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He doesn’t have a choice when it comes tome. Not anymore. The announcements have been made. The planning is already underway. It would be a scandal of shocking magnitude for either of us to back out of this marriage now—a blow to both of our families’ reputations. It shouldn’t matter—shouldn’t bother me—that he doesn’t have other options anymore.
“I want it,” he confirms.
The loud crunch of another bite punctuates the statement. “Great.” My voice is full of false cheer and real sarcasm. “We should go back. They’ll wonder where we are.”
“They’ll assume it involved milking.”
I shoot his charming smile a disgusted look in return.
“Actually, we can’t go back yet.”
“What do you mean, wecan’tgo back yet?”
“I need to give you something.”
“Oh.” I realize what he’s talking about, then glance at the shelves lined with colorful cans and boxes. “In here?”
“I don’t think the string quartet or the champagne tower will fit.”
Dammit.I thought minimizing any pageantry was one way Crew and I are on the same page. If he has some elaborate proposal speech planned, I’ll probably start laughing. Making it seem like this is something that it is not is of no interest to me, especially when we’re alone.
Whatever expression I’m wearing makes his crease with what looks a lot like amusement.
“Yeah, I thought so.”
“Thought what?”
“Come on.” Crew walks out of the pantry. We retrace our steps back to the same hall overlooking the pool and yard.
He approaches the staircase to the left. Silently, I follow. Up the stairs and down the carpeted hall and into a large room filled with dark wood walls and old books. There’s a mustiness in the air that smells off-putting but isn’t. It’s not cozy, but it doesn’t feel like a museum, the way the rest of the mansion—minus the pantry—does.
I trace the patterns in the stained glass windows while Crew walks to a painting of a fruit bowl on the wall. He lifts it off, exposing the front of a safe. I continue perusing the room while stealing glances at him.
There’s a telltale beep. The safe door opens and closes. The painting returns to its place. Crew walks toward me. There’s nothing that could be described as pomp in sight.
This should be as detached as signing on a dotted line. That’s what itis—a sign of a commitment based on nothing but business. There’s nothing moderately romantic about this moment—the dusty books, the stale air, Crew’s blank expression—but my pulse picks up anyway. I feelsomething, when I should feel nothing.
Giddiness.
Anticipation.
Interest.
I try to pretend I’m in here with Oliver Kensington instead. If Crew’s older brother was approaching me, I’d be unbothered. I wouldn’t be mentally measuring the inches separating us. The inches steadily shrinking.
Maybe I messed upmylife worst of all, I suddenly realize.
Crew stops less than a foot away. Nine inches, I’d estimate. “Here.”
I stare down at the small, square, black box that he just dropped on my palm. One glance at his unreadable expression is all I allow myself before opening it. A huge diamond set in a halo of smaller ones twinkles up at me. It screams expensive without seeming garish. It’s timeless and classic. Something I would have picked out for myself.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, truthfully.
Crew doesn’t make any attempt to, so I lift the ring out of the box and slide it onto my finger. The weight feels heavy, unfamiliar, and permanent. If I took it off right now, I would still feel the lingering sensation on my skin, like a brand.
Scarlett Kensington.I roll my married name around in my mind, trying to accustom myself to it the same way I’ll have to adjust to wearing a sparkling reminder of Crew on my hand.
For once, I have no idea what else to say.Thank you? This ring cost a lot, no doubt. But he didn’t buy it because he wanted to or because I wanted him to. I don’t dole out thanks and apologies as freely as most people do.
