Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Throat achy from emotion, I murmured, “Yes, Lachlan MacKenzie. I’ll marry you today.”
And that formidable force swooped down to clasp me into his arms, like a rag doll except infinitely more graceful. This man, my man, was strength without threatening. He’d subdued his power for my sake. Always did and always would.
“Tonight,” I said, “overlooking the lake.”
“Loch Ness? That’s perfect, Tash.”
“I’m gonna try my parents again. And Sima. I have to tell Sima. They’d better answer this time too.” I pulled out my phone—at 50 percent. “Does this place have electricity?”
Lachlan chuckled as he strolled toward the door and pushed a silk drape that covered the wall, showing an outlet. He dug into his duffel bag for an iPhone cord. “Your parents haven’t spoken with you yet? Not even after I fell asleep?”
My hand shook a little. “No. I’m sorry. I’ve left a ton of voicemails. I don’t know why―”
“We’ll get through to them. Maybe they’re traveling here.” He cleared his throat, not finishing that statement with words of war. “We explain, then get married.”
If the world were perfect. I sat in a paisley lounger, then dialed Pop, next Momma. I was restless hearing Vass’s voicemail. Last, I tried Simona.
“Girl, why won’t you people answer me?” I’d called her once this morning—or sometime last night during the extensive flight—in between slamming my parents with voicemails. “I have news. So, call me. Did Pop catch Borya? Just call me, or I’ll call the twins and Luka.”
After trying Uncle Simeon and Aunt Anastasiya’s numbers, I decided not to leave them messages, letting on how annoyed I was. I almost shoved the phone away when it rang. Simona.
My thumb tapped Accept. “Sima? Hey, you haven’t answered me.”
After a second, Simona spoke. “Sorry. I’ve been busy. Vassili. Simeon.”
Why was she calling them by their name? Not Uncle or Father? Even when angry with her dad, she still called my pop, dyadya.
“They’re planning an assault, Natasha.”
I braced a hand on my chest, forced a long inhale. “Stop them, Sima!”
“I will try.”
“Tell my pop to call me. And if you’re in Scotland this evening, I’m getting married.”
“Married?”
Simona Resnova. No emotion. I sighed. “Yes.”
“Is it because …”
I arched a brow. So weird. My blunt cousin never hedged statements. “Because?” Spit it out already, Sima!
“Is Lachlan forcing you? Or you’re afraid your family will murder them all?”
“Sima”—I snorted—“quit reading those crazy action stories. Call me back.” I hung up and pocketed the phone.
“You’re thinking?” Lachlan said.
About her saying you forced me into marriage? No. “She sounds off.”
“Do you think she’s still freaked out from last night?” Lachlan rubbed my shoulders from behind.
“Actually, she doesn’t scare easily.”
“Good, she can help us.” His mouth, hot and tender against my neck, was a vow, and I was the promise. I promised to believe whatever Lachlan said. As he kissed me, his hands splayed over my stomach, then he stepped back.
“I can wait. Tonight,” he groaned.
Laughter cut through the torture of us nurturing and protecting our growing love for each other. Outside the floor-to-ceiling window, children jumped into the lake. Lots of children.
“Are those your nieces and nephews?”
“Mostly, and the crazy part? Most of them belong to Cam and Willow. C’mon, let’s bundle you up.”
After dressing in jeans and a matching jacket, courtesy of Willow or Chevelle, Lachlan had forgotten who had agreed to bring extra clothes, I followed him. The oak door creaked as he pushed it open. The chill in the castle’s stone corridor nipped through my jean jacket, a stark contrast to the lingering warmth of his body pressed against mine minutes ago. We descended a spiral staircase and exited glass-paned doors.
We walked across the green lawn, and, in the distance, the glimmering loch mirrored the gray sky.
Lach pointed to the lanky boy who’d just cannonballed into the lake, fully clothed. His splash sent ripples dancing across the surface. “That’s Leith Junior.”
He looked to be a junior or high school senior. “Brave. The water’s so cold it smokes. Mia’s his sister, right? The one who’s close in age to Jake and Romeo Rory? You grew up like siblings with her?”
“Nae, she’s our niece. She called me Uncail Lachlan.”
“Ah, I see.” The cool breeze made me brush my hair back. “The world’s youngest uncle wasn’t relinquishing his title. Now, why haven’t I seen Jake?”
“He rarely attends clan gatherings. Only comes to steal Mam’s Tupperware and leftovers.”
I laughed, the air condensing before my lips. My eyes swept across the lakeside chaos again. “Who are those two?” On the dock, the chubby cuties huddled, wet in matching sweats.
“Brittany and Justine.”
“Does Little Brody have sons?” I asked.
“Do not mention that. Sore spot.”
“What’s a sore spot?” A smooth voice cut in. Jordyn swaggered toward us, hips rolling with queenly confidence in a bikini that shimmered gold against her dark skin. Everyone else had jumped in—steam rising off their clothes. I still wanted more than this thick denim, but she looked gorgeous.