my agent, make sure everything is kosher with Giada and that my rent is paid through the end of August …

His tranquil gaze rests on mine, and he sweeps a lock of hair from my forehead. “Only if you introduce me to your friends Carrie and Big.”

I give him a playful punch. “Someone’s got jokes tonight.”

He smirks, pulling me on top of him, slicking his palms down my thighs and drinking me in without a shred of guilt in his sparkling aquamarine irises. It lets me know everything’s going to be okay.

I dip down, teasing my mouth over his before tasting my arousal on his tongue.

“I can’t believe you’re mine again,” he says.

“I was always yours.” I kiss him again. And again. Until my lips are swollen and numb. And then I kiss him once more. “You never did tell me what you wished for that night at the Whiskey Moon … the one that never came true.”

“I don’t want to jinx it,” he says. “It’s not in the bag yet. Not officially.”

I peer down my nose, my lips bunched at the side. “Hmm.”

Squeezing my ass, he presses my hips onto his growing hardness.

“Again?” I ask. “We literally just finished twenty minutes ago—not that I’m complaining.”

“I’ve got a decade of missing you to make up for,” he says.

“Or you could spend the rest of your life making it up to me,” I say. “You know, since you promised …”

The playfulness leaves Wyatt’s face in an instant, and he sits up, keeping me in his lap and commanding me with the intensity in his eyes.

“Marry me, Blaire,” he says. “Ten years ago, I promised I’d wait for you. Now, I’d wait a lifetime for you if I had to … but now that I don’t have to, I can’t wait another minute. I don’t—"

“—shh.” I press my finger against his lips. “You had me at marry me, Blaire.”

With that, I kiss my first love, my only love, my future husband, my best friend, my person, and my forever.

“I love you so damn much,” he says.

“I love you too.”

36

Wyatt

* * *

“Wyatt, what are you doing here?” Oliver Abbott answers his front door Monday morning. I waited until Blaire was occupied with Mama in the garden before breaking off and heading this way to have a word with this twisted bastard.

I promised myself I’d keep it civil, as I’m clearly the bigger person here and I’m sure this piece of shit would love nothing more than to have me thrown in the slammer.

He steps outside, closing the door behind him—not that I expected an invitation inside.

“Where’s my daughter?” He peers over my shoulder.

“She’s not ready to talk to you yet,” I say. “I came to get her bags.”

Oliver scoffs. “I’m not giving you a damn thing.”

“Blaire knows everything,” I say. “And believe me when I say, this woman idolized you. She had you on a pedestal.” I lift my hand above my head before pinching my fingers together. “And now you’re about this big to her.”

His pompous expression fades.