Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Rick mumbles something incoherent, his hands raised in surrender. I shove him toward the door, his feet tripping over themselves as he scrambles to get away.
The bar is silent, all eyes on me. I don’t care. My focus is solely on Amelia, who’s standing now, her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide.
I cross back to her, my breathing heavy, the adrenaline still coursing through me. Without a word, I pull her against me, my arm wrapping around her waist. She’s stiff for a moment, but then she relaxes, her hands resting on my chest.
“She’s my wife,” I announce to the room, my voice firm, unwavering. “And she’s perfect.”
Amelia gasps softly, her eyes searching mine. For a second, the world narrows to just the two of us. The bar, the gawking patrons, even Rick’s pathetic groans fade away.
“Fox…” she whispers, her voice trembling.
I cup her cheek, my thumb brushing over her soft skin. “Don’t you dare think for a second that you’re anything less than amazing,” I murmur, my voice low but fierce. “You’re not a complication, Amelia. You’re my everything.”
Tears glisten in her eyes, but she blinks them away, her lips curving into a small, hesitant smile. “You really mean that?”
“Hell yes, I mean it.” I lean in, pressing my forehead to hers. “I’m not letting you go. Not now, not ever.”
Her laughter is soft, shaky. “You have a funny way of showing it, punching drunks and all.”
“Yeah, well,” I smirk, brushing a kiss to her temple. “He deserved it.”
The bar erupts into a low murmur as the tension breaks, people returning to their drinks and conversations. I take Amelia’s hand, leading her up the stairs. “Come on, let’s get your pussy and go home.”
A few minutes later, we’re crossing the bar, Amelia’s carry-on and her meowing cat over my shoulder.
“We’re leaving,” I announce to the room, daring anyone to say otherwise.
The cool night air greets us as we step outside. Amelia pulls her hand from mine, wrapping her arms around herself as we walk toward my truck.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she says quietly, glancing up at me.
I stop, turning to face her. “Yes, I did. Nobody talks about you like that, Amelia. Nobody.”
She looks away, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. “You can’t just go around punching people, Fox.”
“Sure I can,” I reply, my tone light but my eyes serious. “If it means protecting you, I’ll do whatever it takes. No one fucks with my girl.”
She shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re stuck with me,” I counter, stepping closer. “So you’d better get used to it.”
Her laughter is soft, genuine, and it makes something in my chest loosen.
“Come on,” I say, opening the truck door for her. “Let’s go home.”
She hesitates for a moment, her eyes searching mine. Then she climbs in, her movements graceful and sure.
Home. It’s a word that’s starting to feel right—because with Amelia, that’s exactly what it is.
Epilogue
Amelia–one week later
The Phantom River flows in the distance, its gentle rush blending with the murmur of laughter and conversation. The old barn has been transformed, strung with fairy lights that cast a golden glow over the weathered wood. The scent of wildflowers fills the air, mingling with the crisp bite of Devil’s Peak in early autumn.
I smooth the front of my dress for the hundredth time, staring at my reflection in the antique mirror that Ridge’s wife, Quinn, lent me. The dress is simple but beautiful—ivory lace with a high neckline and a soft, flowing skirt that feels like a dream against my skin.
“Stop fidgeting,” Indie, King Steele’s wife, teases from where she’s perched on the old loveseat. “You look perfect, Amelia. If Fox doesn’t drop to his knees when he sees you, he’s an idiot.”
I laugh, but my hands keep smoothing. “Thanks, Indie. But Fox isn’t exactly the drop-to-his-knees type.”
Emma, Slate Warner’s wife, pokes her head into the room, her blue eyes sparkling. “You’d be surprised. He’s been pacing like a caged animal out there, muttering about how he doesn’t deserve you.”
My heart skips. Fox, pacing? That’s new.
“He’s got it bad,” Emma adds with a grin. “Now hurry up. The man looks like he’s about to tear down the barn if we don’t start soon.”
I glance at the mirror one last time and take a steadying breath. This isn’t just a wedding. It’s a new beginning. A home.
The barn doors creak open, and the chatter hushes. My heels click against the wooden floor as I step out, and the world seems to pause. Fox stands at the end of the aisle, looking every bit the rugged, grumpy mountain man who stole my heart.
His black suit is tailored but understated, his tie slightly askew like he couldn’t be bothered to fix it. His dark hair is combed back, but the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw softens the edges. And those eyes—stormy, intense, locked on me like I’m the only person in the world.