Face-Off at the Altar
Page 117

“Markus! What the hell—” Before she could finish, though, she looked over to see his hand in the air with a little blue box in it. Gasping, she covered her mouth as she sat up slowly, and his head popped up to where she could see his eyes. They were bright, big, and happy as he used his other hand to open the box containing the most beautiful diamond ring she had ever seen. It was teardrop shaped and sparkly, and holy shit, was this really happening?
“Are you surprised?” he asked, and she choked on a sob.
“A bit.”
“So you like this one?”
She nodded like a bobblehead. “Yeah, I do.”
Tears rushed to her eyes as she met his gaze, his own eyes shining with tears. “Mekena, I love you more than I could ever find a way to say to you. I love the way you tell me you hate me because I know it isn’t true. I love the way you smile, the way you laugh, and even the way you cry. Though, I refuse to be the reason for those tears.” He paused, his voice breaking as he held her gaze. “I have loved you for a very long time, through the worst two years of my life and even before that. You stood by me after you learned the truth of what happened. You loved me even when I wasn’t sure I loved myself. You took a risk on me when you really didn’t have to. You laugh at my bad jokes, and the thing is…I crave you. Always.”
Choking on a sob, she smiled. “Your jokes aren’t that bad.”
He laughed. “They aren’t good, but that’s beside the point. The point is, I love you. I love you so damn much, and I know for a fact that the greatest story I’ll ever tell is our own. But with every great love story, there is a happily ever after, and for that to happen for me, for us…I need you—God, I want you—to say yes to marrying me.”
Her lip quivered as she slowly started to nod her head. Yes, of course, she would, but then he gave her a slightly exasperated look as a tear went down his cheek. “Can you wait for me to ask?”
She choked on laughter as she nodded her head. “Yes, sorry, as you were.”
“So Mekena Lillian Preston, will you do me the absolutely honor of calling you my wife for the rest of my existence?”
She blinked.
Then he blinked.
And then there was an awkward silence.
Holding his gaze, she asked, “Did you ask?”
He laughed. “Were you listening?”
“Yeah, but that wasn’t a ‘Will you marry me?’ so I wasn’t sure if you were done.”
“I’m gonna kill you.”
Laughing out loud, she jumped into his arms, pressing her mouth to his as he fell back onto the floor, her body covering his while he wrapped his arms around her. Kissing him hard, she thought she couldn’t fall for him again, but she was surprised because she had. All over again. And boy, did she love him and everything about him. She held his face. “Yes. Yes, I will marry you and be your wife for the rest of your existence.”
He eyed her. “Are you mocking me?
“Would I do that?”
He grinned. “Yes, but I don’t care as long as you are saying yes.”
“Oh, I’m saying yes. You are mine, Markus Reeves, and no one else’s.”
Holding her close, he kissed her lips once more and nodded. “Always have been and always will be, Mekena Preston.”
And she would be his because he was the risk she would always take.
Because what was life without a little risk?
Especially when the payoff was Markus Reeves loving her for the rest of their existence.
“I don’t understand the point of this.”
Looking over at her from the middle of the ice, her fiancé shook his head. “Do you know how embarrassing it is that my wife can’t skate?”
Rolling her eyes, she held up one finger. “One, no one knows I can’t skate. Two, we aren’t married yet.”
“Potayto, Potahto,” he said, saying it in different ways but meaning the same thing, which she guessed was his point.
She was his.
Plain and simple.
The month since he had proposed had probably been the best month of their relationship. Markus was killing on the ice for the Assassins and had three more goals to his name. She had that mantel built for him, and his collection of pucks was sure to grow. The Assassins were doing the best they had in a long time. Elli was making moves every day, and the chances of bringing the Cup home to Nashville were looking pretty great. Everyone was really excited, Markus especially, since he was convinced he was the reason the Assassins were doing so well.
She didn’t disagree, though she did tease him that it was all her since she was the team photographer. She loved her job and decided she should have been doing it her whole life. While she would forever be thankful to Libby for what she had taught her in the wedding industry, Mekena belonged at the glass, watching her boys on the ice.
Things were great professionally for both of them, but they were even better at home. The apartment was completely done, and they owed babysitting for the rest of their lives to Lucy, but neither cared since the apartment was gorgeous. It was exactly how Mekena had envisioned it, and Markus even got his cowskin chair.
Though Mekena hated that thing with everything inside her soul.
But it would stay because it made him happy.
And since he was happy, Mekena was happy, and things were good. Even when he was mooing like an idiot when he sat in it.
Above all, they enjoyed each other immensely and were always having fun. Of course, they did have their bad moments, when they’d fight over who ate the last Pop-Tart or who deleted the last episode of Survivor, but they got over it. And when Mekena was having a bad day, where she thought too much about Skylar, Markus was there, lifting her back up.
They just worked.
Which was why she loved him so much.
But she was rethinking that love as she shook in her skates on the ice.
“I hate you for this.”
“You do not, come on,” he called to her as she shuffled onto the ice.
“I’m gonna fall.”
“I’ll catch you,” he said, coming toward her. “No wife of mine won’t know how to skate.”
She looked up at him, wanting him to take ahold of her, but his hands were out just in case she needed him to catch her. “So we aren’t getting married?”
“Are you trying to tell me you don’t want to marry me?”