Closing my eyes, I let the scent of ink-strewn pages fill me.
WhyamI so conflicted?
He’d wait for me to marry him. He’d probably be thrilled if I told him a tentativeyesdependent on my getting to know him better. Even though he already wants my father’s blessing and to plan a wedding over these next few months, after what I’ve already read and after scanning his essay several more times, I can’t imagine he’d be disappointed if I want to slow down a little, maybe discuss matters that could make or break a relationship before we look toward setting things in stone.
Why am I conflicted, when the answer is eitheryesornot yet, andnot yetwould be painless to say?
Flesh tingling, I utter the softest, “I…think I want to marry him.”
My mother gasps.
“It’s stupid,” I hurry to add. “It’ssostupid. I need to know him better. And then there’s all this nonsense surroundingwhohe is, and what that will mean for me, but… Oh, Mom, Dad…he’s just…” Breath leaves me, and I find myself staring out the window at him again. “He’s wonderful.” He cares about me so completely. It bleeds from the pages. If not him, I don’t think I willeverfind someone this committed to wanting me again. And it really ismehe wants. Even in these early accounts, he saw past the way I present myself every single time it seems my mask cracked. He fixated specifically on those imperfect pieces and glorified them as the definition of perfection.
I never ever in a million years thought I’d marry a wealthy man. I’m sure there’s a lot of mental adjustment I’ll need to make, so many things I’ll need to learn, so many things I’ll have to come to terms with. Like the media. And the lies. And the external perception.
But.
I don’t know.
“I think I do actually like him,” I whisper, keeping the purest truth tucked away in my chest, because the more I’m considering it, the more IknowI like him. The scary part is…I think I’m falling in love with him.
“You’re going to marry a man you onlythinkyou like?” my father asks.
“I’m going to do worse than that, Dad.”
“Oh?”
Drooping, I say, “I’m going to make a fool of myself.”
“What an excellent idea,” my mother notes, a smile in her tone. “But let’s make sure we don’t leave Mom and Dad out.When do we get to meet him? Before or after you make a fool of yourself?”
“Christmas would work well for me.”
“Christmas?” My mother’s smile disappears from her voice. “Mirabelle Elaine, we’re literally down the street from you.”
I protest, “Yes, but it might take me a month to recover from being a fool.”
She tuts. “Pity. You have one week, I think. What do you think, Dad?”
“One week sounds good to me.”
I whimper.
“One week it is.” My mother’s smile returns. “Now, sweetheart, make us proud.”
Doubting that spending several thousand dollars on stupidity and foolishness will result in making my parents proud, I hang up and spend the next few hours reviewing Damion’s records—just to make sure he’s everything he seems to be.
Once I’m more than convinced, I sigh, get my phone, and make a very stupid call to set my very foolish plans in motion.
Chapter 30
?
Pro.
Damion
There is actually nothing more anxiety-inducing…than the knowledge that Mirabelle asked to borrow my SUV this morning. Yesterday, she trotted off with my bleeding heart in order that she might review every thought I’ve ever had long enough to write it down, and this morning?
