“Huh?” I’m confused by his words.

Racer laughs softly to himself and breathes in my neck, his eyes gleaming full of devil’s intent as he gazes down at me.

“How about I give you the ultimate prize if you win for me, crasher?”

He’s been giving me driving lessons daily for the past few weeks, teasing me that he’s going to make me work for an engagement ring—because I’ve made him work for every step ahead he’s gained with me. Now he kisses me and grabs my butt as Henley comes over.

Racer organized a race with me and an old lady. Like, she’s literally eighty.

And it’s really a race!

“Okay, you ready, Lana Tate?” Henley asks.

“It’s … I’m not his sister.” I shake my head at Henley, confused that he calls me Tate.

Henley smirks at Racer, and Racer just smirks back.

“Okay … remember, girls”—Henley eyes me and the old lady—“Mr. Tate here is marrying whoever wins this race.”

“Racer …” I say, nervous that I might not win.

He grabs my shoulders and gazes into my eyes, the thirst for the win right there in his baby blues. “Listen to me very well, Lana,” he says soberly. “It’s very important that you win this race, baby. All those hours I’ve spent tutoring you won’t be for nothing—and you’re the woman I’m walking down the aisle, so make me proud.”

“But Racer, what if I get too nervous—”

“I’m marrying the winner of the race, sweetheart; you’d better step on it.” His eyes twinkle, and his dimple is shamelessly on full display, as he ushers me in and straps me down. “Now go and kick ass. Wait. Kiss me first.”

“Oh god.”

I kiss him. With tongue and everything.

Then I sit down on the seat of his mustang and look at the old lady. She’s blinking behind her glasses.

I exhale, and turn on the engine.

Henley gives us the signal.

And suddenly I’m racing for my goddamn life. For my boyfriend’s hand in marriage.

“I’m insane,” I gasp, pushing the pedal and seeing the old lady is way, way behind. I start feeling high from the race, then brake and turn around carefully before I drive back. I pass the old lady, who literally is about ten feet from the starting line—the slowest woman I’ve ever seen.

I don’t care. I’m high on it because my prize is …

My racer.

“Hey! You’re a fucking star—come here.” He reaches into the car and pulls my head to his and kisses me long and hard, and I moan when he pries his sexy, wicked mouth free. I’m so hot for him I could be the embodiment of fire right now.

“You totally paid her to go slow,” I chide.

“No,” he denies, eyes twinkling. “I’d rather spend my money on you.”

“We just made sure her car was shit,” Henley says from behind him.

“Shut up, Hen,” Racer growls, turning back proudly to me. “Hell, you found her,” he says.

“Who?”

“The best driver in the world.”

“Who? You mean—me? You tease.” I laugh, then look into his eyes, breathless. “Are you going to marry me or what?”

His eyes flicker possessively, as if he loves me being possessive and greedy for him too. He leans over to peck my lips and looks down at me with tender blue eyes. “You’re trouble,” he rasps with pride.

I nod, breathless. “Trouble likes me. Follows me wherever I go. Claims he’s going to marry me.”

“Let’s not make a liar out of him then. Alana.” He pulls the car door open, and as I step out, Racer folds down to his knee.

I turn to stone and blink down at him—my guy, Racer fucking Tate, on one knee, with his dimple popping out on one cheek.

There’s a ring in his palm, and if it weren’t for me leaning on the door of his mustang, my knees would have buckled and I’d be right there, with Racer, on the ground.

“Lana Heyworth. Marry me. Be with me. Be my girl, always. Now. Tomorrow. Forever.”

I had been daydreaming about this day, secretly, for quite some time. I had been wanting a family of my own, even though I was sure I might not ever have it. I had been wanting a home, some security, and I wanted … maybe, despite my fears, to love even harder, to be loved even more.

I gaze down at the guy I will spend the rest of my life with. Whose name he wrote down on a page that I saved because for some reason, it seemed important.

Turns out, the page wasn’t that important.

But it turns out, he was.

“Lana …” Racer prods warningly.

“Yes!” I squeak out, throwing myself into his arms and wrapping my arms around him, because I’ve never wanted anything more.

Lana

Racer wants me in white. He wants me walking down the aisle to him, in white … and he wants me to have everything I could have ever dreamed of.

We’re having the whole enchilada. Church wedding, and then a reception with about 120 guests at the largest ballroom in the city’s top hotel.

I wasn’t the kind of girl who dreamed of her wedding when she was little. I think it’s been a while since I even allowed myself to think, to hope, that I would one day be dressed in white … and the man I love with my whole being would be waiting down a long church aisle for me, ready to make me his.

My mom showed up for the wedding. We’re not friends, and I know we never will be, but it’s nice to have her here on my big day. She made sure my hair was perfect, and my veil was draped behind my head with no wrinkles or creases, and that I looked as beautiful as could be.

“You’re a vision,” she whispered when our eyes met in the mirror, and I could see she wanted to cry. All the guilt maybe of the years she has missed, of me and my brothers growing up.

“Thanks, Mom,” I whisper. Because today I’m getting married and it’s not a day I want to hold onto the past. I’m leaving the past in the past, where it belongs, because my future is staring right at me—and I’ve never loved what I see as much as I do now.

We head to the church, and my father looks dashing with his shaven head, and his gorgeous smile, and his loving brown eyes.

“The most beautiful bride ever,” he says.

I am tempted to say there’s no way, but I’m his only daughter, and the apple of his eye, and I know that to him, it’s true. And I know that to the man who sees me now at the altar, it will be true too.

My brothers kiss my cheek. “Don’t make him return you. No returns or exchanges,” Drake says.

“You’re the one who’ll be returned as defective,” I say, as he chuckles and allows Clayton and Adrian to come kiss me too.

“He’s right. No exchanges,” Clay says, patting the back of my head to smack a wet one on my cheek.

“Clayton! My veil!” I protest, waiting for Adrian to hug me.

“Be happy, Lana,” Adrian says. He’s the sweetest of my three brothers, but he speaks this as a command and it makes me laugh.

“Yes, sir.”

I feel my mother fix my veil. She’s not talking to my brothers, or more likely, they’re not talking to her, but I know they’re here—together—for me, and it just makes me value my family more.

I slip my hand into the nook of Dad’s arm, and I whisper, “Thank you, Daddy.”

“No need to give thanks. It’s been my pleasure being my girl’s dad.” He chuckles and kisses the back of my hand, and we both halt at the doors, my heart hammering in my chest, my whole body buzzing because I can feel him, right behind the church doors. Waiting for me.

The music begins, and the doors swing open, and it feels like gravity is what pulls me forward. My eyes scan the length of the red carpet and look for the familiar blue of his, and when they lock together, that’s where they stay.

He looks hot enough to melt the candles.

So young, so strong, and in that dark tux and crisp white shirt, still so him …

His dimple keeps deepening as his smile keeps widening as I approach, and a part of me even wonders why I need to say the words when I’m already his.