The Rake (Boston Belles #4)(119)

“Devon Whitehall, you’re the best man I’ve ever met by leaps and bounds. I have been in love with you from the first moment our gazes met. I want to grow old with you, to be with you through thick and thin, to have your last name. I know I’ve been … difficult the past few months, but I promise I’m a changed woman. Please, would you do me the honor of becoming my husband?”

“Yes.”

There was more to be said.

But for now, this one word seemed to sum it up.

People clapped from the seats beside us. One woman took a picture of the whole thing on her phone. But somehow I couldn’t care less if we wound up being on the cover of a tabloid.

“Oh, Dev.” Belle covered her mouth with her hands, tears welling in her eyes. “This is awesome. Now can you please help me up?”





“Did you know that when a male and female anglerfish mate, they melt into each other and share bodies forever? When the anglerfish bloke finds a willing participant, he latches and fuses with her. He loses his eyes and a load of his internal organs until they share a bloodstream.” Devon strokes my hand lovingly, peering at me from his seat by my hospital bed.

“Wow,” I say dryly, holding my breath to stop the pain. “Sounds familiar.”

I turn to Nurse Pretending She’s Not There, who beams at both of us like she’s just given birth, popping my chart back onto the edge of my bed. “I just felt another contraction, and this one was baaaaaad.”

So bad I thought my stomach was about to rip in two.

“When’s Doctor Bjorn coming?” Devon demanded, spurring into action. “My wife is in pain.”

“Your wife is not the first woman ever to give birth,” Nurse About to Get Punched notes mildly. She moves to re-fluff the pillows behind me. “Two different doctors came in for a checkup and said everything is perfectly fine. Doctor Bjorn is dealing with some light traffic. He’ll be here in a few minutes. You can always opt for an epidural.” She peers down at me, shrugging.

“Are you kidding me? I want this kid to know how much I suffered for her and hold it over her head for eternity.”

She laughs.

I don’t know why.

I am not kidding.

“Sweetheart, we’re fine. You’ve still got time,” Devon coos, stroking my hair out of my face. It’s all nice and romantic, and yet I’m about to push an eight-pound human out of me without any drugs. I slap his hand away. “Go get me Doctor Bjorn.”

“As you wish, Mrs. Whitehall.” He cannot speed out of the room fast enough, and I remain with Nurse Looking at Me Like I’m Crazy.

Devon and I married each other shortly after we came back from England. It was a small, intimate ceremony in Madame Mayhem. The bridesmaids wore red lingerie and garters and couldn’t say shit about it. My wedding—my rules. Sam Brennan almost punched the walls down in the room when he saw his wife ushering me across the aisle in lingerie.

Things have been really awesome between us. Almost too awesome. Sometimes I wake up in the morning and think, Today is going to be the day I screw this up and bail on him. Or more often than not, Today is going to be the day that he leaves me. That he finally understands that I’m too damaged, too broken, or simply too much.

But somehow neither of these things happen, and I finish my days in the same way: draped over my husband, sharing our stories and experiences from the day, watching TV, laughing, and unveiling piece after piece of one another.

I know there will come a day when I eventually stop worrying that he is going to break me too. That day might not be today, or even tomorrow, but it will arrive.

Devon Whitehall, after all, is the man who taught me the most important life lesson—that you can still believe.

“I got you a doctor.” Devon bursts into the room now, panting. “One you know, no less.”

“Is it Doctor Bjorn?” I bark, twisting in my hospital bed. “Is it just me or is the baby half-out?” Something’s going on between my legs, but for obvious reasons, I’m not in a physical position to bend down and check.

“Better,” Devon says, and he and Aisling appear in front of me.

My face falls. “I’m not letting this bitch see my vagina!”

But she is already walking over to the little sink and washing her hands, slapping on a pair of fresh plastic gloves. “I’ve seen worse.”

“Oh, I don’t mean that. It looks fantastic. I just don’t feel like I’m ready to take our relationship to the next level,” I huff.

But then there’s another contraction, and I scream, and Devon and Aisling rush toward me.

“Sweven,” Devon utters in pain, wiping the sweat from my brow lovingly. “I’m so sorry I put you in this position.”

“You put me in twenty-seven different ones. That’s why we’re here,” I quip.

“Still don’t want my help?” Aisling elevates an eyebrow. “Because I’m happy to call another doctor.”

“Doctor Lynne is here,” Nurse No One Asked You volunteers unhelpfully. I don’t know Doctor Lynne. And Doctor Bjorn is obviously too busy braving the Boston traffic.

“Fine!” I throw my hands in the air. “Fine. Just get this baby out of me, Ash!”

Devon snatches my hand, Aisling gets to business, and twenty minutes later—just when Doctor Bjorn enters the room full of apologies—Nicola Zara Constance Whitehall is born (and before you ask: of course I added Constance to make sure everyone knows she’s a royal).