Page 50 of Filthy Twisted Devil

The guys at the poker table put down their cards, and the women spin around to look.

“What’s happening?” Brinley asks, looking around with a puzzled expression.

“You’ll see,” Beau says, grinning. Then he drops to one knee. Gasps fill the room as Brinley’s hands fly to her mouth.

“No!” she squeals excitedly. When Beau’s smile droops, she quickly touches his hair and shakes her head. “I didn’t mean no. I meant, no, I can’t believe this is happening. I’m going to say yes.”

“Well, don’t spoil the ending!” Beau says, making everyone laugh. He takes a breath and pulls out a small velvet box. “Brinley Windsor, you have no idea how many times I thought about this day. I made up a proposal speech in the shower hundreds of times, because there are so many reasons I love you, but they couldn't fit into one speech. You’re determined, brave, funny, and strong. You’re soft, too, even if I’m the only one who knows it. I’ve had the honor of watching you start a business and make it successful, only to turn it around and change it to make something even better. I know you take risks for the things you love, and I’m hoping you’ll take one more.”

He opens the box, revealing the pearl and diamond vintage ring he showed me last week. “Will you marry me, Brinley baby?”

Brinley’s eyes fill with tears, and so do mine. She deserves this—after so many years of loving Beau in secret, she’s finally getting the big, loud, public declaration of love she never dared to hope for.

“Yes,” she says, ducking to kiss Beau. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

The room fills with a wave of cheers.

“Fuck yeah!” Pippa yells, pumping her fist while Cat jumps and down, clapping delightedly.

Beau slides the ring onto Brinley’s finger and shoves the box back in his jacket pocket. Then he picks her up and spins her around as he kisses her. It’s straight out of one of Brinley’s romance novels, and it makes my happy tears spill over. Next to me, Luke hands me a tissue, and I take it gratefully.

“Where’s the champagne?” Ryan asks.

“Way ahead of you,” Luke says. He heads back behind the bar and moves a carefully placed Santa statue to reveal a tray of champagne glasses and an ice bucket. “Come grab a glass, everyone!”

Once the pregnant women have cider, Pippa has a glass of red wine, and everyone else has champagne, I lift my glass. “I think I should be the first to make the toast tonight, since I knew about Beau and Brinley longer than anyone else. Which means I had to hear Brinley swoon about Beau’s biceps for years before anyone else had to deal with it.”

Beau flexes, making the guys whoop and Brinley hide her face in her hands. Laughing, I keep going.

“I’ve never known two people as in sync as Beau and Brinley,” I continue. “Watching them move through the kitchen together is like a ballet—a ballet where one person is cooking, and the other one keeps finding more and more inconvenient places to sit on the counter. More seriously though, I’ve never seen a couple who admired each other more. Brinley’s in awe of Beau’s generosity, sweetness, and astonishing ability to create five-star dishes out of nothing. And Beau idolizes Brinley for her ambition and drive. I know their mutual admiration society will make for an amazing married couple. So, let’s drink to⁠—”

Before I can even finish, Brinley throws her arms around me. “Thank you,” she whispers. “Thank you for seeing Beau and me when nobody else did. We wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you.”

I squeeze my arms tight around her. “I’m so beyond happy for you, Brin.”

“Then let's drink!” Ryan declares.

After that, there are more speeches, shorter and sweeter than mine. Sooner than it seems, it’s 9:00 p.m. and time for me to head to the airport for my flight home. Not wanting to interrupt the drinking and holiday cheer, I slink to the back of the room toward the back hallway where I stashed my bag and coat.

A hand catches the door right as I’m about to close it. Luke moves into the hallway behind me. He only leaves a foot of space between us, and even though I shouldn’t I feel the pull to close that space. He’s like a planet, the gravity of him pulling down a spiraling moon.

“You’re leaving,” he says, eyes darting down to my bag. In the dim lights, his pupils go wide, crowding out the blue-green iris.

I nod. “I have a red-eye flight. I figured I’d sneak out before anyone noticed.”

“I noticed.” His normally smooth voice sounds gravel-rough. “I’m always fucking noticing now.”

Goosebumps rise on my arms. When I take a shuddering breath, I’m too aware of the way it pushes up my breasts. I don’t know what to say. Speech feels too dangerous, like the wrong word will lead us down a path we can’t escape.

“I should go,” I murmur.

He points up at the doorway above me, where plastic mistletoe hangs on a festive red ribbon.

“That wasn’t there earlier,” I whisper.

“No,” he agrees, voice rough. “It wasn’t.”

He hung it. Sometime between the champagne and the toasts, Luke Windsor hung mistletoe over the back hallway door—and then waited to see if I’d walk under it.