“Ezra, what’s going on?”
“It’s June,” he says.
My nose wrinkles. “Yeah?”
“And tomorrow is a random Tuesday.”
“Are you having a stroke right now?”
He holds out his envelope, gesturing at it with a tilt of his head until I take it from him. I slide it out of his fingers, still thinking he’s hit his head or something until I crack it open.
Then all of the air leaves my lungs in a rush.
“Ezra, what…?”
“Did you know in the state of Texas, the seventy-two-hour waiting period to file a marriage license can be waived by a judge?”
I swallow around the growing lump in my throat, running my fingers over the embossed letters of the thick cardstock reading Marriage Certificate across the front.
“Ezra, what is this?”
“I know a guy,” he says with a grin.
Ezra reaches out to open the envelope, and there, sitting on top of a blank certificate waiting for two signatures, is a diamond ring. He picks it up with nimble fingers, gently taking my left hand and holding it while my right still clutches the envelope, trembling slightly.
“So?” He holds the ring inches from my fingers. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
“Ezra…are you sure?”
He grins. “As sure as I am that you’re going to say yes.”
“You are so fucking sure of yourself,” I can’t help but laugh, even if it is a little manic.
He slides the ring on my finger like it’s a foregone conclusion, bringing it to his mouth and brushing his lips there. “You love that about me.”
“No idea why,” I answer wryly.
“You still haven’t actually answered me.”
“Sounds like I don’t have much choice.”
His lips curl. “Well, you can always object.”
“Something tells me I’d be overruled.”
He pulls me close, the folder flattening between us and his lips hovering over mine. “Absolutely, Ms. Pierce.”
I can feel my own mouth curving, the smile forming there so big it almost hurts, my eyes watering as my chest swells.
“Well?” His lips brush against mine in a barely there kiss. “What do you say?”
I wrap one arm around his neck. “I’m sure I can pencil you in.”
“I would expect nothing less, Sour Patch.”
I slant my mouth against his, laughing. “That’s going to be Mrs. Sour Patch to you.”
“I’ll call you whatever you want, Dani,” he hums against my lips. “As long as I can call you mine.”
And as it turns out, I’m absolutely fine with that agreement. No one is more surprised than me by that realization.
Fucking Ezra Hart.
I never even stood a chance.
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Acknowledgments
Gentlepersons. This is the book of my heart, but it wouldn’t be here without several people continuing to hold my hand. (That joke will never get old, because it’s not really a joke. I’m a mess and a half.)
To Cindy Hwang, for being the best editor I could have ever dreamed of meeting. I am so grateful that you continue to take chances on whatever silly idea pops into my head.
To my agency and my wonderful agent, Jessica Watterson. Your patience and understanding continue to be a balm to my spirit. I may be a neurotic mess, but knowing you’re only a text away is a forever comfort. (For me, at least. To you, I am so sorry for all the messages.)
To my team at Berkley: my Bejeweled Babes™, Kristin Cipolla and Jessica Mangicaro, for always being the biggest of cheerleaders; Elizabeth Vinson, for always staying on top of all the things I would surely forget; Rita Frangie Batour, for always being fantastic at what she does (and a special shout-out to Monika Roe for another amazing cover); and all the other people working behind the scenes to make my dreams a reality.
To my therapist: Now that I’ve had two years in this industry, you are literally the glue holding me together.
To those I am lucky enough to call my friends, in no particular order:
My wife (listen, it might as well be legal at this point), Kate Golden, for being my voice of reason even on my most unreasonable days. I cherish the day our agents pushed us together like errant toddlers and said, “Be friends!”
To Keri, my heart sister, for always being the one person in the group chat brave enough to tell me to say “Fuck it” when that’s the last thing I feel like I can do. I am grateful for you every day.
Daddy Kristen, for always being there to let me know that it is in fact going to be okay. You were this book’s biggest champion before it ever saw the light of day, and I am so grateful for all the hours you toiled away holding my hand and helping me shape it into my favorite work to date.
To Elena Armas, whose voice notes are oftentimes the highlight of my day. Thank you for always being down to let me cry back to you in sometimes even longer voice notes. I am always glad to hear your voice.
To Amber, for always telling me my feelings are valid even when it feels like they aren’t, and for always knowing the right thing to say even when I didn’t know I needed to hear it.
To Vanessa, for always taking the time to be there for whatever silly question I’ve just asked, and there are many. It’s a rare thing to meet someone so lovely so close to home in this wide world of bookstagram, but I am happy that you are only a short drive away.
To Ruby Dixon, for being one of the most supportive people in this crazy ride I’m on. I am so grateful to you for always checking in to make sure I haven’t slipped into madness yet.
To Jessica Patrick, for always taking the images in my head and turning them into the most wonderful pieces of promo art. Your talent astounds me.
To my friend Kevin, who, after many years as a prestigious and practiced lawyer, decided to sit down with me and go over my silly romance novel to make sure it wasn’t complete ridiculousness. I am sorry I printed you a version without the sex scenes; they probably would have made it more fun, at least.
To all the bookstagrammers, bloggers, journalists, BookTokers, librarians, and reviewers who continue to make this possible. I see you and appreciate you always.
To the readers: I am so grateful for every single one of you, because without you, I wouldn’t be here. You are what makes this a possibility. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for picking up this book.
And to my husband, who is happy to tell me when I am being ridiculous (which I often am). You are the only thing that keeps me sane some days, and I love you dearly.
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Keep reading for a preview of
The Mating Game
The sequel to The Fake Mate by Lana Ferguson!
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One Tess
“Well, the good news is…you’re not dying.”
I gape at the pretty, smiling ER physician—Dr. Carter, she said her name was—who is regarding me carefully, having looked up at me from her clipboard, which I assume has the results of all the blood tests we did earlier.
