A laugh tickles my lips. “I legitimately thought it was cake.”
“I also had Kendrick Solomon help me make the frosting.” He lowers his head. “But the worst Promposal line in the world was all mine. I get full credit. I was hoping it would be a piece of cake to ask you to prom.” He buries his face in his hands. “Turned out, I ruined your day, maybe more.”
My expression cracks into laughter with relief, humor at the dumb pun, and hope that all is not lost. He was the guy I’d chosen and as it turns out, all those years ago, he’d chosen me too.
I peel Chase’s fingers away and our hands link and hold. His gaze slides to meet mine. Our laughter mingles as the sun dips below the horizon, but the sparkle in his eyes is enough to see by—to see the truth.
As we walk back to the manor, I say, “Chase, apology accepted. I can’t believe that this has been one big misunderstanding. Maybe my luck is—” But I don’t finish.
His fingers grip mine, lingering for another second. The heart fluffies have a field day.
He says, “I have a question. Can I ask what you were distracted by before you tripped in the dining hall? I had this whole plan in my head about how I was going to deliver the sponge cake to you and then Liam was going to bring the real cake and it would be this big deal.”
“What was I distracted by?” My stomach flutters. My heart pounds. I swallow back fear. He told me the truth. I owe him asmuch. I’ve never been able to do anything other than be honest, sometimes painfully so.
“I was distracted by you, Chase Collins and you owe me a piece of cake.” Ignoring my fat lip, I lift onto my toes and gently peck him on the cheek.
21
CHASE
The lingering warmth on my cheek in the exact spot where Pippa kissed me makes my dimple pop. Those five simple words,I was distracted by you,confirm what I heard her say at the Smythe’s party about having a crush on me. Maybe she still does.
The burden of regret that I’ve carried for years at not following up and properly asking her to prom lifts. Hope replaces it.
I carry that with me through the next days as we follow the Blancbourg protocol with manners and etiquette.
We stroll through the garden, but haven’t concluded it with another kiss. I guess it’s my move, anyway.
My mother would agree.
My phone has been alternately beeping and ringing with messages from her. She started with a follow-up to the proposal that goes a step or two further than a promposal. Then she started giving me light suggestions and tips for how to court a woman. This increased in intensity until she all but wrote a script that starts withOnce upon a timeand ends withHappily ever after.
She calls now and I debate whether to answer because I’m meeting Pippa for dinner at seven and I only have about five minutes.
What follows is Mom’s dismal tale of loneliness if I remain a bachelor. Apparently, she changed tack.
“Mom, I’m literally on my way to meet Pippa for dinner. Trust me. I can handle this.”
“The clock is ticking.”
The grandfather clock chimes, but I don’t think that’s the one she refers to.
“If you’re talking about the inheritance?—”
“No, that’s your father’s business. Speaking of business, he’s been so stressed. If you do talk to him, please take it easy on him.”
I grumble. “He’s the one who lays into me every chance he gets.”
“And I’m sure he’d love to see you settle down and start a family.”
“Mom, are we talking about the same man?”
She chuckles as if I’m joking. “You just worry about your courtship.”
Not wanting to be late, I breeze down the hall as my mother continues to bend my ear about engagement ideas. I’m nearly at the dining room and when I look up, Pippa approaches from the other direction. Her phone is also to her ear.
“Mom, I’ve got to go. Talk soon.”
