Page 230 of Sinful Like Us

“We love them anyway,” I note.

She nods proudly in agreement, and her gaze drifts behind me. She lets out a breathy sigh. “I swear, Jane, you’re the luckiest girl in the world. To have such a beauty like him. Don’t ever let him go.”

My sister’s love of Thatcher is a rising tide inside my heart, and I turn to see him approaching.

Two beer bottles in one hand. His bold, quiet dominance lures me, even as he stops and passes me the alcohol.

“Thank you.” I run my lips together and flush. I will always be flushing around Thatcher Moretti. I crane my neck more to meet his eyes, and for some odd reason, I greet him. “Thatcher.”

“Jane.” He swigs his beer, and without speaking more, he takes my hand and guides me into the masses. My heart pitter-patters. My smile can’t wane.

Everyone is dancing, jumping—and we join in. He hoists me up on his body. My legs around his waist and one hand on his neck, and his grip is beneath my ass.

He slyly passes his beer to Banks as he walks by, and then he peels my fingers off his neck and holds my left hand.

I eye him curiously.

He slips off the paperclip and slips on a pink sapphire ring, multi-colored gemstones set around the teardrop-cut.

My lips part. “How did you…?” The ring looks like someone went deep-sea diving into my soul and returned withthis.It’s so terribly me that my eyes begin to water on instinct.

“There’s this jewelry boutique in Paris you used to visit as a kid.” He fixes a strand of my hair that blows in my face.

“You didn’t go to…?”

“I went to Paris,” he confirms.

My eyes pop out. “How? When?”For me,he went to Pairs for me, for this ring. Knowing how special it’d be for me, even though I was willing to wear the paperclip for the rest of my life.

“I had a day off in February,” Thatcher explains. “Your mom, sister, and I took a private plane, and it was the quickest trip I’ve ever been on, but it was worth every second.”

My heart swells, and I smile through tears. “You realize, you’re becoming as dramatic and over-the-top as the rest of us.”

He cups my cheek. “I’m happy to be here.”

The way he stares into my eyes brings crashing waves to shore. It feels like someone folding me up in their soul.

I kiss him—I kiss him so fiercely and wholeheartedly. He kisses me back like this is the beginning, not the end.

Thatcher is smiling against my lips.

I clasp his jaw more strongly, my smile rising.

Cheers and applause explode around us, pompoms waving, and loving faces and bodies jump in glee. Thatcher and I sip beers and kiss and dance, me in his arms. We are all mad, beautiful synchronous chaos.

“I love you,” I say so often now.

I never want to leave his embrace, happiness is right here in his arms. And if we’re strong enough to survive ice and fire together, we can survive anything.

Sempre toujours.

Always always.