My discontent with Skylar grew similar to unattended brush fires, burning until they combined and created a massive blaze. Perhaps the grand-production proposal created the first spark. I didn’t complain about Skylar’s lack of sincerity, accepting the show for what it was.

More sparks added to the flames.

When Skylar and I tried to get close, the lack of attraction in his touch ate at me, making me wonder if our intimate life would change once I said I do and had the wedding ring upon my finger. I never mentioned it.

More flames ignited.

With each question that I asked myself, the fire of destruction threatened our forever. Beth’s pregnancy didn’t create the whole of the dissolution of Skylar and me. Her announcement was simply the final injection of fuel.

I met Van’s stare. “Walking away from Skylar wasn’t impulsive. Accepting your proposal was. It was wrong and impulsive.”

“It was impulsive. Asking was impulsive,” Van admitted, his deep voice filling me with warmth much like our time in the cabin. “It wasn’t wrong. I’ve never proposed before. I’ve never had a grand plan of marrying to gain power.”

“Is that what you’d gain by marrying me?”

“Yes. And so would you. However, just as you said, you don’t need the money that comes with my job listing. I also don’t need additional power. I have power. I have a lot of it. That doesn’t stop me from wanting more.”

“And again, what would you gain by marrying me?”

“There would be the obvious controlling majority stock share in Wade. That’s only the tip of the iceberg. Since you and I spent the night together and I saw your name on the résumé, I’ve felt more alive than I have in years. That’s you, Julia. I don’t know how to define it, but whatever it is, I don’t want to let it go. Concocting this plan to marry, acquiring the shares of Wade, the whole process has invigorated me in a way I haven’t felt in longer than I can remember. It’s made me see what could be, what I’ve missed in life by closing myself off. Now that I’ve seen it” —his smile grew— “now that I’ve had it in my hands, I don’t want to let it go.”

“What do you want?”

“You.”

Me.

“Why do you want me?”

“Let’s forget for a moment that you’re brave and adventurous, taking on a snowstorm by yourself, or that you’re intelligent and determined, or that you’re beautiful” —his gaze shimmered— “dressed as you are now and even more so wearing my shirt or how spectacular you are when you’re wearing nothing at all. For those reasons alone, I’d want you.”

My breathing quickened as my pulse followed suit.