Something snaps. At this point, I don’t give a shit what Mom has been through. The dam is no more.
“My theory of women,” I say, “is a pile of horseshit.”
“What?” She looks up at me.
“I never meant any of it.”
“But you always claimed it’s scientific.” She narrows her eyes. “You argued with Celeste about it until you were blue in the face!”
“Well, Celeste was right.”
I’ve now released Margot’s hand and am looming over Mom’s delicate form. Saying the next bit, while crowding a woman isn’t very elegant, but I’m too far gone for elegant.
“My theory was sexist garbage,” I say. “I’m over it.”
Mom shoots Margot an angry look as if she’s blaming her for my self-renunciation.
On impulse, I dash to Margot and drop on one knee. “Will you marry me?”
“Nooo!” Mom wails, her eyes bulging out with horror.
I look up at Margot. “If you can bear living between Mount Evor, London and Cannes, and putting up with my mother who, I promise, is rarely this nasty, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
“I can’t,” she says.
Mom expels a staggered sigh of relief. “See? She loves theater and her career too much. And you not enough.”
Margot shoots Mom a horrified look.
“Stay out of it, Mom,” I growl.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mom says to me. “Get up. Someone might see you.”
Margot opens her mouth, like she’s about to say something. But then she looks around, finds the castle and bolts toward it.
CHAPTER34
MARGOT
My heart pounds in my chest as I run up the path to the castle. In my mad race, I zoom past the gardener and then past Celeste, whose wide-eyed gaze I can feel on the back of my head. Good thing Matteo is still at school! What would’ve happened if I’d crossed his path now? He wouldn’t understand why I’d kept running instead of stopping to talk with him.
I burst through the front doors of the castle. Taking the steps two at a time, I climb four flights of stairs. Then I speed down the hallway, until I see the door to my room, which the housekeeper had so thoughtfully marked with a red ribbon for me. I open it and step inside.Phew.
I need to digest everything that happened over the past hour in the park, culminating in a most unexpected marriage proposal. In the fantasies I’ve entertained this week, this was a romantic, beautiful moment. I’d pictured Jonas going down on one knee, professing eternal love, and asking my hand in marriage.
He did kneel. And he did propose marriage. But he skipped the most important part.
Someone knocks on the door. Whoever it is, I’m not ready.
“It’s me, Jonas,” a familiar baritone says.
My heart skips a beat. I don’t want to talk to him right now. Drawing in a breath, I open the door. But I don’t move aside or invite him to enter the room.
He takes a step back, giving me more space. But he doesn’t retreat too far away either. Is he afraid that if he does, I might shut the door on him without hearing him out?
Jonas holds my eyes. “I got ahead of myself, didn’t I?”
The sorry-not-sorry look on his face as he watches me from under his brow wins him a smile.
