Page 58 of Wrong Room, Right Billionaire

“Regular ones, yes,” I tell her as I speculate a wall of flowers in the garden. We are by the pool, one of them anyway. The grandest of all the pools. It has a grotto, a waterfall, a bar, and a restaurant. It’s perfect for a proposal that a world of speculators will see. “But considering this proposal is both fake and celebrity status, it has to be premeditated.”

“Right,” Scarlett agrees.

“So, what are you thinking? Just pop the question, make sure you give it enough time for people to post it all over the web and then whisk her away to your room?” Donovan asks, and Scarlett’s cheeks turn pink and match the flowers around us.

“No,” I say. “I want a party.”

“A party?” she asks.

“A post-proposal party,” I state.

“I never took you for the partying type,” Scarlett jokingly mutters.

“I never took him for the marrying type, and yet here we are,” Donovan adds, but I’m in go mode.

“It’s not for celebration so much as for face,” I say. “The bigger the party, the smaller Conrad’s case shrinks.”

“He’s not wrong,” Donovan tells Scarlett. “If it was a pop the question, smooch and dash deal, it would look rushed. A party, though, next to the pool with food and drinks and music and dancing, that looks like it’s been planned out for weeks.”

“Months even,” I add with a nod. “Tell management. I want our top fifty guests present. I want more lighting here, overhead strings…what are they called?”

“Fairy lights?” Scarlett asks. “We get fairy lights?”

“Yes,” I go on. “Also, find local bands in the area. Offer whatever you have to bring in the best party of the year on Bale’s dollar. The media coverage they’ll get for it should be a no-brainer. I’ll talk to the kitchen. I want the best…for the blog, of course.”

“What do you want me to do?” Scarlett asks.

“I want you,” I say as I grab her hand and kiss it, surprising her and pleasing some nearby onlookers hoping for a good photo of us, “to do what you do best. Document everything. Show the world everything. And find a dress for tonight because if the last post you posted is already lapping the globe, tonight’s announcement is going to break the internet.” I smile down at her. And as a small group of people continue to gather and point and whisper, I decide to take advantage of the moment by kissing her.

One, it’ll look good for me and bad for Conrad. And two, I kind of just like kissing her.

Chapter 20

Morgan

One would think that, considering the current chaos that appears to be my new life, I would be stressed out right now. And yet, I feel the opposite, which is very new for me.

After our poolside kisses, Scarlett and I part ways. She heads back to the room to change into her swimsuit and sandals so she can peruse the resort for content, i.e., brunch, stunning views, the beach, and shops. I have work to do, and the first order of business is the ring.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have Sebastian take me to Tiffany & Co. I have the money, and they have the diamonds; why wouldn’t I go there? Yes, I am aware that the engagement is not real. I also don’t expect her to keep the ring, obviously. I can’t put any old department store ring on her finger. How would that look to the public? Cheap. How would it look to my snaky brother and his team of lawyers? Fake. And yet, after looking at literally every engagement ring in the store, including ones they can expedite from other locations, I am at a loss.

“Were they not up to your standards?” Sebastian asks as I sit in the car with him after the fact.

“I mean, they’re all exactly what they’re supposed to be,” I sigh. “Expensive, flashy, over the top,” I rattle off as I rub the nape of my neck.

“Do you think…and tell me if I am out of line here,” Sebastian says carefully. “Maybe that’s the problem?”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Well, I’ve only met Miss Scarlett once. But between that drive and her Instagram account, I don’t really feel like she’s a diamond girl.”

I narrow my eyes. Not because I am upset with Sebastian for offering his two cents, but because he might actually be right. As I circled the store again and again, asking to see and re-see rings that most girls would be over the moon about, I couldn’t picture any of them on her finger. In fact, I can’t picture a diamond on her body at all because Scarlett isn’t that type of girl.

I can see her with rubies. Sapphires. Or even moonstones or turquoise. Hell, I can see her with a geometric shaped ring that doesn’t have a rock at all, diamond or otherwise. And while gemstones don’t exactly scream luxury, they do resemble another part of Bale. A part the public doesn’t often get to see anymore.

My parents.

My parents got married before they came into money. Before my grandfather died and passed down an inheritance nobody even knew about. They were wanderers. Travelers. They met at a music festival in Rio. And you better believe my father didn’t propose to my mother with a Tiffany diamond. No, it was an amethyst, actually. The gold was real. Antique even. My mother loved it and it was very her.