“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Excuse me?” Annabelle was stunned. For the two years they’d been together, Duncan James had never used a four-letter word when addressing her. Except in bed. She liked it when he used them in bed.

But at the moment, Duncan was not getting his sexy on. No, her handsome gentleman lawyer was absolutely flipping out.

“Annabelle Devine. Do not sit there and tell me you’ve got a date for your bachelorette party when you have yet to give my momma a firm date for our wedding.”

“Duncan. Please. I can explain.”

“Ya can? You can explain how your bachelorette party has a definite date? Yet our wedding continues to be some pie-in-the-sky dream I have floating out there somewhere? Seriously, Annabelle, what the fuck?”

“Duncan,” she breathed, aghast.

“Yeah. I said it. What the ever-livin’ fuck? You are clearly not taking this thing seriously. Give me your hand.”

“What?”

“Just give me your hand. Not that one, the other one.”

He began extracting her glorious diamond engagement ring from her finger.

She snatched her hand back. “Duncan. No!”

“Give it to me,” he ordered.

“No.”

“Give me the ring, Annabelle.” He motioned with his hand, waving it toward him. “You can have it back when and if you ever get serious about being my wife.”

“I want to be your wife. You know I do.”

“Sounds like you’d rather be a bachelorette. And you know what? Fine. I’ll take the ring and resume my bachelor status.”

“You’ll do no such thing.”

Duncan leaned in real close and whispered, “Watch me.”