Lead Me Home (Fight for Me #3)(117)

“You’re right, Nikki, today is my birthday. Call me selfish, but I had a certain present in mind.”

All the voices had gone quiet, and Carolina George eased out of a song in the middle and struck up another.

The lyrics filtered through the mic.

Richard’s voice was so rough when he started playing the cover from Train. It was a song about how forever could never be enough.

My fingertips went to my lips.

Ollie took another step forward. “Nikki . . . you were my first love. My only love. The one who was always supposed to be at my side.”

He inched forward and set those big hands on my swelling belly. “You’re the mother of my baby girl. You’re my life.”

He dropped to both of his knees, pulling the silver box with a black ribbon from his pocket. A present in the palm of his hand. “So, for my birthday, I want you to tell me you’ll be my wife. Tell me that forever you’ll be my home.”

I dropped to my knees with him, tears streaming free, blurring my eyes, but I was sure I’d never seen so clearly.

I saw the future.

I saw joy.

I saw love.

I saw my life.

“Yes. Oh, Ollie . . . yes.”

He cocked a smirk. “You haven’t even seen the ring yet.”

A soggy laugh pilfered free. “Give me that ring, you bear.”

“You sure you want it?” Mischief danced around his face.

Happiness. The pure, innocent kind we used to share.

“Yes, Ollie. I am sure. Let me see it.”

“Someone’s eager.”

I swiped under my eyes with the back of my hand.

Yes, yes, someone was eager.

He tugged at the little bow and pulled off the lid.

A gift.

For me.

For us.

The ring appeared antique.

Vintage.

Unique.

Encrusted in diamonds, a purple solitaire in the middle.

I breathed out between the tears that kept streaming down my face, eyes flicking between him and the ring. “It’s gorgeous, Ollie.”

“It’s different, I know. But I saw it, and it reminded me of you. Not close to being traditional, and still so beautiful it stole my breath.”

My spirit rumbled, a whisper from the deepest part of me. Where I’d always held this man. Ollie took the ring out of the box. “Marry me, Nikki.”

“Yes.”

I just caught a glimpse of it. What was etched on the inside of the ring at the base.

A dragonfly.

Everything soared.

Flapped in a flurry of emotion and memories.

And I swore I could hear Sydney’s voice echo through the bar.

Whisper in my ear.

“Fly, fly, dragonfly.”

Ollie slid the ring onto my finger. It fit so perfectly.

He pulled me into his arms, kissing me wildly, both of us on our knees while our friends and family shouted and cheered.

Carolina George continued to play “Marry Me.” The song so profound.

As if it’d been written for us.

We finally climbed to standing, and Ollie was holding my hand as everyone came up individually to give us congratulations.

Hope was there, the lid off her cake, congratulations written in curvy letters, a field of purple blazing stars as the decoration.

I choked over a laugh. “You sneak.”

“Hey, you were trying to sneak the party in on Ollie. Don’t blame me that he one-upped you.”

He turned to me before he started backing away, dragging me along with him, right up to that gleaming, carved bar.

He hopped on top of it, staring at me. He lifted his arms up and shouted toward the high ceilings. “Nikki Walters is gonna be my wife!”

Like he needed the world to know.

That he was proclaiming it to the heavens.

My attraction to him was so intense I wondered how he didn’t taste it in the air.

Well, I guessed he did. Because he was watching me as if he was lost in it, too.

Bristling and brimming and begging.

Chemistry.

Bigger than life.

Somehow even bigger than the man that was this hulking tower of muscle and brawn and intricately drawn ink.

Every inch of him was rugged and rough and commanding, all dressed up in black fitted pants and a button-up, his body dripping sex.

An enigma.

A veiled mystery.

A cliffhanger waiting to be written.

And we were getting ready to write the rest of our story.

He hopped down and picked me up and spun me around as if I didn’t weigh anything at all.

“I love you, Nikki Walters.”

“I love you, Oliver Preston.”

I love you.

My beautiful beast.



THE END



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