Lucky This Isn't Real: MacBride Brothers Series St. Patrick's Day Fake Fiance Romance Jamie Knight (books to read to be successful TXT) 📖

being best friends. There were times I also wondered if she might not have a bit of supernatural intuition herself.

I put the last of her clothes in the suitcase and then turned to smile at her.

“Congratulations again. I really am happy for you. I’m not just saying that because it’s the thing to say.”

Afraid I would reveal more secrets of my soul, I turned to leave, but before I could get to the door, there came a flurry of light knocks.

“Come in, babe,” Maggie called. “We’re decent.”

“Never doubted it for a second,” Gavin said and winked, closing the door behind him.

“How did you know it was him?” I asked, glancing back to Maggie.

“That’s his special knock.”

It was interesting what love could do to the senses. I wasn’t at all sure I could be able to tell one knock from another just by hearing it.

“Congratulations on lucking out, Gavin,” I said.

It was an attempt to pick up on the theme Sean had laid out in his speech, though I didn’t do it quite as well.

“I really am too good for you,” Maggie added on, trying to back me up.

“I know it,” he said with a smile, “and I thank my lucky stars every day.”

“As you should.”

He took her in his arms. They kissed, and I saw my chance to escape, leaving them to the sexcapades that were almost sure to follow.

“Hold up, Darcy. I have something for you,” Gavin called, before I had the chance to leave.

I was so surprised I stopped cold and turned around.

From his back pocket, he took out one of the green envelopes the wedding invitations had arrived in.

“Sean gave this to me at the airport,” Gavin explained.

“Oh. Thanks,” I said, as I took it and shoved it into my pocket before continuing to head out.

My heart ached with hope, and it was all I could do not to rip open the envelope right then and there. I decided I would open it when I was by myself, just in case I cried.

I had a weird thing about people not seeing me cry, even people I loved. My sense of independence was so fierce, even while still under my father’s financial thrall, that I thought I could handle everything myself, even when I obviously couldn’t.

It went right back to when I tried to teach myself to ride a bike, which went about as well as one would expect. Even then, it wasn’t until my mom found me in the bathroom surrounded by blood and failed attempts at bandaging my wounds, that I admitted defeat.

Still, I didn’t cry. Not even when the nurse injected freezing meds before trying to get the pebbles out.

I still had small white scars that made me reluctant to show my legs. Even at work, where skirts were standard, I often insisted on wearing pants. Maggie assured me you could barely see the war wounds of my childhood, but I wasn’t convinced.

It went to show how devoted to Sean I had become so quickly. The concerns about him seeing my scars never entering my mind. No hang-ups, no regrets, just lots of fun.

It really was a shame it couldn’t happen anymore. I felt quite a bit like I’d won the lottery but then lost the ticket on the bus. All the wonderful potential collapsing into nothing. Almost as though it had never existed at all.

I drove home as fast as I could without getting pulled over. I didn’t want to know what was in the envelope but, at the same time, I needed to know. If I didn’t find out, it would drive me insane.

Some small part of me hoped the envelope contained a plane ticket. Gavin had said Sean had given the envelope to him at the airport.

Maybe he’d managed to work some magic to get me to him, even if he couldn’t stay where I was. I’d have to take some time off work, but the notion of flying out there sounded amazing.

The door to my apartment had barely closed before I tore into the envelope, careful not to damage whatever might be inside.

A letter. On the letterhead for Sean’s butcher shop company. The handwriting was beautiful and swirly, almost medieval. My heart was pounding and my palms were sweating as I started reading the words Sean had written me.

Dear Darcy,

I want you. That still feels odd to write, let alone think, but I’ve never been one to deny simple, obvious facts.

I didn’t get a chance to tell you in person, at least not in so many words, but that kiss we shared at the reception spoke volumes. I already miss you so much it hurts. It might be hard to accept, as I know it is for me, but I really did have to go and wouldn’t have if it wasn’t urgent.

I tried to get you a ticket to come here with me, but it didn’t work out. It was too busy of a traveling time for there to be any last-minute flight options.

I meant what I said, though. Both now and when we kissed. I want you and will be back to see you as soon as I can. I plan to make you mine.

Sean

I sank ever lower as I read, each word sending me further along the way until I was on the floor, my back up against the door.

I plan to make you mine.

That one sentence reverberated in my mind, although I appreciated all of them.

It was weird with handwritten letters. They just consisted of words, symbols on a page, really no different from an email or text, yet they made it much easier to feel connected to the writer.

The fact that the author made the shapes in that order with you in mind,