He smiled, and I saw the kindness in his eyes, the warmth, and knew Abby inherited more than her quiet nature from her father. “From what Abby tells me, Felicia and Jackson aren’t the only ones,” he said.

Okay. The straightforwardness I wasn’t expecting. Abby had not inherited that.

My mind spun frantically, and I tried desperately to think of how to respond.

I have nothing but honorable intentions toward your daughter?

Not sure that was the entire truth, considering what I told Abby I’d do to her the next time I had her in my playroom.

Fuck. Abby’s father is in my house. Sitting directly below the playroom where I teased and tormented his daughter. How would I explain the closed door if I gave them a tour?

You don’t, I told myself. You just ignore it.

Did I really think he would look at a closed door and say, “Hey, what’s in there?”

No, I didn’t.

But still. He could.

“I understand she’s moving in with you next weekend?” he asked.

I pulled myself up straighter and did my best to ignore the sweat running down my back. This was worse than high school prom. What if he forbade Abby to move in? Would he do that? What would I do if I became the cause of more strife between Abby and her father?

The words rushed out. “I have nothing but honorable intentions toward your daughter, sir.” I cringed. Idiot.

He waved his hand in dismissal. “I know you’re a successful man, Nathaniel, and I know Abby has a good head on her shoulders. I’m not going to say I’m altogether pleased with how quickly this is moving or that I’m happy with this whole living-together arrangement.” He gave me a look, and I wondered how much he knew of my past with Abby. “But I remember the joy of sharing my life with someone.”

Abby had said he’d been alone for a long time.

“So while I’m not altogether pleased,” he said, “I’ll overlook it for Abby’s sake. If you make her happy, well, all I’ve ever wanted is for her to find happiness.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said, strangely relieved. “I, too, want nothing but Abby’s happiness.”

“Hell,” he said. “Don’t call me sir. It makes me feel ancient. Tell me about your cousin. Anything I need to warn Felicia about?”

I laughed, and the conversation shifted seamlessly to football.

We ate dinner in the dining room. I’d wanted to eat in the kitchen, but Abby thought the dining room more appropriate, and after thinking on it further, I agreed. The dining room, while serving a purpose on weekends, was part of the house and should be used as such.

Besides, I thought, watching her direct her dad to his seat, I rather enjoyed watching her acting as hostess in my house. I’d never entertained much, but I decided Abby and I would have to change that after she moved in.

I offered to help her serve, but she rejected me thoroughly and told me to have a seat and keep her dad company. I sat at my place at the head of the table. Abby’s dad sat at my right, leaving Abby a seat at my left. I’d set the table before everyone arrived; all we needed was the food.

Abby walked in and stood beside me. My c**k gave a twitch, remembering how she served me in the dining room on weekends. I placed a napkin firmly in my lap. This was not a weekend.

Still, my body remembered . . .

And there was the electricity that hummed between us whenever we were together.

She set the beef Wellington before me and lightly grazed my shoulder with her fingers.

I feel it, too, her touch said. I know exactly what you’re thinking.

Our eyes met as she sat down, and I grinned at her. Not everything, my expression teased. You just wait—when I get you alone again.

“Did you cook this?” her father asked, interrupting our silent conversation.

I turned to him, slightly abashed at having improper thoughts about his daughter while he sat at my table.

“I did,” I said. I hoped he wasn’t the type of man who thought cooking was not a masculine pursuit.

“Abby enjoys cooking, too,” he said. “You two must have fun in the kitchen.”

“We do,” I said, and my mind wandered to a snowy day, a steam-filled kitchen, and a lunch of cold risotto.

“We took sushi lessons a few weeks ago,” Abby said, kicking my foot under the table.

The corner of her lip went up, and I shook my head at her. What? I asked with my eyes. Maybe I’d lost my poker face abilities the last few weeks.

“Do you enjoy baseball?” I asked her dad.

“Oh, yes,” he said. “Baseball. Football.”

“I have a box at Yankee Stadium,” I said. “Maybe you can come down this summer and go to a few games. Abby and I would love to have you stay a few days.” Emphasizing, I hoped, that I viewed this not just as my home, but Abby’s as well. That he would always be welcome in our house.

Our house.

I felt my stomach flip in the most amazing way and realized that this, this was what contentment was. What was it he had said? The joy of sharing your life with someone.

I looked back at Abby and, yes, she felt it too. I reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Not just sharing your life with someone, though. Sharing your life with the One.

Chapter Thirteen

—ABBY—

It was pointless, I decided, throwing back the covers and getting out of bed. I piddled around my room for a few minutes, running my hand over the multitude of boxes—clothes here, books there, everything else in between.

I wondered if Felicia was sleeping. She was spending the night on my couch. We’d had a wonderful day—first meeting Elaina at Felicia’s favorite spa and treating the bride-to-be to a day of pampering. Later in the afternoon, Felicia and I had returned to the apartment and giggled like schoolgirls while we got ready for the rehearsal. Even that had gone well. Nathaniel stood proudly beside his cousin, a tiny hint of a smile on his lips as Felicia tried unsuccessfully to pry information on where they had been all day.

