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When Conrad Fisher told a girl he loved her, he meant it. A girl could believe in that. A girl could maybe even bet her whole life on it.
PARODY. FAKE.
I, Isabel Susannah Conklin, take you, Conrad Beck Fisher to be my husband. To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do us part.
“I know, I know.” He laughed softly, brushing his lips against her temple in a quick, soft kiss before lifting his head again, that sly, amused look still written all over his face.
Conrad pressed his lips together to keep from smiling, letting out a quiet breath as Belly gasped, her eyes going wide while she looked up at him with that hopeless puppy-dog stare.
He chuckled, burying his face in her hair as he pulled her closer against him.
+
Conrad slid an arm around Belly’s waist, barely managing to hold back a smile. That fake, thoughtful expression of his was so obvious.
“Mmm, I’ll think about it.”