Page 8 of The Beauty Who Loved Him

Vera lifted her shoulders, but even the action felt helpless when they dropped back down like a heavy weight had come to sit down on delicate bones. “Not for long.”

The lid on the ring box creaked when she flipped it open. Nestled inside a similarly blue crushed velvet was an oval diamond sitting on a band of thin, white gold. At least five carats, every facet of the gem caught the dim lighting in the room. A classic style that complimented most women, but he thought was perfectly fit for Vera.

People would notice it.

The way the ring would sit on her finger; how the diamond was sized just right. It wasn’t even on her finger, and already, he could practically see how she would look wearing it while she stood in a room full of people.

Like she was entirely his.

She took her time to reacquaint herself with the ring by tracing her thumb around the oval diamond, but she didn’t pull it free from its safe place. He figured it was time to give the ring a new home. Where he intended for it to stay.

“Let me see that,” he murmured.

Before she could refuse, Vaslav plucked the ring box from her hand and swallowed it with his own. He only grinned at her confused expression when he offered her his other hand to help her stand from the dining chair.

“What are you doing?” Vera asked as she allowed him to direct her a few paces away from the table.

“Something proper,” he returned.

Vera laughed. “You?”

“You’ll soon see.”

And then he dropped down to one knee.

All her giggles died, then.

Vaslav gave her a rueful grin. “Cat got your tongue?”

She didn’t look away as her tongue wet the pillow-soft seam of her lips, and she whispered, “That’s not what you’re supposed to say when you’re down there with a ring.”

“Right, back to the proper bit,” he told her. Gone was her earlier fire, but the careful tone she had used couldn’t be as easily dismissed. “Or do you not want me to ask you like this?”

Vera lifted one bare shoulder where the neckline and upper sleeve of her dress dangled dangerously. He was right about the dress, too. Every inch of the cable knit design accentuated the curves of her body in the most temping way.

“Mostly, I want you to mean it,” she said.

“I’m sorry?”

“Whatever you’re about to say, can you mean it?”

“Funny.”

“What is?” she asked.

“Fifteen minutes ago, you thought I killed your father. Now, you want me to propose like I mean it. One thing is not like the other, Vera.”

“I never thought that, actually. Or I wouldn’t have come here at all.”

He had no choice but to believe her. He couldn’t find a reason to think she might be lying, either. More often than not, he found himself playing a dangerous game with this woman. One she didn’t even realize she played, too.

A game of trust.

He blindly gave it.

She’d not yet ruined it.

How long would that last?