Page 101 of Late Harvest

“What’s he doing?” Arabella murmured from the couch, her long, sooty lashes resting on those elegant high cheekbones.

Action.

“He’s just being silly. Oh—” he said again, making himself sound surprised. Maybe even a bit concerned. “There’s something on him.” He picked up the lop, tucking him into his arm. Thankfully, the navy of the ribbon blended enough with Chicane’s ebony coat that she may not notice it right away. “Come look.”

Arabella hopped up, reaching for Chicane, concern etched on her face. Bash felt guilty about causing her even a moment’s worry, but thankfully she would realize quickly all was fine with her pet.

The same could not be said about his gut, which was knotted with nerves.

“What did you get into, little man?” she began, running her hands along him.

While she was momentarily preoccupied, Bash shifted behind her, silently dropping to one knee, praying no loud popping and crackling of aging joints would give him away.

“What’s this? Did Daddy dress you up?” She nuzzled Chicane. “Don’t you look spiffy. What does it say—” She froze, a tiny gasp escaping. “Bash,” she whispered, and he knew she was taking in the words ‘Will you marry me, my queen?’ embroidered on the ribbon.

Arabella spun around, shocked blue eyes landing on him as one hand floated up to cover her mouth.

Bash held up the vintage four-carat, cushion cut, sapphire ring, the main stone set off by sparkling baguettes on each side. The platinum band was thin and simple. He’d wanted to select a larger center stone, but he knew anything too ostentatious wouldn’t be appreciated. And when his preferred jeweler sent him an image of the vintage estate piece that matched the striking color of his queen’s eyes, clear certainty settled in his heart that this was Arabella’s ring. He knew she’d never wear it while working, but hopefully she’d keep it on the special chain he’d bought her for such a purpose.

“Put Chicane in his digging box, ok, Angel?” Bash encouraged gently from his one-knee perch.

Not much threw Arabella Remington for a loop, and—Bash wasn’t going to lie—he was proudly enjoying the front-row seat as the architect of this rarity.

The flickering of the candlelight shimmering around her, Arabella nodded robotically, eyes still wide as she obeyed his quiet command. When she’d finished and turned back to him, she’d managed to school her features. But Bash swore he could see the pulse fluttering in her neck.

“Arabella, my queen, a little more than one month ago you made a deal with the devil. One that has upended your life. And while I’m sorry for exposing you to my Wheatley chaos, I’m not sorry at all that I’m in your life. That you’re in mine. The last several weeks, beginning at twelve-forty-five on a fateful Friday, have been some of the best of my life. I know we have an arrangement, and that this”—he waved the ring box—“was agreed upon to be a part of the deal. A visible sign of a temporary,” his throat caught on the bitter taste of that word, “commitment conceived to help each of us secure something we needed safeguarded.”

Arabella watched him carefully, and a smile tilted his lips as she began to cross her arms and then stopped, a matching smile turning up the corners of her mouth as she caught herself shifting into her preferred stance. The one he loved to tease her about.

“But when I saw this ring, I knew it was yours. I knew it was the symbol of my engagement with you. Because that’s what this is, Arabella Remington. I’m fully engaged in your life. I want to stay that way for—” he halted, choosing his words carefully, “—for as long as you’ll have me. Arabella, would you do me the honor of being engaged in my life too? Officially?”

The hand holding the box trembled, and he told himself it was fatigue from holding his arm up. But—to thine own self be true—he knew it was from nerves. Excitement at this precipice of possibility. And, most of all, fear that Arabella didn’t share the depth of his commitment.

And if that were the case? He’d dedicate his life and every atom of his being to convincing her that their true love journey was a rare and special road they’d travel together. And nothing and no one could deviate them from the path.

Chapter Fifty-Four

I will let go of the fear and take that leap.

—From Remy’s Affirmations for a Badass

(wait…where’s my soap?)

Remy

If anyone had told her six weeks ago that Bash Wheatley would be kneeling in her family room, proposing to her with a stunning sapphire ring, she’d have laughed in their face and probably called for a psych consult.

And, yet, there he was. Muscular legs encased in faded blue jeans, a white button down showing off the tan that hadn’t fully faded from his film shoot in the tropics months ago, sleeves rolled up to reveal those provocative, corded forearms that had featured in quite a few of her fantasies.

Yes, the overall effect of Sebastian proposing to her—holy shit—was surreal. For long moments, she felt as if she were in suspended animation, floating outside her body. But it was the look in his deep brown eyes that anchored her in the moment. And stalled her heart.

Remy brought a hand up over the spot and rested it there, feeling the reassuring, albeit ratcheted cadence. She opened her mouth to respond to the most beautiful words ever expressed to her, but no words formed.

Deep inside, Remy knew if she accepted his ring, she wasn’t just formalizing the deal they had already enacted. She was assenting to being engaged with Sebastian. Not to him. With him. In all aspects of his chaotic, colorful life. So opposite of her orderly, tidy, beige world.

And yet, Remy couldn’t imagine her world without the bright joy of Sebastian Wheatley. It was as if she’d been an unfinished canvas, just faint lines sketched onto the tightly woven fibers. Then Sebastian came in, painting and creating, revealing the potential for vibrancy Remy never could’ve imagined.

And she wanted more. She wanted all of it—as much as he would give her.