“I don’t care about presents. You’re the only thing I want today.” He kissed her again. “And you can’t keep things like this from me, love.”
She gasped and pulled back. “You want to talk about keeping things from people? You’re the one with the big secret that’s stressing me out!”
His brows furrowed. “My secret?”
“Oh my god, don’t even pretend that you have no idea! I know that woman’s blackmailing you.”
Hunter’s look grew more puzzled. “Blackmailing me? Who?”
“The one that showed up at your office earlier this week and brought photos.” She studied him. He really did seem confused at her accusation. “I . . . guess it’s not blackmail after all?”
He looked angry, of all things. “You really think I’m being blackmailed? Why would you keep something like that to yourself? Why wouldn’t you come talk to me?”
“Because I wanted to marry you,” she whispered. “For better or for worse, I wanted you to be mine.”
The hard line of his mouth softened. “Gretchen—”
“I know, I know. I’m crazy and now you don’t want to marry me, right?”
“I love you and I can’t believe you’ve made yourself so much to worry about over the last few months.” He gave her an exasperated look and took her hand in his, then kissed the palm. “I’d throw you down on this sofa and demonstrate just how much I want you to be my wife, but I need to show you something first.”
“Aw, that’s kind of disappointing,” Gretchen said, getting to her feet. “I wouldn’t mind you throwing me down on the sofa and demonstrating, either.”
The look he gave her was heated, but he took her hand and tugged her forward. “This is important. Come on.”
She took a few steps and then paused. Her dress wasn’t hanging right, the waist un-cinched. “I can’t. My dress won’t close. It’s just another thing I’ve failed at.”
Hunter shrugged off his tuxedo jacket.
“No, baby, that’s your tux—” The look he gave her silenced her protests, and she let him put his jacket around her shoulders and tuck it against her. Truth be told, she liked that he was taking care of her. She always had. Normally she was so caught up in her own storms that she forgot how nice it was to sit back and let Hunter take control for a bit. So she was silent as she slid her arms through the oversized sleeves. When he offered his hand, she took it.
They emerged from the room hand in hand, and Gretchen cringed as they went down the hall, half expecting to see a flurry of worried bridesmaids. It was only Daphne waiting, though, her phone in hand. “The others are scattering for a bit,” she explained as they passed. “If anyone asks, you two are having a few moments to yourselves and can’t be disturbed.” And she winked at Gretchen like everything was under control.
Heck, maybe it was. Gretchen nodded slowly and let Hunter tug her along.
It wasn’t until they got to the second floor, where his office was, that she got curious. The door next to his—normally his personal gym—was covered with plastic, thanks to the repairs. “Is there more wrong with the house?” she asked as he reached for the plastic and began to pull it back. “Is the water damage worse than you said? What—”
He tore the plastic sheeting back and gestured inside.
She went in, releasing his hand. The lights were off and she fumbled for the light switch, and then flicked it on. As the lights fluttered into existence, she gasped.
It was her dream kitchen. Ina Garten’s white, chic kitchen from her TV show had been lovingly re-created. Tall cabinets sat empty of the decorative kitchenware that Ina had on her show, and the black-topped white bar didn’t have the stools in front of it yet. The stove was missing, but the twin refrigerator cabinets were perfection. As she walked into the kitchen, she saw the twin dishwashers under the island. Her hand moved over the countertop, skimming the cool stone. “What . . . what is this?”
“It’s supposed to be the kitchen on that TV show you like so much, but the contractors have been dragging their damned feet for so long that it’s only half-done. The one here, that is,” he added. “The one in Cata Bay is fully completed.”
She pulled open one of the refrigerator cabinets and sighed with pleasure. A subzero fridge. How lovely. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” She turned back to Hunter, his words registering. “What’s Cata Bay?”
“Cata Bay is my private island that I bought.”
“You bought a private island?”
“For us.” He moved forward and pulled his phone out of his pocket, thumbing through a few things before he found what he was searching for, and handed the phone to her.
He’d opened a series of photos, and as she flicked through them, she saw the house he’d designed, the sandy beach and the private dock, the opulent, tropical bedroom, and even the deluxe kitchen that was a completed mirror to the one she was standing in right now. “You . . . bought an island,” she said faintly. “And made a third kitchen in the house. Why?”
“This kitchen,” he said, pointing at the counter, “is because I miss you when you’re downstairs and not near me. Maybe I’m fucking clingy or needy, but I don’t care. I like having you nearby. I like hearing you cuss at the bread when it doesn’t rise like you want it to. I like hearing you tinker around. I like knowing that you’re only a few feet away for me to come and touch you.” He moved to her side, his hand sliding to her neck and caressing her nape. “I’m addicted to you and I don’t give a crap if that makes me needy.”