Dirty Little Midlife Mistake by Lilian Monroe
Simone
Having calledWes after drinking far too much alcohol to drive, I smile as a message arrives on my phone to tell me he’s here. After many goodbye hugs with the rest of the ladies, I stumble down the steps (when did they get so steep?) and make my way outside.
Wes is leaning against his beat-up truck, faded jeans hanging low on his hips, white T-shirt stretched tight across his mile-wide pecs. Yum. I collide with his chest and wait for his arms to encircle me, enclosing me in his warmth and strength and smell.
“Thanks for coming to get me.”
“No problem, my beautiful little drunk.”
I scowl up at him. “I’m not little.”
Wes laughs, his eyes twinkling as he drops his lips to mine. He taps my ass with a broad palm and nudges me toward the truck. “Get in. I’m going to take advantage of you tonight and I’m going to enjoy it.” He opens the door for me, one hand on the door, the other braced on the side of the truck, his body a warm wall at my back.
As I start to enter the cab, I pause and spin around, my eyes searching his. Emerald green stares back at me, humor dancing in his irises. He arches a brow as if to say, Yes?
“Why haven’t you asked me to marry you?” It just falls out of my mouth. Oops.
Wes goes utterly still, his eyes turning intent as they search mine, then drop to my lips. His lids drop for a long moment, and ice chills my veins. I shouldn’t have said that. I really shouldn’t have said that. Wes would have asked me to marry him by now if he wanted to marry me.
When he turns forty-five, the trust that contains his inheritance gets chopped up into little pieces and parceled out to various family members and charities. The beautiful, wooded property that I’ve called home for nearly a year will go to his uncle.
That is, unless Wes gets married. His parents wanted him to find someone to share his life with, so they wrote it as a condition to his inheritance.
Thing is, we’ve been together nearly a year. Together together. After all the drama and the “will-we-won’t-we” that defined our early relationship, we took things to the next level. He’s the man for me, no question. I know he loves that house, and from a purely practical point of view, we should get married. His forty-fifth birthday is in less than a month!
“We should talk about this in the morning,” Wes says softly. “When we’re both clear-headed.”
“I’m not that drunk, Wes.” I pull away from him and cross my arms, then uncross them to cover my face with my hands. A delayed wave of embarrassment crashes into me.
Oh God. I really just went and said that. I couldn’t just leave things be and enjoy this relationship for what it was. I had to go and talk about marriage to a man who made it clear he didn’t even want the inheritance.
But that was last year, when Wes thought he didn’t deserve a good life. It was before the two of us were…us. The beautiful, healthy relationship full of love and laughter and sex. The type of relationship I thought only existed in fairy tales.
The type of relationship that makes me think of marriage when I’d always thought I’d never marry again.
Just last month, Wes surprised me with a candlelit dinner on the oceanfront porch of our home. He said it was the first day of spring, and he wanted to mark the occasion. He told me when I walked into his life, it felt like the end of a long winter. I was his springtime.
A man said that to me and then didn’t propose. I mean, excuse me? What?
Another black wave of shame crashes into me as the seconds tick by, slow as molasses. I squeeze my eyes shut behind the wall of my hands, sucking in a hard breath as I try to pull myself together.
I had way too much whiskey. I should have known. Me plus alcohol equals an emotional, outspoken mess. I’ve known this since college, but have I learned? No. Evidently not.
A gentle hand wraps around my wrist and pulls it from my face. Then the same happens to my other hand. Wes ducks his head to look at me, his face carefully blank. “Do you want to get married, Simone?”
“Well…it makes sense, doesn’t it? The trust, the house…?”
Wes’s face hardens. He drops his eyes to the ground, his hands still clutching my wrists. He nods. “It makes sense, but Simone, I’m not getting married for money or logistics. And I’m not asking you to get married for those reasons, either. Not after everything you’ve told me about your first marriage. If and when we get married, it’ll be because we love each other and because we’re ready for that step.”
Somehow, in my whiskey-addled brain, his words pierce through some shield I erected long ago. My eyes widen as I stare at him, realization dawning. “You’ve been waiting for me to ask you,” I whisper.
