Page 62 of Wrong Room, Right Billionaire

With that, Morgan turns to face me and takes a step back, providing himself with the space to drop to his knee.

A gasp fills the warm night air, and I can see through my periphery a dozen cameras lift into the air. But that’s not even where my focus is. The butterflies in my chest are fluttering wildly as Morgan pops open the ring box, and they have nothing to do with stage fright.

“Scarlett Moore, your passion for travel and adventure has captured my attention and heart since the day we met. And I want to continue this journey with you until the end. Will you marry me?”

For a moment, I forget. I forget that this isn’t real. I forget that the ring he is holding will probably be taken back. I forget that this won’t end in a wedding. I even forget to say yes until people start cheering, and I make a crash landing back in the here and now.

“Yes…” I stutter, and as I nod, I realize that there are tears in my eyes. Tears threatening to roll down my cheeks. Tears that might have already done so.

Morgan slips the ring on my finger and rises to his feet. Then he pulls me against him, cups my face in his palms and kisses me, catapulting my heart to the moon.

Unfortunately, my heart seems to have forgotten that none of this is real. But for now, I’m going to let my heart believe what it wants.

#inthemoment

Chapter 22

Scarlett

The moment the kiss ends, the night begins.

The band kicks it into high gear with folky rock music, perfect for dancing the night away. Champagne bottles pop, and everyone is sipping and laughing, eating and chatting.

Morgan is working the room with me at his side, and I can’t help but feel a little like a celebrity. Everyone either wants to congratulate us, pine over us, or take a photo of us.

I have to remind myself that it’s all good content for the blogs for Bale and my page.

Still, I’m not really used to this kind of attention. Not at this level, and certainly not on the arm of a billionaire resort owner with a ring on my finger.

Which, by the way, is unrealistically gorgeous. I was surprised when I saw it, if I am being honest. I expected a rock the size of Jupiter, sparkling up at me like some sort of mounted disco ball. What I was not expecting was an understated amethyst on a dainty yet detailed hammered gold band that is both unique and timeless. In a word? Rare. And so much more my style.

Not that it matters. Because it’s not mine. Not forever anyways.

But I’m not thinking about that right now. Right now, I’m thinking about–

“Are you hungry?” Morgan asks as he whisks me away from a crowd of people after patiently giving them photo ops and letting them see the ring.

“Starving,” I admit. Because honestly, with all the craziness, I haven’t eaten since breakfast. And I think it’s safe to say the avocado toast did not suffice for a day’s worth of food, even if the post was beautiful.

“Me too,” Morgan admits before tugging me in and out of the tables. But just as we approach the buffet of food, he pulls a hard right and we head away from it in the opposite direction.

“Um, I think the food was that way,” I tell him, using my free hand to thumb over my shoulder.

“Yeah well, we are going to eat in the kitchen,” he says, and I’m a little confused.

“Shouldn’t we eat with the guests? For content and face and all the things?” I ask. Even though I’m not really in the mood for any more of that right now. I’d love to eat a shrimp cocktail without someone taking a photo of me with a mouth full of seafood.

“No. We have more important people to share this meal with,” Morgan tells me as we walk into the back of the kitchen, and for a moment, my heart sinks. More important people imply suits and ties. Which implies I have to put my influencer face back on in place of my hungry enough to eat the table itself face.

Surprisingly, there’s no one back here except the kitchen staff, who are all sitting in a circle eating their own dinner.

“Hey boss,” a short man with light brown skin and the warmest smile I’ve ever seen says.

“Hey Rafael,” Morgan addresses him by name while grabbing a couple of plates and loading them up with a little of everything. “Mind if we join you?”

Join them? Morgan wants to eat with the kitchen staff?

It doesn’t bother me. Actually, I find it quite enduring. It’s just a little surprising is all. Although I’d be lying if I said Morgan isn’t making a pattern of surprising me recently.