“You didn’t need to propose again,” she said.
“I get the feeling there’s going to be a lot of negotiation during our marriage. And I’m here for it. But you need to understand one thing that’s not negotiable: I’m going to give you more than you need.”
Her cheeks reddened to the shade of her lips. “Being with you, I already feel like the luckiest woman ever. I don’t need anything more.” Her palms skated up my back. It felt so good to have her in my arms. For good this time.
Warmth gathered in my chest. So many seeming coincidences had conspired to bring us to this moment, and I was grateful for each one of them. I had accepted Arthur’s invitation before knowing what the charity was. I had stepped out to take a call. Parker had run into me like a freight train—physically and metaphorically. Every time fate could have torn us apart, it brought us closer together. With Parker, I was stronger; together, we were unbreakable. No matter what life threw at us, I had a feeling that would never change.
Epilogue
Ten Days Later
Parker
I laughed to myself as I went into the bedroom from where Tristan had just called me. He was lying down and his feet were dangling over the edge of my bed. He was too tall for his own good.
“We need to have a conversation,” he said.
“About how ridiculously tall you are?” I replied.
He rolled over, propped his head up on this hand, and patted the bed in front of him. “About logistics.”
I’d been expecting him to say this. We’d been squeezed into my Maida Vale flat for the last ten days and it was just too small for the both of us.
I slid onto the bed next to him. “You’re right. We should move back to your place.” I don’t know why I hadn’t said something sooner. I just knew that when I moved out of this place, I’d never move back. I supposed I’d been saying goodbye these last ten days.
“I’m not so sure,” he replied.
“You want to stay here?”
“No. But at the same time, I don’t want you just to move into my place. I think we should get something that neither of us have lived in before.”
He was impossibly thoughtful. “That’s a nice idea. Where were you thinking?”
“I’m not sure I have a preference,” he replied. “Let’s start thinking about it. But in the meantime, can we go back to Notting Hill so I can get a good night’s sleep?”
“I think that sounds like a good idea.”
“And another thing, Cream Puff . . .” He grinned as he spoke, delighted at the nickname he’d coined for me. I wouldn’t ever tell him, but I thought it was cute that he thought back to the first time we ever met every time he used it.
“Another thing? What more can you possibly want from me?” I flopped my arm over my forehead like a fainting maiden in an historical romance.
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a check.
“Who uses checks anymore?” I asked.
“Me. I can’t make electronic transfers from this account.”
“What’s it for?”
He pushed the check into my hand, but before I had a chance to see who it was made out to, he said, “It’s a joint decision, but I thought we should give ten percent of our net income to your charity.”
I reached out to stroke his cheek. “That’s so nice.”
I glanced at the check and then looked more carefully. “You can’t be serious. You’re giving Sunrise . . . five hundred thousand pounds?”
“No,” he replied. “We’re giving Sunrise ten percent of my net income. I figured your salary was a little lost in the rounding.”
I sat bolt upright. “You’re telling me you earned—wait, that’s an insane amount of money.”
“What?” he asked. “You thought I was poor?”
“No, but this is a lot of money.”
“Right, which is why I’m discussing it with you.” He sat up and pulled me onto his lap. “I don’t want to do anything you don’t think is right, so if you’d prefer to split it among a few good causes or—”
I turned in his lap and pressed my lips to his. “How did you get to be such a kind and generous man?”
“I’m inspired by you,” he said without missing a beat. “You’ve made me reevaluate almost everything in my life. Including what I do with my money. Although not on the interior design front. Your taste is . . . awful.” He glanced over at the rabbit lamp on my bedside table.
I prodded him in the stomach. “It’s eclectic.”
“I can’t do eclectic.” His hand shot into his hair the way he did when he was anxious about something.
“Hey,” I said, my finger rubbing over his eyebrow. “If it bothers you that much, you can design the entire place, wherever we end up.”