Maybe the biggest shocker of all was the fact that Christine was the daughter of Charles Blacksworth, the man he’d sworn to hell and back from the time he found out his mother was seeing him. He’d despised the man and what he stood for, despised the way he could make Nate’s mother hang onto those damnable four days a month as if they were her oxygen. And yet wasn’t it ironic that Nate had ended up doing the same damn thing with Christine, even going so far as to tell her he’d take whatever she’d give him? Hell, he’d even offered to take four days a month.

Did that make him a hypocrite?

“Nate?” Christine touched his cheek, snuggled closer to him on the couch. “Why the grouchy look? Is it because I just told you Uncle Harry thinks you should wear a suit and tie for the ceremony?” She laughed, kissed his temple, and whispered, “I told him I don’t care if you show up in flannel and jeans, as long as you show up.”

He pushed his thoughts of hypocrisy and Charles Blacksworth aside and faced his future wife. She was so damn beautiful, so much better than he was. “I’ll be there, no doubt about that.” Nate traced her lips, trailed a finger along her jaw. “I plan to get the ring on your finger before you wake up and change your mind.”

Those blue eyes turned bluer, sparkled. “I am not going to change my mind.” She inched closer, placed a soft kiss on his mouth. “Ever. Understand, Nathan Desantro?”

“Yeah. I understand.” He deepened the kiss, dipped his tongue inside her mouth, tasted her sweetness. Would he ever get enough of her? Doubtful. Nate unbuttoned the first two buttons of her shirt, started on the third. No woman had ever made him want to be better than he was. Christine filled his soul, forced him to admit things he didn’t want to think about, like fear, anger, loss, disappointment. She actually wanted to hear about it, said it made him stronger to own up to the fact that he wasn’t perfect. What man wanted to do that? He trailed kisses along her jaw, unclasped the peach bra and covered her breast with his hand. Soft and kissable. She let out a sigh, eased her hands around his neck, and guided him toward that kissable breast. Yeah, he supposed he could learn to spit out his emotions every now and again…

Another sigh, a hitch of breath. “Oh, Nate.”

In two days she’d be his wife. Did he deserve her? Absolutely not. Was he going to marry her anyway and spend the rest of his life showing her just how much he loved her? Hell, yes. And then some.

Harry Blacksworth ran a lint brush over the front of his suit jacket and checked his watch. Forty minutes from now he’d pick up Lily Desantro and drive her to the ceremony. She’d conned him into a ride because she’d said he might need help finding Nate’s place, even though Harry had a navigation system on the rental car and his phone. Go figure. The girl was growing on him, with those Blacksworth eyes and the point-blank questions that cut through the crap and made a person really think about his answer. No BS with Lily Desantro. How many people could do that and not raise their voice or pull rank? None that Harry knew of, and that in itself was awe-inspiring.