Code Name Gorgeous

Chapter 1

One

John Seymour paced his Georgetown apartment’s living room. A honeysuckle-scented breeze wafted through the open windows. This morning’s thunderstorm had mellowed into a golden June afternoon, a perfect backdrop for a storybook marriage proposal.

All he needed was his bride.

He patted the velvet box in his jeans pocket for the hundredth time since Jane had texted. Her flight had landed at Dulles an hour ago. Practical as always, she’d declined his offer to meet her at baggage claim. Easier to Metro to Rosslyn and Lyft from there, she’d typed.

She’d be home any minute.

Adrenaline surged through him as he surveyed the apartment.

Shit, he’d forgotten the candle. After flicking his Zippo torch lighter, he held the flame to the wick of her favorite one.

Theoretically it smelled like midnight in Paris.

It definitely didn’t. When he was there as a teenager, the City of Lights mostly smelled like river, garlic and bread.

Outside, a rumbling engine snagged his attention.

Jane?

Maybe. The idling SUV’s tinted windows shielded its passengers. As he leaned toward the window, it took off, tires squealing. Stop signs interrupted this street every hundred feet, so there was no point in gunning it. Why in the world would—

“Ouch!” Pain bloomed on his thumb. The candle’s wick had caught and flared while the SUV distracted him.

Ruckus, his rescue dog, raised his shaggy head.

“I’m okay, buddy.” He slipped into the kitchen and ran cool water over his thumb.

He was okay? Lie.

He was a sweaty, jittery mess. Smart, funny, big-hearted, grounded, with striking eyes that saw his soul, Jane Marie Davis was the key to everything he wanted in life.

Please let her say yes.

A year ago, Jane sailed into the museum where he installed artwork. His museum’s octogenarian director had consulted with her on an emerging voices exhibit. As they walked the space together, he informed both Jane and John that the show needed to be “well hung.”

The smile she flashed had hooked him.

Two days later, over Filomena’s triple chocolate mousse, he asked, “Want to come back to my place?”

“Yes, please. I need the end of your story about cracking the stretcher of a Picasso.” She dropped her napkin on the table. “But FYI, I’m a black belt in Muay Thai, so think twice about getting handsy.”

Then, much to his delight, she’d gotten handsy.

From that first date, they’d felt inevitable.

His phone vibrated against his ass. His younger brother, Thomas.

“Congratulations and best wishes!” Thomas’s sweaty face filled the screen. “Wait. Where’s my sister-in-law-to-be?”

“She’s not home from her work trip yet. And I promise to call you first if she says yes.”

“If?” Thomas widened his eyes. “Why if?”

John was ninety-seven percent certain she’d say yes. But the three percent of doubt was loud. Which he’d keep to himself. As the older brother, he always protected Thomas from emotional churn.

“Slip of the tongue. When.” The Washington Monument filled Thomas’s background, which meant he was still on the National Mall’s fields. “How’d we do?”

“We won in a sudden death shootout.” Thomas grinned. “Expect Toulouse remains undefeated, even though you bailed on our clash with the brutal OMB Actuaries. Don’t change the subject. Are you nervous?”

“Yes.” He scratched at his beard. “But I’m ready. This has been on my mind nonstop since your wedding.”

“You’re welcome. It was the event of the season, wasn’t it?”

“Don’t be annoying, dear.” Logan, Thomas’s husband, leaned into the screen. “Where’d Jane go this time? New York? Barcelona? Casablanca?”

John lit more Midnight in Paris candles along the mantel.

“Casablanca was last month. This was a last-minute Rocksy appraisal in London. They dug it out of a warehouse last week.”

The surprise work trip had given him the chance to pull out all the proposal stops.

Rose petals strewn on their bed, chilled champagne, favorite meal in the oven because she was always exhausted after an international trip and wouldn’t want to go to a restaurant.

Hell, he’d even driven to Baltimore for the honey graham ice cream she often devoured in a single sitting.

“She has the coolest job.” Logan sighed. “How’s your setup? Will you have a good proposal story to tell approximately eight thousand times? And are you prepared to get mushy?”

“Jane doesn’t do mushy.” Jokes, yes. Incisive and cogent analysis and valuation of artwork, yes. Tirade of swearing when they lost at game night, absolutely.

But mushy? Never.

Thomas took the phone back. “Everyone does mushy. You may be older, but I’m wiser. Listen, you’ve got to tell her about it. Tell her everything you feel. Give her every reason to accept that you’re for real.”

John pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re the wrong generation to quote Billy Joel.”

“Blame Mom for playing Greatest Hits Volume I and II on repeat when she drove us to school in France. Do you have a ring?” He bumped shoulders with Logan. “Someone didn’t have one when he proposed.”

Logan sighed. “So you could choose one with me. Your taste—which some heathens call pickiness—is one of the many things I adore about you.”

“Yes, I have a ring. Want to see?”

John creaked open the box to reveal the silver-and-sapphire art deco ring that caught Jane’s eye in Old Town Alexandria last month. They were browsing for a brooch for his mother’s sixty-fourth birthday. He’d doubled back the next day for the ring.

“It’s beautiful.” Thomas flashed him a smile. “Very Jane. Good luck!”

After the screen darkened, John clutched the back of a chair. Nerves buzzed under his skin. The loud three percent was more like five now. From day one, he’d felt a cosmic click with Jane. Like the universe had whispered this one to him. Every future he imagined, she was in it.

