CHAPTER 27 Ford Bradley
Sunset Cruise
Hot chocolate and churros are great and all, but they’ve got nothing on a midafternoon pantry hand job.
I’m not usually one with my head in the clouds, but right now, I’m pretty sure that’s where my head is.
I wanted to fuck her. Jesus Christ, it’s everything I want.
But I’ve waited this long. I’m not going to fuck it all up by getting her drunk on peppermint schnapps and giving in when the time isn’t exactly right.
No matter how much I want to.
I want her to be sure—not drunk. I want her to want me, not to just want to get off because she’s tipsy and horny. I meant what I said.
I’ve never been one to worry about waiting for marriage for anything, but with her, it seems right.
And there’s another factor, one I’ve kept at bay but one that’s important to consider. I don’t want to hop into bed with my brother’s ex unless I’m positive that what we have is real.
Archer and I may not be all that close, but this would seal the fate of our brotherhood.
There are unwritten rules as brothers, and one is that you don’t touch what doesn’t belong to you.
And Tatum belonged to Archer first. For my own emotional safety, I need to know for sure that she’s ready to sever that tie forever.
Because once we fuck, there’s no turning back. Once we’re married, whatever she had with him is done and dusted. For good. Even if the initial intent behind our marriage is one of convenience rather than of reality.
That doesn’t mean it won’t become our reality, and the more we date, the further I fall. The further I fall, the more I want this to work.
The risks are terrifying, but sometimes the greatest things in life come from the risks we take. And this is a risk that could potentially give me everything I’ve ever wanted.
After hot chocolate and churros, instead of taking her home, I take her downtown. I pull into the parking lot of a jewelry store, and my future bride glances at me.
“What are we doing here?”
“I realized you’re my fiancée, but you’re not wearing a ring. You should be wearing a ring.”
Her eyes light up.
“As a wedding planner, I feel like you probably have some idea of what you want—” I begin, but she interrupts me.
“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. A compass cushion center stone with a platinum band. My dream ring, Ford. My dream!”
“A compass what?” I ask. I have no clue about diamonds.
“So, a cushion cut is basically a square with rounded edges. The compass is how it’s set, so it’s not flat but rotated to point to the four directions.
It’s so dreamy, like the groom is the bride’s compass and vice versa.
Come on, let’s go look!” She’s squealing as she explains it, and she throws open the door, possibly slightly denting the car next to us, and then she skips toward the front door of the jeweler.
I have to practically run to keep up with her, but her words roll over in my mind.
Like the groom is the bride’s compass and vice versa.
I suppose I’ve sort of always seen her like that. She’s home. She’s always felt like home to me. I let myself believe it was because of our strong friendship even though deep down I knew it was so much more.
And now…this. It’s really happening.
“I can’t believe this is really happening!” she squeals, echoing my thoughts and hugging my arm in hers once I catch up to her.
She tells the jeweler what she wants, and they show us a selection of diamonds that fit her request. I point to the largest one.
They’ll need to set it into the band, but they assure me it’ll be ready by tomorrow.
When morning comes, I head out to pick up breakfast, and when I return, I knock on her doorframe. “Breakfast is here.”
She turns and glances up at me, a little guilt in her eyes.
I glance at the screen behind her, and the listing for the Bradley Mansion is pulled up.
I don’t bring it up. She does.
“I can’t stop thinking about what a perfect venue this would be,” she admits quietly. “And now, once we’re married, it would stay in the Bradley family. Are you sure you have to sell it? Can we just figure out some way to keep it in the family?”
My chest tightens. It would stay in the Bradley family.
Is she using me to get to the mansion?
I mean…in one way, yes. Absolutely, she’s using me to get to the money from Mrs. Winston. It’s the whole reason we agreed to this wedding. But when we bought the manor, part of me thought that took the mansion off the table.
She’s mentioned Madden to me before and how she asked Archer to help set them up so she could use his development company to help with her vision, but he wanted her to stay away. So the first thing she does when they end things is run to…me?
Is she only here to make Archer mad? Is she only with me to get back at him?