His jaw is a brutal line. “I won’t trap you the way your ex-husband did. I won’t use money to build you a gilded cage. I won’t ask you to do that for me.”
My bottom lip trembles. “But Wes…”
“I won’t.”
My throat is so tight I have to force the words out in a harsh whisper. “What if I want to marry you?”
He freezes, his grip on my wrists tightening for a moment, then loosening completely as I lift my hands to cup his face. His green eyes are wild, searching my face as if he expects to see some sort of deception.
I brush my fingers over his cheekbones and through the hair at his temples, my heart thundering in my chest.
Wes’s eyes close, his lashes fanning over his cheeks as his forehead drops to rest against mine. “You want that?”
“I’ve been waiting for you to ask me, Wes,” I whisper, tears barely contained as my bottom lip trembles. “I love you so much it feels like I’m about to burst. I want to be able to call you my husband. We’re too old for the boyfriend/girlfriend thing.”
A soft chuckle, his eyes still closed. “My grandfather used to call them his lady-friends.”
“I’m too young to be your lady-friend.”
Wes’s hands slide over my hips as his lips tug into a smile. I trace his dimples with the tips of my fingers as he opens his eyes, silver lining his gaze. He turns his head and nips at my fingers, then grins when I yelp.
Silence stretches between us, taut with anticipation as our eyes meet. His gaze softens, arms tightening around my hips. “Be my wife,” he rasps. “Please, Simone. Marry me tomorrow.” He stares at me, his lips tilting. “I’d say marry me right now, but the courthouse is closed.”
I laugh, tears already streaming down my face, and nod. “Of course I’ll marry you, you big dummy. I can’t believe you would’ve given up your inheritance to stop me feeling trapped.”
“I’d give up the world for you, Simone.”
Love feels like a warm blanket draped over every inch of my body. Wes’s lips are warm and soft as he kisses me, claims me, shows me once more just how much I mean to him. I melt into his embrace, only freezing when I hear someone clear their throat behind us.
“Does this mean I’ll be making two wedding cakes?” Jen crosses her arms and glances at me, then at Fiona, and finally lifts her eyes up to the sky. “I need more warning for this stuff, ladies. Way more warning. I’m not a magician.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Fiona says, her eyes on me even though she’s talking to Jen. “Four Cups’ success is mostly due to your croissants and your weekly special creations.”
“Those were Simone’s idea,” Jen grumbles.
“Yeah, but you’re the one who comes up with them,” Fiona shoots back. My best friend crosses the distance between us and yanks me out of Wes’s grasp. She hugs me close and whispers in my ear, “Congratulations, babe. About time.”
She releases me, only for the rest of the crew to haul me into their arms. Even Wes isn’t immune, smothered by female attention and affection as congratulations are exchanged.
Candice wipes the stress and sadness from her face long enough to give me a genuine smile. “You two are perfect for each other. I’m so happy for you, Simone. I’ve watched you blossom over the past two years. This town wouldn’t be the same without you.”
“At least give me a day for the cake,” Jen huffs. “Get married Saturday morning. Reception at Four Cups afterward.”
“Deal.” I glance up at Wes. “Deal?”
“Saturday it is,” he says. “Now come on, gorgeous.” Wes slides his fingers though mine and tugs me toward his truck. “I need to get away from all this drunk female energy.”
Laughing dissent rings out, and I giggle as he lifts me in his arms and places me in the passenger seat. I wave at my friends through the window, then watch Wes’s tall, powerful body circle around the front of the truck before sliding into the seat beside me.
He gives me a wink, a smile, and leans over to give me a quick kiss that’s wet and hot and promises a thousand delicious things.
“Love you,” he says against my lips.
“Love you back.”
He grins, a smile so clear and bright it burns a track of happiness through my heart, then Wes turns the key in the ignition.
I lean against the headrest and let a smile tug at my lips. Then I turn to look at his beautiful, masculine profile. “Are you still planning on taking advantage of me?”
Wes just responds with a glance and a grin that say it all. I bite my lip and try not squirm, then I head home with my hunky babe of a soon-to-be husband.
