Southern Gentleman (Charleston Heat 3)

“I think it happened all at once. Fortunately, there’s no separating one from the other when it comes to Luke.”

“The Luke Lady Dagger claims its last victim,” Olivia says.

We spend the morning and part of the afternoon in the suite. Chatting. Drinking mimosas (mine are, sadly, very light on the champagne) while getting fake eyelashes applied. Generally basking in our love for each other and our shared love for the happy couple.

My heart is so full and swollen it feels tender to the touch. It’s all I can do not to wince whenever I breathe.

The photographers arrive just as we’re finishing up a late lunch. Gracie and I, along with Olivia’s mom and aunt, help her into her dress and shoes.

We board a bus and head thirty minutes west of the city, to Wadmalaw Island where Rodgers’ Farms is located. I’m buzzing with excitement at the prospect of seeing Grey. I’ve been away from him for all of, what, six hours, but I miss him.

I step off the bus when we get to the farm, and there he is. The late afternoon light painting him in gauzy tones.

Greyson.

Standing by the barn door, like he’s waiting for someone. Hands clasped in front of him.

Oozing George Clooney deliciousness in a crisply cut tux. Broad shoulders filling out the jacket to perfection. Satin lapels giving his look an Old Hollywood-meets-hipster vibe. Dark hair combed in a classic swoop to the side.

Just enough scruff to make the insides of my thighs tingle. His scruff always catches me there as he makes his way down to my pussy.

Ford is beside him. A tattoo peeking out of the sleeve of his jacket as he reaches up and runs a hand through his hair. The motion reminds me so much of Greyson. The two of them are different—Ford is warmer, chiller, freer with his thoughts and emotions—but very much alike, too.

As an only child, I can’t help but be intrigued by that. Tickled by it, too.

My eyes move back to Grey. I notice the cut of his tuxedo—the pants especially—is different from the suits he usually wears. It’s…tighter. A bit more daring.

Makes me smile. Small thing, but it still shows Grey’s taking a chance. Putting himself out there.

I love it.

I love him.

I drink him in for a full beat. Heart twirling inside my chest like it’s being spun around the room in a My Romp With the Rogue-style waltz. I can’t believe I just thought those words. I love him.

I can’t believe this is happening. It’s bewildering. And wonderful.

That’s my man right there.

Never in a million years would I have picked him out of a lineup. But I’m pretty damn glad he’s mine.

I move toward him, careful not to let my heels sink into the grass. He turns his head and our eyes meet.

“Hey,” he says, lips parting as his eyebrows shoot up. “Jules, you look stunning. Wow.”

My heart rises. Through my chest, throat. Mouth.

It’s outside my body.

It doesn’t belong to me anymore.

Grey holds it in his hands as he kisses me. As he takes my hand and walks me into the barn, Ford waving us off with a smile. As the two of us marvel at how gorgeous the space is. Modern and romantic and full of character.

The cabinets and countertops look amazing. So does the hardware I selected. Rustic with a modern, sophisticated edge. Layout is spacious without feeling empty. The beams we installed in the ceiling are statement pieces, especially with simple wrought iron chandeliers, decked out with greenery and flowers. A bar is being set up on the massive countertop at the back of the barn. The reclaimed floorboards are just the right amount of roughed up, a perfect counterpoint to the strings of fairy lights and swoops of gauze that hang overhead.

New windows let in the pretty autumn light, bathing everything in shades of amber and gold. People mill around the space, admiring the details, the flowers. The cute programs, bound in green ribbon, that dot the long benches at the front of the barn.

I’m smiling so hard my face aches.

I look at Grey. He looks back.

“Your work is magic, you know,” he says. “This place is fucking unbelievable.”

Nudging him with my elbow, I reply, “You’re the one who gave Luke’s business a fighting chance. This is your work, too. Although mine is clearly more beautiful. Especially when it’s been zhuzh-ed up by a team of wedding planners and florists.”

He grins. Blue eyes lighting up. “I’m proud of you, Jules.”

“I’m proud of us.”

“You think Charlie Brown is, too?”

I curl my hands around his neck and pull him in for a kiss. His hands go to my waist, his thumbs working small, soft arcs across the just-barely-there swell of my abdomen.

“I think Charlie Brown is a lucky kid to have parents like us. She’s going to be just fine.”