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“Don’t wear one, then.” “I can’t just not wear a tie. I’m getting married.” He rolls his eyes. “That’s exactly why you don’t have to wear a tie. It’s your day, and you’re the one spending all this money. If you don’t want to wear a tie, don’t wear a fucking tie. Hell, if I was the one getting married today, they would be lucky if I wore pants.”
the world simply isn’t the same when Tessa Young isn’t happy.
You shouldn’t date someone if your heart is owned by someone else. It doesn’t work, trust me.
Hardin smiles at me as we reach the altar, and I try, I really do try, to focus on my best friend’s wedding. But I can’t keep my eyes or mind off the best man.
She proves me wrong: sure enough, I’m slapped by a pregnant woman at a wedding.
My stomach is twisting and turning, and I’m acting like a little fucking child right now, trying not to stare at the beautiful girl who stole my heart all those years ago. She didn’t just steal the damned thing. She found it; she was the one to discover that I even had a heart to begin with, and she dug it out. Struggle after struggle, she never gave up. She found my heart, and she kept it safe. She hid it from the fucked-up world. Most important, she hid it from me, until I was ready to care for it myself. She tried to give it back two years ago, but my heart refused to leave her side. It
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“You’re the sexiest woman in the room; always have been.”
“This should be our wedding,” I blurt.
I planned to pull it to my mouth to press a kiss against the bare skin there, but I’m thrown off by a small black circle tattooed there. “What the fuck is this?” I bring her wrist closer to my face. “I lost a bet on my twenty-first birthday.” She laughs. “You actually got a smiley-face tattoo? What the hell.” I can’t help the laughter falling from my mouth. The tiny smiling face is so ridiculous, and so poorly done, that it’s funny.
“You won’t know how lucky you are to be able to spend your life with the other half of your soul until you have to spend your life without them.”
We belong together, and it’s truly undeniable.
I never lost hope because Tessa is my hope. She always has been and always will be.
“Maybe that you still want to marry me?”
I’m just tired of fighting this. We’re inevitable, remember?” she mocks, using a terrible English accent. I kiss her mouth, silencing her.
‘Romance is overrated, realism is in,’ ” she quotes from my latest novel.
I love her. Fuck, I love this woman so fucking much.
“Marry me? Really, y...
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At twenty-three, I would become someone’s husband—Tessa’s husband—and I couldn’t imagine anything that could possibly make me happier.
“God, I love you, Hardin,” she said into my neck.
He would never be the most patient, the most lovable and friendly man out there, but he was mine. Always had been.
I laid my head on her stomach and promised that baby that I would be a better father than either of mine had ever been. Better than anyone had ever been.
“We will be parents one day,” I promised my girl as we rode to the hospital to welcome our goddaughter into the world.
“Hi, baby,” I said into her skin. “Hi, Daddy,” she whispered back to me. I cocked a brow at her; the way she said Daddy made my cock twitch, and her hands slowly traveled up my thighs. “Daddy, huh?” My voice was thick, and she giggled, a silly and out-of-place laugh. “Not the Daddy you’re thinking of. Pervert.”
“We need a miracle.” She nodded, trying to joke, but she came off so serious. Seven months later, we had a blond little miracle named Emery.
Our little Emery looked as sweet as her mom, but she had her father’s attitude. It was a combination that made our lives very interesting.
She was six and already a tornado.
“See?” Hardin said. “You have to learn to accept Addy and the way she can be a brat sometimes, the way that Mommy accepted Daddy being a brat sometimes.” “You’re a brat, too?” her little voice questioned. My heart swelled. Hell yes, he is, I wanted to say. “Hell yes, I am,” he said for me.
We had a rule, only one rule in our house: no fighting in front of our kids. My children would never hear me raise my voice to their mum. Ever.
AFTER EVERYTHING, we made it. Whatever the hell our souls are made of, they are the same.