For now, I’m happy to be standing off to the side, out of the spotlight. When Lucas and I get married, I want it to be small and intimate, maybe just the two of us.
Our entire lives have been a spectacle. We’ve made it so. Even now, a year after we took over McCormick Family Practice and ran MediQuik out of town, we can’t go a day without someone referencing our old war. It seems that half the people in town “knew it all along” while the other half still can’t believe we love each other. They’re placing bets for when it’ll all blow up in our faces. Sure, there are still days I want to kill Lucas (the man has a way of getting under my skin), but that passion I feel when we fight is the same passion I feel when Lucas brushes up behind me while I’m cooking dinner, when he wraps his arms around me and makes me forget food even exists.
He is a provocative force and I still haven’t come to terms with my love for him. The magnitude of my feelings for my old rival scares me at times. I’ll lie in bed, pretending to read and watch him sleep, wondering how many years we’ll get like this. I wasted 28 years hating him; it only seems fair that we should get two or three times as long to make it up to ourselves.
He inclines his head, probably wondering what I’m thinking.
It shouldn’t be hard to decipher.
With him in that tuxedo, my thoughts have been near the gutter all day.
He smiles and the preacher announces that Dr. McCormick may now kiss the bride. I turn my attention back to the ceremony just in time to see him plop a big ol’ smooch on my mom. She swoons, no surprise there—she’s nuts, absolutely insane in love with Donny. That’s Dr. McCormick’s real name, but I refuse to use it. He will always be Dr. McCormick to me—or Dr. Dad, as I’ve jokingly started calling him.
The crowd cheers. Lucas claps, and then I hold out my mom’s bouquet for her so they can descend back down the aisle as a married couple for the first time.
“I love you,” she mouths to me just before Dr. McCormick whisks her away.
I couldn’t be happier for her. They’re a perfect match, and I have a refrigerator covered in postcards from all their travels to prove it.
Lucas walks to the center of the altar and holds out his elbow for me. I accept it and together, we follow the bride and groom down the aisle.
“How many words of that did you catch?” he whispers.
“Three. Four max.”
“Yeah same.”
“When we get married let’s do it on a beach or something so our guests have something pretty to look at while they’re ignoring the vows.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Or we could just do it in a movie theater?”
“Smart. We’ll serve popcorn as hors d’oeuvres and play a Bourne movie in the background.”
“I like the way you think, Bell.”
We reach the back of the church and he kisses my cheek.
“Just so we’re clear,” I say, “that wasn’t a proposal, right?”
He smirks. “No. That’s coming later. During the champagne toast.”
My eyes go wide. “You wouldn’t dare. Not in front of all these people.”
He nods. “You’re right. Better if I just do it right here. Right now.”
He turns to face me.
I’m shaking. He can’t be serious. People are exiting the church. Watching us with curiosity. We are practically under a microscope.
But then Lucas cracks a smile.
“What’s up?” he asks.
“Funny.”
He laughs because he still likes to torture me from time to time. Old habit.
I turn on my heel and head straight for the refreshment table in the corner. He joins me.
“I already have the ring.”
I smile. “I know. I found it in your sock drawer when I first moved in and was looking for space for my clothes.” I hand him a glass of champagne so we can make way for other guests. “That was a year ago.”
He puts his free hand in his pocket. I can’t help but wonder if he has the ring on him now.
“Yeah, I’ve had it for a while.”
“How long is ‘a while’?”
“I asked my mom for it the same day I found out you were moving back to Hamilton.”
He follows up his confession with a long sip of champagne.
“Presumptuous,” I say, though my megawatt smile is not so easy to conceal.
“Maybe. I prefer to think of it as confident.”
We’ve found ourselves in a small alcove away from the crowds. For the next few minutes it’s just he and I. Then, we’ll have to continue on to the reception and deliver our toasts. Abuse the bar. Dance the night away.
“You can ask me. I’ll say yes.”
“I’ve been waiting for the right time. I want it to be perfect.”
“How about tonight when we go home? We’ll draw a bath, get out of these stuffy clothes, and you can ask me.”
“Isn’t it supposed to be a surprise? I don’t think you’re allowed to dictate the terms of your proposal.”
I smile and lean in. He’s wearing his signature scent that I love. “While that might work for some people, I think I’ve suffered through enough surprises for a lifetime, especially from you.”