"I don't know her ring size," I said.
"We anticipated that." Samuel pulled out a small piece of ribbon with markings on it. "If you can get this around her finger, I can use it to size the ring properly."
"You want me to measure her finger while she's sleeping?"
"Unless you'd like to wake her and ask directly." Samuel's expression was perfectly neutral. "Though I understand this is meant to be a surprise."
Right. A surprise.
I took the ribbon. "Give me five minutes."
I crept back into the bedroom like I was infiltrating enemy territory. The door opened silently. Thank god for well-maintained hinges. Then, I moved to the bed on silent feet. Angelina hadn't moved. She was still on her back, one arm thrown over her head, the sheet tangled around her waist. I knelt beside the bed and carefully, so carefully, lifted her left hand. She stirred slightly, and I froze.
"Mmm," she murmured, but didn't wake.
Moving slowly, I wrapped the ribbon around her ring finger, marking where it overlapped. Her hand was elegant, slender, with short practical nails that somehow made it even more attractive.
I imagined a ring on that finger. My ring. A symbol that told the world she was mine. The possessiveness that surged through me was primal and absolute. I slipped the ribbon off and carefully lowered her hand back to the bed. She sighed and rolled onto her side, still deeply asleep.
I stood there for a moment, just watching her. Her hair across my pillow. The curve of her shoulder, enticing me to kiss it. The marks I'd left on her skin. In a few hours, I was going to ask her to marry me. Really ask her. With a ring and a romantic setup and everything she deserved. The thought both terrified me and thrilled me.
I backed out of the room and closed the door again. Samuel was waiting, and I handed him the ribbon. He studied the markings with practiced ease.
"Size seven and a half," he said. "Excellent. Now, let's talk about stones."
For the next twenty minutes, I examined rings with Samuel's guidance. He explained cuts and clarity and color grades, showed me how the light played through different stones, discussed settings and metals. But I kept coming back to one ring.
It was elegant but not ostentatious. A three-carat round diamond in a platinum setting, with smaller diamonds set into the band. Classic. Timeless. Strong but beautiful. Like her.
"This one," I said, picking it up.
Samuel nodded approvingly. "Excellent choice. The center stone is flawless, D color, excellent cut. The setting is one of a kind. It's a ring that makes a statement without being vulgar."
"How long to size it?"
"For you? I can have it ready by eight a.m." He checked his watch.
I looked toward the bedroom. Angelina would probably sleep until at least seven, maybe eight given how exhausted she'd been.
"Do it," I said. "I'll send a car to pick it up."
"Perfect." Samuel packed up the ring carefully. "And Mr. Moretti? Congratulations. Whoever she is, she's a lucky woman."
I wasn't so sure about that. But I was going to do everything in my power to make it true.
While Samuel left, I turned my attention to the rest of the setup. The team was working quickly and efficiently, transforming my penthouse into something out of a romantic fantasy. Rose petals scattered across the floor, creating a path from the bedroom door to the living room. Hundreds of them, deep red against the white marble. Balloons in burgundy and gold, anchored in clusters near the windows. Candles everywhere. The coffee table, the dining table, the bar cart, even on the floor in strategic locations. They'd use battery-operated ones, Gianna explained, so there was no fire risk. But they looked real, and that's what mattered. The ones on the dining table would be real, though. And in the center of it all, spelled out in roses against the window?—
"Will you be my Valentine?"
My throat tightened.
"Too much?" Gianna asked quietly, coming to stand beside me.
"No." My voice was rough. "It's perfect."
"Good." She squeezed my hand. "Because you're going to make this woman very happy, Dez. I can tell."
"How?"
