Alice gasps.
“Acampfire,” I amend.
The women around me sigh. I need to work on my storytelling skills.
I also need to end this fairytale—and quick. I clear my throat. “We roasted s’mores. Roman said, ‘Will you marry me?’ And I said, ‘Yep.’”
Rosalie tilts her head, her nose wrinkled in disappointment.
“Did he hide the ring in the marshmallow bag?” Fran says.
“He did,” I say with one dramatic nod.
She squeals. “Did he get down on one knee?”
“Of course!” Yep, I’ll agree to everything. Fran can tell this story.
“Did he?—”
“Yep,” I say, jumping to my feet. “He did all those things! Amazing! Is there a bathroom in this mansion, Mrs. Billionaire?”
Yes, I said that …
And Roman never needs to know.
Roman
Zev scratches his jaw, his eyes distant and on the group of women sitting on Baxter’s couch. “How’d you pop the question, Graves?”
“Thequestion.” I clear my throat. “Privately. Very, very privately.” Which is the exact opposite of how I announced my engagement to Stella. “Just me, Stell, and my Bronco. It just felt right. You know?”
Zev snuffs out a laugh and peers over at the women once more. “I might know.”
“I asked. She agreed. The end.”
Twenty-One
Stella leansher head back against the seat of my Bronco. “That was the longest Thanksgiving of my life.”
“I never need to do Thanksgiving again. Maybe I should get a green card to Canada,” I say. “No Thanksgiving there, right?”
Stella laughs. I can’t remember the last time I made someone laugh. And I can’t remember the last time I heardherlaugh—really laugh. She smirks at me plenty, but that’s more sarcastic. “We do have Thanksgiving in Canada. It’s in October, and it’s not nearly as commercialized as the one in the States.”
“Perfect. I’m in.”
She sighs, and her eyes drift closed. Those pretty green eyes. Stella’s eyes should be seen—never covered by lenses and never closed. It’s an odd thought for a guy who isn’t in love with his wife. But Stella Everly’s eyes are that remarkable.
“I can’t believe you kissed me tonight. And without anywarning.” Her words are playful, and they bring out a softer side of me. No convincing needed.
“That can hardly be called a kiss.”
“Your lips on my lips.Kiss. I would think Mr. Always Had A Girl On His Arm Graves would know what a kiss is.”
“I didn’t always have a girl on my arm. And that wasn’t a kiss. I’m not sure I even touched your lips. When I kiss you, you’ll know it.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“It’s a guarantee.” I’m not sure what I’m guaranteeing. Is it that I’ll be kissing her for real one day? Or is it all a joke? Our marriage is a sham, so why would there be any real kissing?
