Once the gift and I stand before Kenan, I wave my hand in front of his face.

“Stop waving your hand in my face,” he says with a grin and still-closed eyes.

“Are you peeking?” My question ends on an indignant squeak.

“No, I just have the heightened senses of a bobcat,” he jokes.

“Do bobcats have heightened senses?”

“Who the hell cares?” Kenan asks with good-natured exasperation, his smile widening. “Can I open my eyes now? Shit.”

I laugh so hard I have to bend at the waist. I’m having way too much fun with this.

“Okay,” I say, after I’ve composed myself. “You can open.”

When he opens his eyes, they latch onto me and then shift to the gift, which stands about a foot taller than I do. It’s large and square and shrouded in brown paper.

“Is this . . .” His eyes dart between me and the large square. “Did you—”

“Would you just open it? Shit,” I repeat his curse mockingly.

He stands and covers my hand holding the gift up by the corner. Instead of tearing into it, as I assumed he would, he bends, loops his other arm around my waist, and kisses me so deeply, I can’t breathe and sway on wobbly legs when he’s done. He feathers kisses down my chin and neck.

“Kenan,” I protest weakly, trying my damnedest to stave off the horniness. “Behave. Open it.”

He smiles and releases me to rip the paper away and reveal the photograph from Chase’s exhibit.

“God, Lotus.” Kenan looks between me and the photograph several times like he’s not sure which one he wants to stare at most. “It’s so beautiful. I don’t know what . . . thank you. You know how badly I wanted this.”

“Yeah, I heard you offered twenty-thousand dollars for it.” I laugh and caress his face. “What a schmuck.”

“Oh, I’m a schmuck?” With seemingly little effort, he hefts the huge photograph up and walks it over to prop it against the wall. He strides back to the bed, his eyes glinting with wicked intent. “Say it again.”

I hold my breath, allowing the anticipation to coil between us to the point of snapping. “Schmuck!”

I take off running to the other side of the mammoth bed. He chases me, almost catches me, but I jump up, my feet sinking into the soft mattress, and leap to the other side. I feint left and right, running around and over the mattress a few times before his iron arms close around me and gently wrestle me to the bed.

“Please don’t tickle me,” I beg, laughing before he’s even started.

“So I’m a schmuck?” He slips one arm under my back, pressing me to him and making it impossible to do anything but squirm and relish our closeness.

“No, you’re not a schmuck! And you’re not a grumpy old man either.”

“You didn’t call me a grumpy old man,” he says with a frown.

“Well, I just did! Suckaaaah!”

And then his persistent fingers dig into my ribs, finding every soft, ticklish spot. I kick and flail and arch my neck and contort my body as much as possible, but he won’t be deterred.

“Oh, my God,” I protest. “Please don’t make me pee in this dress the first time I wear it.”

He finally relents, lying on his side, resting his head in the heel of his hand as he watches me.

“That is the only thing that saved you.” His features, already softened with humor, grow even more tender with affection. “I love your photo. It’s going on that wall so it’s the first thing I see every morning.”

“That’s not awkward or anything,” I mumble, but I can’t hold back my pleased grin. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I love it,” he repeats. “But soon I’ll be spooning the real thing every morning when I wake up.”

“Kenan, we’ll see.” I release a long exhale. “Let’s talk to Dr. Packer. Moving in is a big deal, especially since Simone lives with you. I just want to make sure she is a hundred percent comfortable.”

“Okay.” He drops a kiss on my forehead before pulling me to sit up on the edge of the bed. “Now you close your eyes.”

He stands, lifting his brows when my eyes remain as open as his did. “My turn.”

I roll my eyes before closing them.

“Keep them closed,” he calls, his voice coming from farther away, but still somewhere in the room.

“They’re closed, dammit,” I pretend to grouse.

I’m still trapped behind the darkness of my closed eyelids when he takes my left hand and twists the gris-gris ring off. It hasn’t left my finger in years. I suppress the instinct to open my eyes and grab it before it’s gone.

He slowly eases it onto the ring finger of my right hand. My heart assumes a thunderous rhythm, and blood rushes to my face and throbs in my ears. Sweat sprouts out all over my body as he slides a different ring onto the finger where MiMi’s ring rested before.

What if she gave me to you? What if I’m your gris gris now?

Kenan’s words from months ago wash over me, run through me.

You did good, MiMi, I whisper in silent, complete gratitude.

I thought her heart was the greatest gift she left me, but no.

It’s this man.

I can’t play along anymore. My eyes fly open to find Kenan down on one knee in front of the bed, in front of me. A vintage cushion-cut diamond set in blackened platinum glints from my left hand. I have no idea how many carats it is, but it’s huge without being gaudy. It’s antique, but thoroughly modern.

It’s perfect.

“Kenan, oh my God.” A shaky breath whooshes past my lips. I press a trembling hand to my throat. “Are you sure about—”

“I already talked to Simone,” he interrupts, his voice low, fervent. “And to Dr. Packer and to my mother. They’re all fine with it. Ecstatic about it.” He pauses and brings my hand to his lips. “I even told Bridget.”

“Bridget knows?” I gape. “How does she feel about it? How is she?”

“She’s dating one of the crew from Baller Bae,” he says dryly. “I think she’ll be fine. She’s known for a while how I feel about you.” He shakes his head and huffs out a truncated laugh. “Hell, everyone knows how I feel about you.”

“And Simone?” I ask, once more, needing to be certain. “You’re sure she’s okay?”

“She helped me pick out the ring.” His chuckle comes out deep, but I detect the faintest trace of uncertainty. “The only hold-out is you. You, uh, still haven’t said yes.”

He looks at the ring on my finger, and his shoulders and chest go so absolutely still, I think he’s literally holding his breath. Tears prick my eyes, and I blink several times, but there’s no stopping them from rushing over my cheeks. My gladiator, one of the most intimidating men in the NBA—I have his heart in the palm of my hand. But it’s an even trade because he has my heart, too.

I scoot forward until I’m at the very edge of the bed and my legs have to split and spread around his broad torso as he waits on his knees for me to answer. I cup his chin, lean forward, brush my nose against his, then slide the curve of my cheek against the raw-boned angle of his, and pull back to lock our eyes.

“Don’t look away,” I whisper, licking into the seam of those full lips. He groans, opening the way he only ever has for me.

He twines the fingers of his right hand with the fingers of my left, and strokes the sparkling declaration of his love. My tears come faster, mixing with every hungry nip and ravenous lick as I taste him. It’s not the rich, tangy flavor of his kiss. I taste the acceptance, the patience, and the unconditional love I’ve found myself seeking all my life.

I have found the one whom my soul loves.

It’s all there on his lips, in this kiss, in the emotion of the dark eyes that never look away. Without breaking the sweet, hot thread between our lips or the deep, unwavering intimacy of the look we share, I whisper into our kiss the answer he’s been waiting for.

“Yes.”