I smirked. “Me either.”
Night had fallen, and deep blue shadows swirled around the soft roil of the waves, the white foam brighter against the dark sea.
We settled into a warm, contented quiet. I leaned my head against Nash’s shoulder. “Thank you.”
He turned to look down at me. “For?”
“Protecting me like you said you would. For loving me despite my fears. For fighting for us.”
“You did, too,” he said. “All that. Even when I was being a dumbass, pushing you away instead of dealing.”
I began to shake my head. He used his free hand to lift my chin, bringing us as close to eye level as he could.
I smiled, happiness causing me to laugh. “I’m going to ask Steve to walk me down the aisle.”
“That’s remarkably touching,” Nash said. “And a sly dig at your father. I’m down.”
I laughed again. “Figured.” I sobered. “What else did my father say?”
“He’d like to attend the wedding, if you’re okay with that.”
I sighed. “I don’t know.”
Nash splayed his hand over the back of my neck. “I get it. More than likely he’s being nice just to curry favor with us.”
I nodded. “I thought of that.”
“Whatever you decide to do about him, I’ll back you up.” He pressed a kiss to my temple. I relaxed and closed my eyes.
“You’re a good man, Nash. I don’t tell you that enough.”
Our waiter cleared his throat, and we turned to find him hovering in the doorway.
Nash waved him in. We ate and watched the waves roll in as the sun sunk below the horizon.
5
Aya
Marrying Nash proved a logistical nightmare, not unlike pretty much every other part of our lives together—because Nash’s fame kept growing. The world ate up our love story and wanted more of us. At least half of the articles written about it were glowing. I didn’t read the other half.
The waiter from our engagement dinner told the paparazzi we planned to marry at Cam’s ranch, which caused an uproar of speculation. We hadn’t even made it home from Turks and Caicos before we had to change the venue. My poor Nash rarely had anything go smoothly. People didn’t understand the lack of privacy and the lack of autonomy that could come with such fame.
Nash’s contrite glance as he apologized made me more determined to seek out a better balance before the wedding.
And after.
Because I had plans. Big plans for some much-needed relaxation. And they did not include sharing my soon-to-be husband with anyone, no matter how much success they showered over him. Nash deserved to just be sometimes.
The day after our return home to Austin, we sat in the home office Hugh had set up at Nash’s months ago. He settled back in the chair behind the desk, his normal position, Nash and I together on the micro-suede sofa. I curled into his side, chilled by the air conditioning, and Nash wrapped his arm around my waist before resettling me in his lap.
“Maybe that fucking mob scene out front is all because of you, Ay,” Nash joked.
I scoffed even as I pinched his nipple hard, giving it a little twist at the end that caused his hips to jerk upward into my bottom. I hid my grin in his neck.
“Please,” Hugh said, answering for me. “As if Aya’s father’s tiny British title compares to your fame. You’re a household name, buddy. That’s why thousands of people are out there, slavering to see you in your wedding attire.”
“Just thousands?” Nash shook his head, causing his too-long hair to flop around. I loved his hair. “Definitely not my people.”
I snorted. “You’re such a diva.”
“And you’re a Tunisian princess or something.”
I laughed. “I’m not—not even close. My grandfather grew up in Paris. Even though his family preserved their ties to their culture, he spent his life in Europe and then the United States. And I…I’ve never been to Tunisia.”
Surprise flared in Nash’s eyes. “We’ll have to rectify that. We’ll go see your family’s province or whatever it’s called. And you’re my princess.” He winked.
I shook my head. “You can keep the royal titles, Superstar.”
Nash nodded, his face solemn. “The Superstar. No, the Rock God.”
Hugh guffawed, which caused me to lose it. After a long, deep belly laugh that had me wiping my eyes, I looked up to find Nash staring down at me, his expression a combination of fascination and adoration. I loved that look, and I beamed back, bathing in his besottedness. He turned my ring on my finger—his new thing—before he moved his lips to that sublime spot where my jaw met the tender skin of my neck.
“You like to pretend to be a proper English lady, but you’re really an inciter, you know that?” He blew a raspberry.
I squealed, squirming to get away, though really, I wanted to snuggle deeper. I loved playful Nash. I loved all facets of him. Even the broody, frustrated one who had to work hard—very hard—not to lash out.
I loved him. Full stop.
“Only with you,” I said, holding my stomach.
Nash fixed my ring once more and kissed it. He stared at me, adoration in his clear gaze. Oh, he still got stormy and raged, both silently and out loud, but he’d also found peace. In some ways, I had Lindsay to thank for that. I might even tell her the next time I saw her…
That would be on a Zoom call tomorrow when I told my team they were going to have to complete the next few projects without me.
Lindsay had come through over the past eight months, keeping the organization’s message precise and donations rolling in. She’d married Alistair recently in a huge ceremony in north London.
I’d sent our regrets, which both Nash and I agreed was for the best.
“Now, if you two are done playing,” Hugh said, a smile tugging at his lips, “let’s finish up this planning.”
A few minutes later, Hugh’s phone beeped. He picked it up and read, his eyes rounding. “Ah, hell.”
“What happened?” I asked, worry gnawing at me.
Hugh grimaced. “A reporter jumped the fence line at the ranch and made it to the big house, harassing Mama Grace, who was watching baby Cash. Cam and Chuck dealt with the guy. His camera didn’t survive.”
“I’ll go to see Jenna and apologize,” I said, rising.
Nash rose, too, running his fingers through his hair. “I’ll go to Cam, make sure he, Mama G, and baby Cash are okay.”
He kissed my cheek. “Have Brandon drive you. Apparently, we are the story of the week.”
I nodded. “Be careful.”
“I’m so sorry, Jenna,” I said again. I’d met her in the back room of her shop near Sixth Street in downtown Austin. I’d brought along pints of ice cream from Amy’s, Jenna’s favorite local shop, as a peace offering.
“Pfft. Nothing for you to apologize for. That was Cam’s macho alpha tendencies leading before his brain caught up. Much as I love the man, he can be a bison in a pottery store.”
“That’s not the saying,” Kate replied. She dipped her spoon into the chocolate confection I’d brought and shoved the bite in her mouth. “So good,” she moaned.