“We’re having an engagement party?” I asked, my eyes wide as I stared at Atticus.
“Yes. Next month.”
We were sitting on the couch when he dropped that bomb on me. Though over the last few weeks, our position had gone from my feet on his lap and worked my way up. Currently my head was resting on his lap while his fingers made slow circles around my exposed midriff.
And I really liked it.
“Here’s a question that has been bugging me for a while now—if there is a time limit on when you need to be married by, why is there such a long wait? Why didn’t we just elope?”
The word “elope” felt weird to say. Even though I was marrying Atticus, elopement always seemed like a rash execution of love by need due to either opposition or heightened emotions.
“Because things have to be done in a certai
