He was serious. He wanted to marry me.
AndGod, I wanted to marry him, too. I wanted to walk down the aisle to him. I wanted him to wear a ring that told every woman he was mine. I wanted the headlines to be real — the touches, the kisses, all of it.
So, I pressed my finger into the ring just a centimeter, a silent request.
“Is that a yes, Mia Love?”
“It’s ahellyes.”
And when Aleks slid the gold all the way to my knuckle, the stormy gemstone sparkling even brighter than it had that day on the water, I smiled.
“Let’s bury this motherfucker under all the shit he’s talked about me,” I said.
Aleks had the grin of the devil when he helped me stand, like that was the only thing he’d ever wanted to do, like it was his purpose in life.
He pressed his lips to mine, one word vibrating through me before he was carrying me back to the bedroom.
“Let’s.”
Sorry, Not Sorry
Ten Days Later
Aleks
Mia’s childhood home was buzzing.
The faint scent of cinnamon and cloves mingled with the warm, buttery aroma of something baking in the kitchen, wrapping the air in a holiday hug. Voices carried through the halls, laughter bubbling over the occasional clink of glassware or scrape of chairs being adjusted. Every room seemed to glow, strings of twinkling lights and hundreds of candles casting soft, golden hues over the walls, illuminating the framed family photos adorning each wall.
There were photos of Charlie and Holly on their wedding day, of Mia as a newborn, of them as a family ten years down the line.
And there were photos of me, too.
I smiled at the photo from my first game in the states, Charlie’s hand on my shoulder proudly, Holly tucking a shy Mia into her side on the other end. Then there was the one of my first Christmas with them, and one when Mia and I graduated high school.
Our history lived inside this beautiful house.
And now, we’d fill the walls with even more family photos.
I stood at the base of the stairs, watching the organized chaos unfold around me. I should have been helping, but my feet stayed rooted to the hardwood floors, hands tucked into the pockets of my suit pants. Our friends and family bustled by as I happily lost myself to the memories.
Mia’s mom darted into the dining room with a bundle of greenery, stopping long enough to coach Chloe where she was adjusting the ribbons on the chairs that lined the living room where the ceremony would take place. The grand doors made of glass gave way to the stunning view of Lake Michigan beyond, a frigid scene that somehow made it feel even more cozy inside. Liv was balancing a tray of steaming cider as she navigated toward the kitchen where Maven and Grace were, no doubt, finding creative ways to spike that cider.
If we thought the headlines about us being “exposed” were wild, they were nothing compared to when we told Isabella and Giana that we were getting married.
Reallygetting married.
Giana had threatened me within an inch of my life that I better not just be doing this to save my ass, that I better actually mean what I said. Isabella had asked Mia if she was sure about a dozen times. But I think the longer they watched us, the more they saw the way we held onto each other unfaltering… they knew.
The shock had only lasted a moment, and then the team launched into action — and that included my teammates and their significant others.
The season didn’t stop for us, no matter what was happening in our lives. But where there was a will, there was a way. We’d no sooner snuffed out our New Jersey opponents in Friday’s home game before we were all on a plane to Chicago. Maven and Mia’s mom led the charge yesterday, giving each of us our list of to-do’s to make this last-minute wedding come to life. And thoughwe worked hard all day long, Isabella still made sure we had the evening for a rehearsal dinner and speeches — including one given by Jaxson, who roasted me the way only he could.
Now, we were a little over an hour from the ceremony start time for our small, intimate wedding. And tomorrow morning, I, along with the rest of the team, would be on a plane to Philadelphia for our next game.
There was no time for a honeymoon — not now, at least. Hell, there would barely be enough time to enjoy my new wife the way I really wanted to. But she had her own dreams to chase. Where my plane would go to Philadelphia, hers would carry her to New Orleans for the next stop on her tour.
Herstillsold-out tour.
