"No. What's the point? It's not like they'd care."
I know he senses the venom behind my words, because no matter how much I wish it were different, my family doesn't love me. I was a burden to them, an inconvenience, and that's not going to change.
"Roxy...I think you should invite them. At the end of the day, he's your father, and maybe one day you'll regret it," he says softly, gently, just like he’s spoken with me on so many occasions.
"No. He doesn't deserve to be by my side on that day."
"At least let them know about it. Aria is also getting married soon, and I don't think you want to show up at her wedding with a 'husband' out of nowhere."
"I'll inform them," I mumble, though deep down, I know it would be better if they never found out.
I had completely forgotten about Aria's wedding to that parasite she calls a fiancé. I didn't tell Henry that, during ourfirst meeting, her fiancé tried to convince me to sneak into his hotel room. When I told Aria, I was the one who came off as unhinged because the guy denied everything and claimed I was trying to break them up. Of course, they all believed him. Because Roxy is always seeking attention, because nothing she says could possibly be true.
After promising to send Henry all the details in a message, I hang up and look at my bags. I don't have much, having packed only the truly important things. With one last look at the living room sofa, I step out of the apartment.
"Why the hell didn't you call me to come carry these?" Damien's voice rings out as he sees me dragging the two suitcases behind me.
I stop and look at his dead-serious face, his brow furrowed, and I can't stop the flutter of damn butterflies that comes to life in my stomach.
"I'm not as fragile as you think, you know," I say sharply, demonstrating this by lifting one of the suitcases myself to put it in the trunk.
In the next second, his back blocks my view, and he takes the bag from my hands as if I were a small child he's just snatched a lollipop from. When I turn to get the other bag, he sighs, then he places his hand over mine.
"Stop fighting me over such trivial things. Is it so hard for you to believe that I care and want to do these things for you? Please..."
I look at him, surprised. There are these moments when I see no trace of the joking, ever-smiling Damien, but instead a manwho is fully committed. To me. And maybe it’s the conversation with Henry or the melancholy weighing on my chest at the thought of staying in a strange place for a while, so I give in.
"Fine."
Before I can move away, he closes the distance between us and presses a kiss to my cheek.
"Thank you," he murmurs, his lips still against my skin, and I wish I didn't feel the urge to breathe in his scent of musk and leather, a scent that seems to short-circuit all my senses.
With my cheeks on fire, I get into the passenger seat, and a few moments later, Damien settles behind the wheel.
"Before we go, I want to give you something," he says, and I turn toward him.
His hand slips into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulls out a small, black velvet box. My heart must have taken flight, the way it's trying to hammer its way out of my chest right now.
"Roxanne Tatcher, will you be my wife?" he asks and opens the box, revealing the most beautiful ring I have ever seen.
When I look up at him, his eyes are a light brown, and I could swear they're shining right now.
"You were supposed to get on one knee," I whisper, my gaze dropping to the ring, an Ashoka cut red diamond set on a yellow gold band.
"Damn it," he says and starts to get out of the car, but I instinctively stop him, pulling him back.
My eyes can't tear themselves away from that red diamond because it's not about the grandeur of the jewelry, but the effort it must have taken to get something like this in such a short time. I work in the wedding industry. I know jewelers all over America. I know diamond cuts, I know the waiting lists, and nowI'm wondering how long Damien has been planning to ask me this.
Who said he originally got it for you?That annoying voice in my head pipes up, and a sharp pang hits my chest.
Swallowing the sour taste that suddenly rises in my throat at the thought that he went to so much trouble for someone else and I'm just the convenient spare he landed on, I say, "I'm sure the woman you originally ordered it for wouldn't want someone else to wear it. I already told you I'd be your wife, Damien. There's no need for an engagement ring."
I don't dare to look up at him, afraid he'll see the pain behind my words. How could I have believed, even for a fraction of a second, that someone would go to such lengths for me? God, I'm pathetic.
His fingers gently lift my chin, and I whisper, "Don't make me look into your eyes while you give me another woman's ring. Please."
"Roxanne, look at me." His tone leaves no room for argument, so I take a deep breath and raise my gaze to his.
