It was long enough to send a shiver of apprehension through her. Did he dislike her so much that he didn’t even want to be friends?
“Never mind.” She couldn’t keep the stiffness from her tone. “Just see that you’re somewhat affectionate, and let’s hope that’s convincing enough for everyone.”
As they reached their table, he halted, pulled out her chair, and helped her get situated like any good gentleman would before taking his own seat. With all eyes upon them, the moment was awkward. But this would probably be the first of many awkward moments she would have to endure while matched to a man who didn’t want or like her.
Nevertheless, she forced herself to continue with the charade no matter how hurt she felt. Because ultimately her hurt was irrational. She’d known from the beginning of concocting this plan that a relationship with Bellamy could never amount to anything, and she couldn’t allow herself false hope.
With Oscar at their table entertaining everyone with stories from the matches he’d made over the years, the laughter flowed easily, and she soon relaxed again, doing her best to ignore Bellamy beside her.
He was hard to overlook, though, because he exuded amagnetism that had always drawn her attention. Watching his strong fingers cutting meat on his plate sent a shiver through her. Catching sight of a vein throbbing in his neck above his cravat made her stomach tumble. Even just a twitch in his hard jaw caused her heart to thump an extra beat.
It wasn’t fair that he had so much of a pull on her, and she had none on him.
When they were nearly finished with the meal, his knee brushed against her leg under the table, and she was conscious all over again of his body beside hers, his manliness and how well his suit fit him.
She slid a glance at him sideways only to find that he’d glanced at her too. Their gazes connected, and something in his eyes reached across the distance and lit a flame low in her stomach. What was in his eyes? Heat? Attraction? Desire?
It couldn’t be.
She dropped her gaze, the intensity in his eyes too much to understand. But in the next instant, she couldn’t keep from looking back up, needing more, needing the connection, needing to feel the heat again.
He’d glanced away too, but as if he sensed her looking at him again, he returned his attention, watching her more fully. Reflecting the cloudless blue evening sky overhead, his brown eyes turned the color of dark whiskey, and this time the interest was obvious.
Her heart fluttered with warm desire—the desire to like him openly and not in secret, the desire to show him and everyone that she cared about him, the desire to lean in and trace his strong jawline.
She couldn’t do any of that, but she could touch his hand,couldn’t she? It wouldn’t be inappropriate, not when they were trying to convince everyone they were truly a match.
With her hand fiddling with her spoon and his resting on the table only inches away, she released her hold of the spoon and shifted her fingers—still smudged with ink, even though she’d tried hard to remove it for the occasion—until her pinky brushed his.
For a second, he didn’t move, then his pinky shifted and wrapped over hers.
The flutters inside her chest pumped faster. What did this mean? Was it a peace offering of some sort? Or was it merely for show?
His pinky held hers for a moment, and then he moved it, caressing her finger.
At the deliciousness, she stopped breathing altogether. She loved his touch. It was better than anything else she’d ever known.
A clinking of a utensil against a goblet started up nearby. She wanted to ignore it, but it was too persistent, and she finally broke her connection with Bellamy at the same time he broke his with hers to find that Oscar was tapping his spoon against his goblet, now drained of the wine.
He was beaming at them and so was everyone else. Her da’s eyes were tender upon her, and Mam’s seemed to be filled with knowing. Riley and Finola were smiling and exchanged a loving look. Alannah nodded, as though she’d been proven right about something, and Kiernan’s eyes held surprise. Clearly he hadn’t anticipated Bellamy’s affection to be so obvious.
Well, that made two of them. Zaira hadn’t expected it either.
The guests at the other tables had grown silent, and all eyes were upon Oscar. He nodded at Bellamy, encouraging him to do something.
Bellamy pushed his chair back from the table, fumbling in his coat pocket as he did so. He stood and reached out a hand to her.
She wasn’t sure what he was planning, but she was always ready for any level of drama. So she willingly and happily placed her hand in his and allowed him to help her to her feet.
He didn’t release her hand. Instead, his gaze found hers. This time it was filled with uncertainty, as if he wasn’t sure he was doing the right thing. As he began to lower himself in front of her, she suddenly knew why. He was giving her a ring, the symbol of their pledge to be married.
No doubt, he’d been instructed by Oscar to do so tonight at the feast. It wasn’t a requirement by any means. Plenty of couples got married without the fellow giving a ring to his bride-to-be. But it was a sweet tradition, and certainly the matchmaker himself would adhere to it.
On one knee before her, Bellamy situated a ring in his fingers before looking up at her. “Zaira, would you accept my ring as a token of my desire to marry you?” Earnestness filled his expression, almost as if he was being sincere about the offer.
The ring was simple but elegant—an Irish claddagh band comprised of two hands holding a heart that had a crown upon it. The two hands represented friendship, the heart signified love, and the crown stood for loyalty.
It was beautiful and perfect and romantic—everything she’d ever dreamed of when it came to her engagement. Except the union wasn’t real.
