Life couldn't be more perfect. Liz Grant has it all: a starring role in a major motion picture, a fabulous apartment central-London, and a great boyfriend who knows how to mix a mean cocktail and make her come with a flick of a switch. He works for Bell’s Irish Pub, so she gets free drinks, too! A surprise for St. Patrick's day. There's just one problem. Devlin Kinney wants to marry her. Like, now. And rip her away from her glamorous life. Why? So they can live happily ever after in a wee country cottage in the heart of Belfast, Ireland. What’s a city girl to do? He is Irish. And he does have a certain way with words. And vibrating toys. But does she love him enough to leave the comforts of England? And is there something behind his sudden proposal?
A mass of people snapped their attention to her then cheered and clapped. She knew most of them. Friends from school and college, agents, actors. Her parents, too. They were waving. Even her best friend was there, giving the thumbs up.
Devlin sauntered through the crowd Travolta style and dropped to one knee. In a tux! He’d even swept his unruly brown hair back. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead and his lips quivered. “Will ya marry me?” He lifted his arm, a ring box cradled in his shaky palm.
She dropped her jaw and twirled a finger through her locks. “It’s a joke, right? You’re taking the piss? Ha. Ha! Nice one. You can get up now.”
“Baby, I’m serious. Breathe. Just breathe.”
“I am breathing fine, thank you.”
“Not ya, I mean me. Damned, girl, I’m so nervous. I love ya and I’m scared ya’ll say no. So, I ask again. Will ya marry me?”
“Say wha-at? You are actually asking me to marry you? That isn’t some cheap light-up ring in the box?” She gulped and looked out over the crowd again, realizing if it was a prank, it was a really expensive one. Shit.
“Oh. Wait.” He buried his head in his hands then glanced up at her. “I did it all wrong. I forgot the big romantic gesture. Hang on.” He clicked his fingers. The lights went out and twinkles sparkled above. Fairy lights? Where did they come from? Her hands shook violently and words stuck at her throat. She wanted to say no. Wanted to say never. Wanted to say...something.
Their song kicked into gear on the jukebox. She glanced in that direction. Sandra hung off some young, tall hottie whom she assumed was her fella from Ireland.
Could I be that happy in a marriage, too?
“I want ta be with ya forever and a day in our little country cottage. Will ya marry me?”
One of the dudes with a suit on slunk forward and asked if the bride and groom were ready.
“So how about it? Liz, will ya marry me?”
Shock engulfed her and she stuttered, “Maybe.”
Light, bodiless. The room spun. Needing to sit, she hobbled to the nearest booth. “Is this real?”