Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
It was complicated. Messy. Painful. Just like Calliope said all the best love stories were.
But there was happiness too. A whole lot of it. There was waking up in bed with the two people I loved most in the world. There was stargazing with Clara now that the weather was warming up, the bulbs we planted in the garden blooming. Family dinners. Lori’s brand-new baby.
There was the single solitaire diamond sitting on my left hand.
Clara had told me she and her dad had a surprise for me, requesting that we “dress up together.” I’d dutifully got her into a butterfly tutu with wings, put glitter on her cheeks, then let her drag me into our room to pick out my dress.
The one from her birthday.
I didn’t know if it was her father’s request or hers.
She’d carefully, with immense concentration, dabbed small amounts of glitter high on my cheek.
Her tongue darted out of the side of her mouth as she finished with furrowed brows.
“There,” she had declared, leaning back to look at her handiwork. “Perfect.”
I studied the angles of her face, her button nose, her green-flecked hazel eyes, the rosebud lips.
“I totally agree,” I had whispered, tears in my eyes.
I didn’t know what I was expecting when she took me outside. Maybe some sort of special stargazing. A picnic around the outdoor fireplace Rowan, Beau, and Kip had built the first weekend the weather turned warmer.
Our nights were varied, special, magical. Even before the shooting, we tried to create that for Clara. It had always been effortless, but we now put in a bit more effort. No manufactured magic would take away her trauma or memories, but it would make her smile. Laugh. That was more than enough for me.
Thinking her father had designed something with her happiness in mind, I let her lead me out into the garden.
Then my breath left my body.
Beau had been planning something.
Not for Clara, but she was quite obviously involved and gloriously happy about it as she tugged me through the path of candles, trailing to the center of the garden.
Where Beau was.
On one knee.
Eyes on us.
I was thankful for Clara’s small hand in mine, the pressure she was exerting as I didn’t entirely trust my body to carry me.
Beau was holding a ring box. Inside was a simple yet unique diamond. An antique setting, wider band, oval shaped.
“I picked it out,” Clara had announced proudly.
Beau’s eyes danced with the first true joy I’d seen in them since the shooting.
Tears escaped my eyes. “It’s perfect,” I spoke to Clara, too scared to look Beau in the eye. I was worried I’d let out an ugly sob.
Beau took my free hand. I hated that it was sweaty and clammy, Beau’s so dry and strong.
He lifted our intertwined hands to kiss mine. “Hannah Morgan, you have been ours since you walked in the door. Clara and I love you.” He had looked down at his daughter with love emanating from him.
“Do you want to do the honors, Bug?” he had asked, his voice thick with emotion.
Clara beamed, unaware of both of us choking up. “Hannah, will you marry Daddy?”
Unfortunately, I did unattractively choke out a sob. It was impossible not to. “Yes,” had I whispered.
Clara had already taken the ring out to slide on my finger.
The wrong hand.
“Let me help, Bug,” Beau had murmured softly, directing Clara’s small hand to my left ring finger. They both slipped it on.
It fit perfectly.
Clara was frowning at the ring—not the reaction I wanted.
“Blueberry?” I asked carefully, tilting her head upward. I was worried she was having an episode or second thoughts about this.
“I think I have a proposal too.” She bit down on her lip like she did when she was nervous for a moment then looked up at me, love shining in her eyes. “Hannah, would you be my Mommy? Like for real? On the papers and everything?”
I might’ve fallen down if Beau’s hands hadn’t gone to my hips to steady me.
“Yes,” I managed through ugly tears. “Yes, Clara, I will be your mom. On the papers and everything.”
Clara threw her arms around me.
And there it was.
The best night of my life.
Clara went to bed late that night. We were celebrating. Beau had brought my favorite champagne, and she had her own glass of sparkling cider to “cheers” us with.
We’d started a wedding scrapbook, per Clara’s request, and Beau was “looking into” a murder of crows to be released after we said I do.
She had demanded I call Cole, on speaker, to tell him right away. Then the two of them planned a trip to New York to shop for dresses.
She also requested we call her Aunt Loppie, who said, “We’ll be there in five,” in response to the news. She and Elliot were indeed at our place in five minutes, another, more expensive, bottle of wine in tow. Also caviar, which everyone had to pretend to like. Clara screwed up her nose then fed it to the cat.