“For you, anything.” He forced my chin up and sucked my lower lip between his teeth. A slight lurch drove us closer, before the car pulled to a stop, and the engine turned off. “I’m going to make you the happiest bride.”
He sounded straight up smug about it when he hadn’t even proposed yet. I patted his chest.
“We’ll see.”
When Jac opened my door, I frowned, realizing I never asked Renzo where we were going.
“Why are we at the airport?”
Instead of answering, Renzo grabbed my hand, interlocking our fingers, and walked me through one of the private terminals. Jac followed closely behind with our mysteriously packed luggage.
“Seriously, what’s going on?”
“Trust me.” He winked.
That only confused me more, but I went along with it through the baggage check and security.
“You know I’ve got rounds at the hospital tomorrow, right?”
He ignored that with a shrug and led me into a room where dozens of photos of different supercars were laid out on the floor in organized rows.
“What…is this?” I gaped at him, perplexed.
“I need your help picking out my next purchase.”
“But I know nothing about cars.”
He smirked. “True.”
I scratched my temple. “You want me to just pick one?”
He nodded. “Whichever you like best.”
“Okay…”
After walking down each row of pictures, I picked an Aston Martin. Not because I knew anything about the model, but because it was absolutely beautiful with a sleek design and not a single harsh angle to be found.
“Perfect,” was all he said. Then he tugged me into a hallway where a woman stood behind a table covered in color palettes and swatches. “Pick which colors you like best together. Three at least.”
An anxious chuckle escaped me. “Why?”
He kissed my head. “Trust me.”
Again, those two little words. I tilted my head to the side. This was so random, and so unlike him.
I placed the back of my hand against his forehead. No fever. “You feeling okay?”
He kissed my wrist and pulled my hand down. “I’m fine. Now pick.”
“Okay, okay.” I scanned the selection. “This blue, that dark purple, and peach.”
That done, he dragged me to another room. A line of people in chef uniforms lined one wall, each with a tray of some kind of food, and facing a lone chair and small table.
“Hi,” I said awkwardly with a wave.
Renzo directed me to the chair. “Sit. I’m going to blindfold you.”
I bit my lip and eyed him warily, not sure how I felt about being vulnerable in front of strangers.
