He drew my fingers further across the table. My ribs pressed against the edge of the wood, the rapid heartbeat thundering behind them.
Wait…what?
I read this setup all wrong. This wasn’t him breaking up with the commoner, this was the Brit asking the Yank to be his—
“Oh, my lord,” I whispered, the words a harsh exhale.
Steven pressed the ring on the tip of my finger. Something sharp flashed in his blue eyes. “Would you do me the honor of being my wife?”
The room spun. Maybe it had been spinning the whole night, but now I was caught in the swirling vortex. The murmurs were too loud. The air too hot. The flickering candles on the tables around us popped and exploded in a myriad of oranges.
“Steven,” I wheezed, fighting through the rush of panic. “This is….” I gulped, praying the right words came. “This is unexpected.”
We haven’t been dating long!
And could our long-distance fling be called that? I didn’t even know he’d lost a family member, and if I was forced to do a quick calculation, we’d only seen one another maybe a dozen times. Always two ships passing in the rush of life.
“I know it’s a bit sudden.” This time, his jolly chuckle had an edge to it. “But I’m infatuated with you, Amanda. You light up every room you enter. You’re funny and kind. I want to spend the rest of my life adoring you.”
Well, shit.How was a girl supposed to say no to that?
My phone buzzed once more against my thigh. Stupid emails. Why hadn’t I silenced the thing? It was ruining the romantic ambiance.
Not that I felt romanced.
But to the outside observer, it would seem that way.
“Steven, that’s beautiful.” I smiled, hoping I looked normal. Hoping that the shock, confusion, and lingering panic were adequately concealed. The mental gymnastics to wrap my head around this proposal required more brain power than my sleep-deprived state could handle. “Are you sure I’m duchess material though?”
The mustache on his lip twitched. “You’d be a lady, not a duchess. I’m only an earl, love.”
That was the first time he’d used an endearment. I didn’t want to dwell on how wrong it sounded.
What am I doing?I was almost thirty. While career-driven girls didn’t marry for another decade—if at all—the socialites I spent what little free time I had with were all marching down the aisle to have kids before they hit three decades. Steven was good on paper. I enjoyed spending time with him, even if he teased me mercilessly about the books he knew I read.
And heaven help me if he found the others. The darker ones that I would never be caught reading in public.
Why are you analyzing this?
Because…I analyzed everything. I learned long ago not to go with my gut. It steered me wrong. Besides, my soul was dead. So that left my brain to be the guiding force of my life. And right now, it agreed that this was a reasonable proposition.
“Yes, I’ll marry you.” I gave Steven a megawatt smile, covering for the lapsed moments of silence.
Steven let out a long breath. “You had me worried there for a second.”
He pushed the ring down my finger. It stuck on the knuckle, not budging over the thick lump.
“I know this is sudden,” he explained, trying and failing to push the ring. “But it’s like your book, Amanda. We’re meant to be together.”
The ring wouldn’t budge.
“It was love at first sight. I didn’t realize it when I joined you at the café that first time, but some force drove me to you. Made me sit down and begin a conversation over coffee and books. It made me believe in fate.”
Steven forgot the part where Dad purposefully made the introduction. They’d been walking to the office, and Dad popped in to surprise me, introducing me to the British nobleman, and then made himself scarce when another meeting required his attention.
“Steven,” I breathed, because it felt like I needed to say something to that declaration of ardor.
He gave up trying to push the ring.
