Page 75 of Promise of Punishment

“Is it a record high today?” I almost melted when we left in my baggy jeans and long-sleeved cropped T, which felt great in the chilly hospital. I check my phone to see if I’m right.

“Yes,” Wes answers before I can type the search in Google. He sits beside me, working on his phone. “The humidity is unusually high for September, which makes it feel hotter too.”

I grin. He’s like an all-knowing magic box enclosed in a body that could pass for a male stripper.

“How long is it going to last?” I ask, just to mess with him.

“Two days, I believe, then the temperature drops to the seventies.”

“Low seventies is my favorite.”

“Yeah?” He glances at me as if filing this away before returning his focus to his phone.

He doesn’t even notice when we pass through the first gate to Hellfire.

“I think gas prices are higher,” I throw out, again to mess with him. I have no idea if they are.

“They are. Mostly due to severe oil disruptions in Iran, but also from seasonal demand.”

See? Magic box.

“You look sexy sitting there working.” I drink him in. No suit today, just fitted taupe pants and a dark polo with a brown belt and matching shoes. He looks like English nobility.

That earns me a smirk and his undivided attention. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I pull my bottom lip between my teeth.

He lowers his phone and takes my chin in his hand. “I want to bite that.”

“Go ahead.” I fight a grin, waiting to see what he does.

The SUV stops, and the driver announces we’re here.

“To be continued,” Wes says and gets out. He waves for me to slide across the seat to him.

I do, but before I can plant my feet on the ground, he scoops me into his arms and carries me up the stairs as if we’re late for something.

The huge doors open for us. We entered the great hall, where the staff lined the black-and-white marble floor on either side of the grand staircase, like something out of Downton Abbey.

My entire body ignites with embarrassment.

“Thank you for being here,” Wes says, like they weren’t summoned to do so. “As I’m sure you are all aware, this little angel proved I have a heart by stealing it and further proved that fate has a plan for everyone, even a cold, calculated arse like me. Please treat my fiancée with kindness and respect. She went through a hell of a lot to get here.” He smiles adoringly at me, his meaning clear. This journey toward my future with him began six years ago in that garden.

“Fiancée?” Noah shouts. “Fable, why didn’t you tell me?”

My gaze whips to her standing in line with the staff, then back to Wes, who’s watching me for my reaction. “Fiancée?” Did I miss that part of his declaration?

“I’ve never done anything halfway in my life. If I want something, I go for it.”

“Go for it or take it?” This kinda feels like taking it.

“Earn it,” he says without arrogance, simply in the confident way he does everything. “Have I?”

My brain scrambles to catch up. He’s proposing to me in front of everyone? Without hinting to me that he might? Like he just decided?

I almost ask if we can talk about it later, in private, then I realize this is his way of showing me I’m worthy. He knows how my father’s side of the family treated me and my mom. He knows I’ve lived a life that means I never belonged anywhere. I also know from his past and from what I had learned about him during our time together in the club, in the west wing, and the abandoned garden—even though I only knew him as a Lord back then—Wes is a private person too. I understand why he didn’t reveal himself to me when I started working at Hellfire. I wouldn’t have given him two minutes of my time. I would have run, like I eventually did, and might have ended up dead instead of just run off the road.

Bluebell eyes stare into mine, filled with hope and a hint of worry.