He slips his hand into his jacket pocket and draws out a small black velvet box. He opens it, revealing a stunning oval cut diamond ring that catches the light like it was made to own it. And the damn thing looks like it could buy half the city.
My stomach flips with a swirl of anxiety, and for a heartbeat, I’m so stunned I can’t look away. I have to fight hard to steady my racing thoughts. I meet Knox’s gaze and take in the fascination in his eyes.
“This ring,” he says with fervency. “This ring is a reminder that some promises can’t be broken. Not by time, not by circumstance. It marks the beginning of forever,love.” He pauses, then adds in a voice meant only for me, “And I meant it when I said you’re mine.”
The air catches in my lungs. Every camera in the room flashes as he slides the ring onto my finger, sealing the illusion for everyone watching.
The applause swells again, drowning out the chaos in my head. I smile because I have to. Because that’s what the perfect fiancée would do.
This is it.
The next part of the act.
We’re officially engaged now, bound by diamonds and deceit, and I’m knee-deep in this plot. There’s no way back, only forward with this man.
At least I know how we end.
The same way we began.
With a contract and a pen.
Knox nods his appreciation to the guests and raises his glass of champagne. I do the same, a mirror image, our movements choreographed and flawless.
The crowd follows.
Glasses clink.
Cheers rise.
When we sit, waiters glide forward to refill glasses that are already full, and suddenly, it feels like we’re the king and queen of New York. Every guest lines up to offer their congratulations.
Each handshake, each air kiss feels like tribute at the feet of a throne I never wanted.
Soon, it dies down, but then we get stuck with Knox’s great-aunt Maureen, who gives me an extensive rundown of the Vale family history and her beloved horses she’s been breeding since her teens.
“They’re the most magnificent of animals.” Her Southern accent lilts stronger on certain words likeanimals.“Oh, goodness, I should tell you about Laila, my gray Shire.”
And she does.
One more story to add to the endless history lesson. I nearly fall asleep three times. My attention only snaps back whenshe mentions something I didn’t know, like the family’s mix of Italian and English ancestry.
The combination almost mirrors my Russian roots. Of course, minus the parts about the overflowing amount of wealth. The Vale side—the English side—were the ones who set up the empire as it is today.
The English roots certainly explain Knox’s irritating use of the endearmentlove.When I studied abroad at Cambridge in my third year, I learned the word was tossed around as casually as air. Still, when Knox says it, it sounds nothing like the English do. It sounds like a claim.
Just as Maureen launches into a detailed description of Laila, Knox’s hand smooths over my knee and moves steadily up my thigh.
My pulse trips, and my breath catches halfway.
What the hell is he doing?
I cut him a sharp stare, but he doesn’t look at me. He’s nodding politely at his aunt, eyes calm, posture perfect.
Every muscle in my body tightens when he lifts the hem of my dress and traces lazy, possessive circles against the bare skin of my thigh.
I shift in my seat, trying to dislodge his hand without drawing attention. He only slides higher.
And higher.