It feels like she and I have bonded. You can’t fake feelings. You can fake orgasms, but the way her cunt gripped my fingers greedily in the pantry yesterday sure as fuck didn’t feel fake to me.
Still, it’s in my head once again that maybe there’s more to the story than what I’m seeing.
I’ve been lucky enough to be chosen to play professional football for my career—with hard work, determination, grit, and a bit of natural talent, I suppose.
But lightning doesn’t strike twice. I don’t think I’m lucky enough to also get the girl.
Logic tells me that it’s not about luck, but something in the back of my mind is telling me that indeed it is.
“Liam and I have money tied up in it. It’s the right thing to do,” I say softly. “Though to be perfectly honest with you, Liam told me not to sell it.”
“Then don’t,” she says softly. A quiet moment spans between us, and then she adds, “I wish I had fifteen million dollars.”
I chuckle. “Don’t we all?”
She glances wryly at me. I do. She knows I do.
But I’m trying to get rid of the place. Not buy it myself.
She turns back to her screen and closes the window as I turn to leave her room. “Hey,” she says, stopping me. I turn back and look at her, and she asks, “Do you think we need a prenup?”
Something about her being the one to ask makes me feel a little more at ease. Like she’s not in this for my money or my connections. It started because of the mansion, but it feels like it’s going somewhere else now.
I shake my head. “I think we’ve known each other long enough that I can trust your intentions.”
She rushes over to give me a hug, and then we spend the afternoon making wedding plans. After we finish an early dinner, I tell her, “Grab your coat. I have plans.”
She narrows her eyes even as they light up at my surprise, and we head out for another date night.
This one is going to be special, though.
We drive about thirty minutes to St. Pete, where we board a private boat for a sunset cruise.
I rented out the entire cruise, which wouldn’t have been crowded given the time of year, but it gives us privacy.
The temperature is fairly moderate, but with the wind whipping by us on the boat, it’ll be chilly.
I have something that’s keeping me warm, though.
My nerves.
I shouldn’t be nervous. We’ve already made the agreement.
Still, I’ve never actually asked anyone this question before, and a big part of me never thought I would. I thought the woman I loved was happily in love with someone else, and I’d forever be reduced to the man who couldn’t have her.
Yet here we are.
It’s a bit surreal, and given my status, I likely should have warned my brother this would be happening.
I didn’t. I don’t know if she did. We talked to each other about it, but I don’t believe either of us talked to him about it.
It’s possible news will break since I’m doing this on a boat with workers present, but the chances are slim. I’ll get ahead of it. I’ll talk to him before it gets out.
The cruise sets sail, and even though it’s just the crew and the bar staff, I’m recognized almost immediately.
I just ordered a glass of champagne for each of us when the bartender asks, “Are you Ford Bradley?”
I smile. “I am.”
“Huge fan,” he says. “I’m Carl, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you, Carl. Thanks for cheering us on.”
He passes our glasses over to us, and we head out to the deck to look out over the water.
The sun is starting its descent into the water, and that’s when I decide to do it. I set my glass on the ledge under the railing, and I reach into my pocket, where I feel my phone.
Wrong pocket.
She’s rubbing off on me.
I reach into the other pocket, unzip the little secret compartment there, and finger the box.
I get down on one knee, and Tatum’s eyes widen as she watches me.
I hold the ring up. “Tatum Barker, will you marry me?”
Just as her mouth forms the y in “Yes,” I hear someone yell, “Oh my God! Look at all the dolphins!”
Our attention is pulled away from my proposal—one that’s as good as locked up, all things considered—and we spot a pod of dolphins leaping through the sunset not far from the side of our boat.
It’s a gorgeous view. It feels somehow lucky to be here in the presence of these magical creatures just as I asked Tatum to marry me.
She leans into my side. “Yes,” she says close to my ear, and I turn and catch her lips with mine.
We break apart, content as we watch the dolphins, and I allow myself to dream of what comes next.
So yes…I had planned to give Archer fair warning ahead of the news getting out.
But what I never accounted for was a viral video.