And that future would begin…

Ruckus rocketed from his bed with a joyful bark.

…now, apparently.

He calmly exhaled one, two, three as she exited the black sedan onto the dappled street. Her sundress fluttered around her knees while the bodice clung to the crescent curves of her hips, her waist, and her perfect breasts.

If she said no… Stop that.

John hurried into the hall, then down the front stoop’s iron steps as the sedan eased away. Jane lit up with a smile as he approached.

Fireworks exploded in his chest.

“Hey, Gorgeous.” Her ginger-and-lily perfume enveloped him as he kissed her hello, then took her bag from her. “How was your trip?”

“Fast, which is good.” She squeezed his free hand three times, their signal for let’s go home. “How’s our boy?”

“Happy you’re back. Like me.”

She climbed the steps to the first-floor apartment of the townhouse his parents had bought in the nineties and converted to three units. In exchange for reduced rent, he handled the tenants’ needs while his parents lived abroad.

Inside the apartment, Jane crouched to greet the wagging tan blur. “Who’s a good boy? You are. You’re the best, sweetest, goodest boy.”

Maybe now?

He squatted next to her. “Jane, I have a—”

Ruckus nosed at him, knocking him on his ass.

Jane tugged her heels free. “Hey, can you work your magic on my neck later? The flight stressed me out. The woman next to me propped her naked feet against the seat in front of her. I swear she had a nail fungus.”

The moment had disappeared. He couldn’t follow athlete’s foot with a proposal.

“Sorry, and yes.” He rose from the floor, then helped her up. “Magic will be worked.”

“I swear, everyone forgot how to share public spaces during the lockdowns. Dogs in restaurants, watching movies without headphones, eating chips from crinkly bags in museums… Oh! I got you something.”

As he closed the apartment door behind them and flipped the dead bolt, his fingers prickled with adrenaline. That was his opening.

“I got you something too,” he said.

“Me first.” She rooted around in her carry-on. “Here.”

She thrust a variety pack of Hula Hoops at him. When she said she was flying to London, he mentioned he’d eaten these crisps on a family vacation when he was twelve and wondered if they tasted as good as he remembered.

“Thanks.” His heart stuttered in his chest. She listened to him so carefully.

“Welcome.” She sniffed. “What are you cooking?”

This was it. “It’s lobster ravioli from Filomena. I got carryout.”

“Why? Wait.” She knit her brows as she surveyed the tidy apartment, candles and champagne. “Did I mess up the dates? Isn’t our anniversary in two days?”

His mouth was a desert.

“That’s our first date.” He clutched the bag of snacks. “But we met a year ago.”

“Did we?” She laughed. “How do you remember?”

“Because I’m a meticulous note-taker.”

He had been his whole life. Otherwise, it would’ve been impossible to keep track of where he and his State Department parents lived at any point in his history. He dropped the Hula Hoops on the coffee table, then picked up the journal he’d left there for this moment.

“Read this.” He opened to the bookmark, then handed the journal to her.

She squinted at the page. “Your handwriting’s atrocious. I need an Enigma machine.”

“I believe in your ability to decipher it.” He folded his arms to hide his shaky fingers.

“Okay, okay.” In a low voice, she read, “‘June 20. Hanging a new exhibit at the American.’”

He hooked his mouth up in a grin. “Is that supposed to be me?”

“Am I not nailing it?” She returned her sparkling green gaze to the entry. “‘The art broker…who helped curate the Revolutionary Voices exhibit…is something else. Gorgeous. Smart. Funny. Extremely bossy.’” She glanced at him. “Gee, thanks.”

“Keep reading.”

Once she returned her attention to his journal, he dropped to one knee. His heart hammered against his ribs. Hell, he might faint. No. Him keeling over would not be part of their proposal story.

Instead, he took a deep breath.

“I’ll… I’ll marry her someday. Is that what it says?” As she looked up, the color drained from her face. “What are you doing?”

Jane hated surprises. Which he maybe should’ve factored into this proposal scenario.

“This.” He opened the velvet box.

“But we’ve only been together for a year.” She took a step toward him. “I wasn’t expecting… This is so fast.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Fast? Maybe, but why should we wait to start the rest of our lives together? I love the way you think. You’re the first person I want to talk to in the morning and the person I want to wrap my arms around at night.”

“We haven’t talked about marriage.” Her eyes shone as she took another step toward him. “At all. I… I’m so… I’m not sure what to say.”

“Say yes.” He pushed the ring toward her. “We love each other, don’t we?”

Her eyes crinkled. “So much.”

“Then let’s get married.”

Time stretched as she searched his face. Her eyebrow jiggled the same way it did when he answered a trivia question incorrectly at the bar. That wasn’t good.

Except the jiggle calmed, and she smiled.

“Yes. An emphatic yes.” She held her left hand out to him. “Let’s get married.”

If he hadn’t already been kneeling, he might’ve collapsed with relief. He pressed his lips to the soft back of her hand, then slid the ring on her finger.

Her second knuckle stopped it.

“Damn,” he said. “It fit my pinky.”

She scraped it past her knuckle. “I’ll get it sized. Now please come here and kiss me.”

“Yes ma’am.” He surged to his feet.

Jane’s lips were as soft as sable under his. All he’d ever wanted was in his arms.

Jane caught a yipping Ruckus in a hug between them. “I guess he’s happy for us.”

“Everyone will be, Gorgeous.” John tucked her dark brown hair behind her ear. “Everyone.”