know the first thing about running a newspaper.’
‘Yes, you do. You proved it yesterday. The first thing is heart. Anyone can add up the figures. The rest is details. And Dad’s quite happy to stick around until you’ve got those licked.’
‘You’ve spoken to him?’ She couldn’t believe it.
‘An hour ago.’
‘And he really thinks… But, Mike, what about his determination that it’ll be a family business…?’ She shook her head. ‘No, no. He just thinks this is the another way of getting you back—’
‘Maybe he does.’ His father, after all, was an incurable optimist. ‘We know differently. But I should have known you’d spot the one snag in the whole arrangement.’ He reached out, cradled her face in his hands, thumbed away the tears. ‘He’s got his heart set on an Armstrong at the helm, someone to carry the company on and pass it down to the next generation. If you want the job, love, I’m afraid you’re going to have to marry me first.’
She looked up into his dear face. Saw the crinkle of laughter lines forming around his eyes, the fleeting appearance of a cleft in his cheek that on childhood photographs had been a dimple.
‘Michael Armstrong, is that the most convoluted example of a marriage proposal ever promulgated?’
‘Undoubtedly.’ He grinned. ‘So? Was that the most excruciating acceptance in the annals of romance?’
‘It could certainly do with some editing. Shall we try again?’
‘Will you marry me?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Please.’
He grinned. ‘Such lovely manners. Your mother would be proud of you.’ She responded with a word calculated to raise her mother’s eyebrows and blood pressure. ‘Mmm. Well, now that’s settled you’d better have this back.’ He produced her ring from his shirt pocket, the diamond flashing in the sunlight as he slipped it on her finger.
‘I think you should kiss me before I cry.’
‘I intend to do a lot more than that, my love. But there’s just one more thing we have to settle. About the wedding.’
‘Oh, lord,’ she wailed. ‘Couldn’t we just run away somewhere?’
‘I thought we already had. I thought perhaps we could make it a double celebration on Saturday.’
‘Saturday? With Crysse? Oh, my… But what about—’
‘Your parents and mine will be arriving tomorrow morning. Your mother is bringing your dress. Sean and I have spent all day fixing up the paperwork.’
Willow opened her mouth on a silent, ‘oh’. Then she said, ‘You…’ He waited. ‘You did that before you knew about the job, didn’t you?’
‘Optimism must run in the family.’
‘I love optimism. And I love you, Michael. I’d live with you in a hut and eat seaweed, do you know that?’
‘The way you cook? I don’t think so. Let’s try the hayloft for a while,’ he said, kissing her lightly on the mouth. ‘Until maternity sends us looking for somewhere larger—’
‘Maternity?’
‘Didn’t I mention that bit? You not only have to run the newspaper, you’ll also have to provide the next generation.’
‘It looks as if I’m going to be busy.’
‘Count on it. But don’t worry, I’m more than happy to help out with that part of the plan.’
‘That sounds promising. But when you said looking for somewhere larger—’
‘When I said larger, I meant, just large enough,’ he promised. ‘For us, and the next generation, and the goldfish and the cuddly toys…’ And this time, when he kissed her, he made it very clear that the time for talking was over.
Willow and Mike and Crysse and Sean lined up in a white gazebo decked with tropical flowers, beneath the setting sun. No bridesmaids, the minimum of ribbons, the only guests their immediate families and passing holiday-makers who paused to enjoy the special occasion.
There was a toast, but no speeches by request and, as soon as they could escape, Mike took Willow for a barefoot walk along the beach in the moonlight, his cream linen trousers rolled up over his ankles, her lovely gown brushing the sand behind her.
When they reached a small jetty, he led her along it to a boat, tied up alongside. The owner looked up and grinned out of his ebony face, before starting the engine.
‘Shall we go?’ Mike said.
‘Go?’ Willow asked, startled. ‘Go where?’
He grinned, bent to kiss the smooth skin behind her ear, and then swept her up into his arms. ‘A double wedding is one thing, my darling, but I have no intention of sticking around to share my honeymoon with the in-laws. I’ve rented us a cottage along the coast for the next couple of weeks.’
‘But—’ She glanced back along the beach.
‘Any objections?’
‘No, it’s just…well, I’ll need more than a wedding dress for the next week.’
‘Will you?’ Mike grinned as he set her down on the deck. ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’
Willow shook her head, laughed as she spotted their suitcases standing in the cabin. ‘You’re getting good at this running away thing.’
‘Improving,’ he agreed. ‘This time the groom and the bride are running away together.’ Mike’s eyes were level with hers and her breath caught in her throat.
Willow reached up, touched his face with her fingertips. ‘Together is the best word I know,’ she murmured as she followed them with her lips. ‘It doesn’t get any better than that.’
Marie Ferrarella
“I was born old,” June said.
Wasn’t that always the mantra with people who were too young? Kevin mused. His eyes swept over her beautiful face. Her perfect, smooth heart-shaped face. “You don’t look all that old to me.”
“I could say the same about you.” Her smile flashed, casting a spectrum like the northern lights. Mostly within him.
“Of course, you might need to take a little closer look at me. Sometimes your eyes play tricks on you.” June stepped closer to him, raising her face up for his inspection.
Kevin doubted if he’d ever seen a complexion so flawless. Or compelling. “No, no tricks,” he murmured. Other than the one his own pulse executed by vibrating faster than he could ever remember.
The
