My heart flipped. “Oh my gosh.”
He pulled me forward, leading me to the table, where swatches of fabric were laid out in a row. Each one had something written on it in ink—small notes in his handwriting, delicate and precise.
Curiously, I picked one up. It was a piece of soft, icy blue silk, and in the corner, he had written,Winter.
I glanced at him, confused but breathless. “Ro, what is this?
He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly looking almost shy.
Which was crazy because Ronan was never shy.
“I was trying to think of the best way to say this,” he admitted. “But then I remembered, this is your world. Fashion. Creativity. So, I figured... why not use that?”
I looked down at the fabrics again, running my fingers over the different textures.
Velvet. Satin. Lace.
He stepped closer, taking my hands. His voice was softer now, more serious. “Tesoro, you’re my winter.”
My breath caught.
“You’re everything I crave in the coldest moments,” he continued. “The warmth, the beauty, and what makes the world feel alive again when everything else is frozen. You make me feel… ” He exhaled sharply, like he was struggling to put it into words. “You make me feel like I don’t want to go through a single season without you. Not winter. Not summer. Not anything in between.”
My chest tightened. My fingers curled around his.
“So, what I’m saying,” he said, “is that I don’t want to be some guy you spend time with or someone you run to when things get complicated. I want to be yours.”
He picked up another swatch. This one was soft, delicate whitelace.
“Be my girlfriend, Nina.”
I stared at him, my heart pounding against my ribs.
For a second, I couldn’t even breathe.
“Yes.”
The word rushed out of me before I could even process it, but it felt so right.
His whole face lit up. He let out a breath, relief and excitement mixing together, before pulling me into the warmest, happiest hug.
I thought I might melt from how much I liked him because somehow, even in a house the size of a school, in a glass garden that felt like magic, Ronan still managed to make me feel like the only person in the world.
I turned back to the table, my fingers still trembling. My heart hadn’t stopped racing, but curiosity tugged at me. Carefully, I flipped over one of the other swatches, expecting to see more of his handwriting.
But instead—
Embroidery.
The thread was stitched neatly into the fabric, each letter carefully embroidered like someone had taken their time with every single stroke.
My breath hitched as I ran my fingers over the delicate stitches.
Brave.
I flipped another.
Radiant.
