“I …” Words fail me as Church looks up, eyes bright. There’s a certainty there, a confidence that I don’t feel, but that maybe I should. Looking at him, it truly feels like he has a plan here.

“My parents are still together,” he argues, taking the top off his own drink and sipping it slowly. The way he licks the rim of the bottle is most definitely suggestive in nature. He turns to look my way, his amber eyes sweeping over me in his mother’s wedding dress. “And maybe, at the time, your father was everything your mother needed—sometimes forever means just for now.” Church pauses for a moment and breathes out a small sigh. “But I don’t want this engagement to cause you so much pain. I’ll go back and tell my mother that the wedding is off; it’s clear your dad won’t be sending you away again.”

“But your mom came all this way to give me the dress,” I start, squeezing a handful of skirts in my fist, struggling to figure out why I feel so reluctant to give it back.

“I can wait and tell her later, if you’d prefer,” Church says, watching me with that stoic calm of his. “And you can keep the ring. It’s yours, even if you want to sell it and keep the money.”

“You picked this out for me?” I ask, and Church nods.

“In the antique store, just like my father picked out a ring for my mother. That’s where I went, when I disappeared before your attack in Santa Cruz. The twins told me you were concerned.” My face flushes, and I sputter to explain, but … okay, it’s true. Church has always been just a tad suspicious, right?

“You were in Nutmeg?” I ask, and he nods.

“Just for a night—I couldn’t make up my mind over which ring to choose. And then I took it home to show my parents and ask for their blessing.” He sits there patiently, waiting for me to sort out my thoughts again. “I’m glad we were able to get you back to Adamson when we did. But things have changed.” Church takes my hand and carefully slides the ring toward the end of my finger.

“Wait,” I say, pulling my hand back and adjusting the ring. I feel possessive over it, clutching it against my chest.

He smiles at me again.

“Keep it. But you don’t have to wear it anymore.”

Our eyes meet, mine searching his for clues.

“You really like me, Church? I mean, I know you said you did at the hot springs, but … you shouldn’t have to be engaged to a girl you don’t want.”

“Who said I’m engaged to a girl I don’t want?” he replies, setting his coffee on the dresser at the end of my bed and turning back to me. He captures my chin in long fingers and studies my face. “I don’t typically do things I don’t want to do.”

“Yeah, but this was just to get me back to Adamson, right?”

“Was it?” he replies, meeting my question with yet another of his own. Church leans forward and kisses my mouth, just so, a soft brush of lips, like the touch of a butterfly’s wings. “I like seeing you in my mother’s dress, Charlotte Farren Carson.”

My breathing quickens, and I struggle to find the words to respond to that.

Church presses his mouth to mine again, and my eyes close of their own accord. Slowly, like he’s afraid he might ruin the moment if he moves too fast, he kisses me again. Just like that night on his parent’s patio, I find myself melting into his touch, opening my lips for his tongue. My coffee drink falls to the floor and rolls beneath Church’s bed, but neither of us cares.

Instead, I find myself lying back in the pillows, his body stretched above mine, lithe but muscular, smelling like lilac and rosemary. His mouth works against mine, relaxing me and bringing sweet sighs and sounds of contentment from my lips.

“It doesn’t have to be fake, unless you want it to be,” he whispers, his hands sliding up and underneath the full skirts of the dress. Warm palms caress my bare thighs as he settles himself between my legs, kissing each corner of my mouth with the gentlest of touches.

He’s holding back. I’m sure of it. But why? It doesn’t even occur to me that he might be just as scared as I am, just as unsure, but just as in love.

Love.

That’s come up a lot lately, hasn’t it?

“You’d actually marry me? The weird, dorky poor girl with a maid for a mom and a teacher for a dad?”

“You know my secret,” he says, his face taking on just a hint of sadness. “My biological mother was a maid, too. We’re no different, you and me.” Church’s long fingers tease the waistband of my panties, causing me to suck in a sharp breath. He’s avoided touching me for so long, and now I can see why. Each place our skin comes into contact tingles. It’s like there are these little bolts of energy darting across my skin. “I’d be honored to marry you—but only if you want me, too.”

“I do …” I whisper, but the way I trail off gives him pause. Church stops kissing me, looking down into my face with a sweet mixture of frustration and longing. “I want them, too.” It almost hurts to say it, but I know that I have to. It gives me anxiety every day, wondering if there’s an ultimatum coming, or an expiration date.

“They’re my family, Charlotte,” Church says, propped up on with a forearm on either side of me. “They’re not going anywhere.” He smiles at me and then dips his head to kiss me again. This time, though, there’s an edge to it. It’s like his personality: half sunshine and half ironclad control. It’s a part of who he is, a part of being a Montague.

“There are condoms in the nightstand,” I whisper, and Church nods, his eyes hooded as he looks down at me. We kiss again, one of his hands coming up to rest on the curve of my waist, the other slipping beneath my panties. Part of me knows we should take off the wedding dress, but the rest of me doesn’t care.

Church dances the fingers of one hand across my clavicle while the other teases the embarrassing amount of wetness between my legs. I’m desperate to touch him, too, but when I drop my hands to his slacks, he grabs my wrist.

With his eyes locked on mine, Church sits up and reaches for his tie, carefully unknotting it and slipping it off. He then takes it and wraps it around one of the spindles on the headboard and then around my wrists, tying it in just such a way that the navy-blue silk holds me tight, but lets my skin breathe.

His own breath catches when he sits back on his heels and looks me over, bound with his Adamson Academy school tie, and dressed as his bride. Sunlight streams in through the window, coloring Church’s honeyed hair with gold as he studies me.

“What are you waiting for?” I ask, sweating and doing my best not to writhe beneath him. But I’m desperate for him to touch me. Desperate.

“I’m savoring the moment,” he replies easily, mouth sliding to the side in a devilish little smirk. “If I were a different sort of person, I’d probably take a picture. Maybe even a video?”

“Don’t you dare,” I growl out, but Church just chuckles.

“I won’t. After all, this is just for me to enjoy. If I recorded it, I bet one of those assholes would get ahold of my phone at some point and see the evidence.” Church bends down and kisses the side of my neck, making me squirm. “I don’t mind sharing, in general, but certain things are just for me. This is one of them.”