Not once.
And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel hurt over that. But now he’s holding an entirely different ring.
This one is simple. A white-gold band with embedded stones rather than raised ones.
It’s beautiful.
“You… you have T-Rex hands,” he says softly.
I look up at him from the ring. “I’m sorry—what?”
“You do.” His smile grows sheepish. “You sleep like this.” He demonstrates immediately like I don’t understand what that means, bending his wrists and tucking one hand beneath his chin while the other rests against his chest.
I gape at him.
Oh my God.
T-Rex hands? How does he even know that’s a thing?
“So,” he continues, still smiling, “the old ring would’ve hurt you. Dug into your skin while you slept. And there was no way I was letting you take itoff every night.” His smile softens. “Well. Every night, every day… whenever you sleep, really.”
My chest aches. “Are you propos—”
“Nope.” The box snaps shut. “Not until we date more, as you said.”
A tiny spark of disappointment flares before I can stop it. Dammit, I love this ring. Especially now that I know why he chose it.
“We’ll get married, baby,” he says quietly. His fingers slide beneath my chin, lifting my face until I’m forced to meet his eyes. “But not until you’re ready. Not until you believe in me beyond my stupidity. Beyond my mistakes. Beyond that clause.”
His eyes shine. And I see the sadness sitting beneath everything else. “Not until you trust our feelings for each other again.” His voice drops even lower. “Because I know mine, Cece.”
His thumb brushes against my cheek. “And all of them belong to you.”
THIRTY-THREE
Levi
“And that brings me to my last point,” I say, my voice echoing through the massive hall at the Fairmont. “The reason I’ve called for this press conference.”
My hand flexes against the iPad, and a glint from my little finger catches my eye, the final words of my practiced speech hazying in front of me.
A small smile forms on my face unbidden.
I have had the whole room focused for the last thirty minutes—on the naked truths behind the investigation against the four shareholders of Astor Holdings, the temporary suspension of the Wentworth-Astor merger, and the damning clause I’m about to obliterate with my next sentence.
This is it. This is the final slap of my cards on this metaphorical table. Only, I’m no longer playing the game.
I’mfolding.
I’m creating the necessary distance betweenLeviandAstor. The latter has dragged too many lives into upheaval. I despise the taint attached to it. The way it has entangled me with a generational disgrace. Even pulled Cece into it, by extension.
The cut needs to be clean. So I can—maybe someday—attempt to build something withmecarrying the faith of Astor’s stakeholders. Not my last name.
There are a few clicks of the cameras every couple of seconds. The front row of reporters looks less like the journalists who are interested in the new direction of Astor Holdings, and more like the vultures hungry for a public dress-down.
I sigh as the words form in my throat with surprising ease. “Effective immediately, I will be resigning from the position of President of Astor Holdings, and all its subsidiaries.”
The discreet murmurs swiftly morph into a louder clamor of what I assume is disbelief.
