"We need to do this quickly," I tell the photographer, who nods and briskly begins setting up the shot.
I finger the small black velvet box in my pocket as I wrap an arm around Grace and tug her in close. Her eyes bulge from the contact, and she stumbles into my hold. Her skin is glowing from her treatments earlier, and whoever did her makeup added shine in the right places and shadows that make her eyes look bigger and her plump lips even more kissable.
Hazel eyes and rosy cheeks assess me, confusion swirling in her irises when I pull her body against mine and press a chaste kiss to her forehead. Her surprise is adorable. We're inlove; this is how people in love greet each other. But Grace doesn't hug me back. In fact, her body stiffens awkwardly.
"What are you doing?" she asks under her breath.
That isn't going to work.
I dip my head to be closer to hers. "You're in love with me, remember?" I murmur low into her ear.
She jolts at that, pulling back and tilting her head up so she can look at me.
"I'mpretending."
I quirk an eyebrow. "Well, thenpretend."
"I'm ready." The woman with the camera shouts. "Let me know when you are!"
"Ready, Miss Morgan?" I repeat the question to Grace.
She swallows, and I watch as her throat bobs with the motion. Her hand is still in mine, and her skin is cold from the winter air. She looks uncertain, like at any second, she might say never mind and bolt from the premises.
But surprisingly, she doesn't. Instead, she takes a deep breath and nods. "Ready."
"You'll need this," I add, tugging a velvet box from my pocket and popping the lid. Grace's eyes drop down to the ring between us, widening at the sight.
The diamond is a flawless six-carat emerald cut, set in platinum, flanked by two tapered baguettes that draw the eye inward, emphasizing the center stone's clarity and size. The band itself is simple, elegant, timeless. No halos. No unnecessary embellishments.
It's the kind of ring that gets photographed at galas, that ends up inTown & Countryspreads about society engagements.
Grace stares down at the sparkle like the ring might bite her.
"That's too much?—"
"It's not," I cut her off. "The weight of this ring is a representation of my love for you. And Ireallylove you."
Her eyebrows twist. "That shouldn't matter."
"It does, Miss Morgan. Every woman in my life will be analyzing this thing, and if it's not right, they'll know."
"There's no?—"
"Are you going to argue with me or put the ring on?"
Grace pauses mid-sentence. She still looks like she wants to argue, but she snaps her lips shut before reaching for the ring.
It slides onto her ring finger and fits perfectly. I knew it would, as I had Margot size her finger for me before I had my man put on the final touches earlier.
Grace holds out her hand like she doesn't recognize it.
"Ooh, yeah, let me get a ring shot!" The photographer leaps forward, snapping photos of Grace holding out her hand.
"You love me, remember?" I lean in to whisper in Grace's ear. Her head tilts up, her wide eyes looking at me. It gives the photographer an angle of Grace extending her hand, looking back over her shoulder at the loving fiancé who wraps his arms around her waist and nuzzles into her neck.
The perfect picture of love.
“Good girl,” I murmur in her ear, and her shoulders drop as she settles against me. “Now smile.” My palm finds the curve of her cheek, and she tilts her face toward mine, lips parting slightly as a smile spreads across her features. The camera clicks rapidly as we move together.
