But even putting aside feminism, why should I give a damn if she changes her name or not?
Ebony removes her hand from mine, gliding her fingers around my waist, snuggling into me with a soft moan, calling my bluff.
“Tired?” I kiss the crown of her head, rubbing soothing circles over her back.
She buries her face in my chest. “Would it be rude if we told everyone they don’t have to go home but they’ve got to get the hell out of here because I want to fuck you right now?”
“Is that so?” I ask, instantly aroused. Except my head hasn’t caught up with my hard-on. I’m still stuck on “we.”
Again, it’s bull…
Somewhere deep down, though, I just keeping thinking how honored I’d be for her to adopt a piece of my heritage. How much I want Ebony and I to be a family and share a future together.
Undeniably, I want everything with her.
“What if we give them another half an hour, then I suddenly feel inspired to give a speech about exactly how much I love you?”
“Oh, you’ve got yourself a deal,” she purrs, letting her needy hands loose underneath the hem of my shirt, her fingertips blazing a trail of fire over my bare skin. “And I’ll just get started on the PDA…”
We’ve been through a lot, faced down Cornelia’s whole plan to tear us apart. Now, looking at where we are, the lengths we’re willing to go to in order to be alone, it’s clear how amazing we are together.
I see it, plain as day.
So even though I don’t want to rush Ebony into anything prematurely, I can’t sit still, either. Somehow, despite everything she already endured in her last relationship, I’ve got to figure out how to prove to her that this time, it’s worth giving this version of us—and maybe even marriage—a shot.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Building Bridges
Ebony
“What did I just catchyou doing in here?” Hailey stabs a finger into the air, her eyes wide, mouth hanging open in disbelief.
I freeze, slamming my iPad against my chest because…what evenamI doing? And more importantly, how much did she see?
“Okay, yeah, I just… I came inside for a minute to make sure that…” I swallow hard, working on the lie. “Wait, what areyoudoing inside? Shouldn’t you be with the guests in the courtyard or getting your mind right to walk down the aisle tomorrow?”
Hailey wags that finger, wordlessly telling me to try harder—and also reminding me that shouldn’t the wedding planner be out there, communicating with the bridal party to ensure everyone knows their roles and places?
And I absolutelyshould’vebeen out there…
In all honesty, I came inside for a better Wi-Fi signal when I got an email notification from a new client. Despite Cornelia’s outlandish efforts to sabotage my business, a high-profile bride-to-be wants me to plan her wedding. It was such ayay, memoment, and I was eager to sign my half of the contract and send it back quickly.
Except when I signed my first and middle names, I hesitated.
I kept thinking about the watch party, about Cornelia’s comment about my still carrying the Livingston name. Everyone in the backyard was laughing and mingling, refilling drinks and plates, still trying to find out if anyone had gotten a bingo. Then the ads ended, the show came back on, and my pulse spiked. As the camera panned over the studio—the guest sofa noticeably missing the Livingston matriarch—I stood there, holding Linc’s hand as he told me, for the millionth time, that he loved me. But all I could think was,Whyhaven’tI changed myname?
I can’t think of one good reason.
Am I still holding on to the past? Why didn’t I go back to my maiden name right after our split, when I’d been a King for so much longer? Even in business, I left Livingston offEbony GraceEvents.
So, before Hailey snuck inside, there I was, in the magical grand ballroom of Madison Manor, staring at half my signature, my Apple Pencil hovering above the screen, trying to figure out what it would feel like with Linc’s name attached to mine.
Bigmistake.
Huge.
I toggled over to my drawing pad app, just to see. And Lord, did I fake around and find out.