My bridesmaid dress hung in the closet, waiting for morning. I trailed a finger down the delicate silk material. Felicia had excellent taste. The dress was floor length, ice blue, and formfitting, with bare shoulders except for the chiffon that came up from the waist to drape over one shoulder.

Turning from the dress, I threw a few remaining books into a half-empty box, but finally accepted that sleep wouldn’t be visiting me anytime soon.

I stepped quietly into the living room, not wanting to disturb Felicia, only to find her sitting on the couch, drinking a cup of tea.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Did I wake you?”

“No.” I walked over to the couch and sat beside her. “I couldn’t sleep either. Nervous?”

She tucked her knees under her chin, wrapping her arms around her legs. “Not really nervous, I don’t think. Just excited. Maybe a little worried?”

“Worried about marrying Jackson?” I asked, concerned. This was normal, right? Didn’t every bride go through this?

“No, not Jackson,” she said, and I felt a little better. “Well, not Jackson, the man. More worried about marrying Jackson, quarterback for the New York Giants. The paparazzi and all. Being in the spotlight.”

I vaguely remembered her frustration when the engagement was announced. Photographers had followed her for a few days, showed up outside her classroom, even called her apartment a few times. The excitement had died down rather quickly and, truth be told, I hadn’t been that much of a help to her, having recently left Nathaniel and living in the fog of depression I’d been in.

“It won’t be too bad, I don’t think,” I said. “He’s a famous athlete, sure, but he’s not an actor or anything.”

“You try setting up security for your wedding and then tell me it’s not that bad,” she said. “You plan your honeymoon trying to decide where you can be alone most of the time. And you have your wedding gown flashed on television for the world to see.”

“Okay. Okay,” I said, trying to calm her down, not wanting to see her in full-out bridal rage. “I see your point. The wedding gown thing was tacky.”

“Hmph. I’ll say.”

“But listen,” I said. “Jackson loves you. I’ve seen it. You don’t have anything to worry about. If the paparazzi show up, you and Jackson will deal with it together. Plus, you’ll have the whole Clark clan to back you up. And you know you’ll always have me.”

She smiled at that. “Thanks, Abby.”

I shrugged. “No biggie. And since you and Jackson will be off touring Europe, I’m sure the wedding hype will have moved on when you do come back to the States. Some other celebrity news will have taken your place.”

Jackson had planned a two-week honeymoon for them in Europe. They would visit the UK, France, Italy, and Switzerland. While I’d always wanted to visit Europe, it didn’t sound like my idea of the perfect honeymoon. When I got married, I wanted to spend my honeymoon alone, with Nathaniel, not country-hopping.

A shiver ran down my spine.

Honeymoon alone, with Nathaniel.

Gah.

“You’re right,” Felicia said, oblivious to the inner workings of my brain. “It’s just strange, you know?”

“Yeah, strange.” And Felicia dealing with the paparazzi wasn’t the only thing.

“Everything’s strange tonight, isn’t it?” she asked. “You and me. We’ve been neighbors forever, and after tomorrow, everything changes. It’s a bit sad.”

“You’ll still have me. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re moving in with Nathaniel. Talk about strange.”

I wanted to ask what was so strange about it, but then decided not to. I really didn’t want to discuss my weekends with Nathaniel. While Felicia seemed more supportive, I wasn’t sure she could listen at this point and not be judgmental.

“I mean, sure, Jackson’s a famous football player, but Nathaniel constantly makes top-twenty lists for wealthiest Americans,” she continued. “How does that feel?”

I knew what she was doing—trying to make herself feel better by shifting the focus to someone else. By asking how I handled something she needed to handle as well. I decided to tell her the truth.

“It doesn’t feel like anything,” I said. “When I’m with Nathaniel, I’m not thinking about his wealth or what he’s worth. It’s just him. Nathaniel.”

“But still,” she pushed. “How’s it going to work with you living with him? Will you pay him rent? Pay part of his mortgage?”

She’d just called him one of America’s wealthiest citizens and she thought he had a mortgage?

“He doesn’t have a mortgage,” I said. “He owns his house outright. And no, I’m not paying him rent.”

“But expenses?”

“Sure, I’ll help with expenses.” But it was all a guess for me. Nathaniel and I had talked a little about how expenses would work once I moved in, but nothing very detailed. We’d just work it all out once I moved in. “How about you and Jackson? Are you worried about money?”

“No,” she said. “Jackson’s already made plans to set up a joint account for us. It’ll just be odd, having all that money. Come on, Abby. Admit it. You have to have thought about the material benefits of living with Nathaniel.”

“Maybe once or twice.”

“Once or twice. Sure.”

“I know he has a housekeeper,” I said. “I guess that will be weird—having someone clean everything for me. But really, I don’t think about it. I focus more on Nathaniel.”

“I’ll be so happy when Jackson retires and we can be a bit more normal.”

She was all over the place. Again, maybe this was common for brides. I just decided to go where she led me. “He’s playing one more season?” I asked.