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“Your sock drawer?” I snorted.
“I knew you wouldn’t look there!”
“True,” I laughed. “But I don’t have a ring for you.”
“It’s okay,” he waved his hand in dismissal. “I just proposed and now I’m dragging you off to marry me. I understand why you don’t have one.”
“No, it’s not okay,” I insisted. “I want you to have a ring. Surely there’s a jewelry store around here somewhere.” I looked out the car windows like I thought one would magically appear in front of me.
“I think Marcy would kill us if she didn’t make my ring,” he grabbed my shoulder so I was forced to look at him and cease my scanning.
“You’re right,” I agreed. “She would hunt us down. What if we get a temporary ring?”
“Why waste the money?” He reasoned. “Besides, like I said, your ring isn’t with me.”
“Says the billionaire,” I snorted.
“Hey,” his smile faltered and I instantly felt bad. His family’s money had always been a touchy subject. While the Wentworth’s had more money than I’d like to even think existed, none of them were…different because of it. Money certainly hadn’t gone to their heads like some people. “It’s not my money, it’s my family’s.”
“I know,” I placed my hand against his stubbled jaw. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s okay,” he turned his head into my hand, kissing my palm.
“So, no ring?”
“Not yet,” he smiled. “When you put a ring on my finger, I intend to never take it off. I don’t want a placeholder ring. I want the real thing.”
I bit my lip to stifle my laughter but it was of no use.
“Why are you laughing at me?” He questioned.
“Because,” I tried to breathe around my giggles, “that’s quite possibly the cutest, but cheesiest, thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Woman, I can be romantic,” he put a hand to his chest, feigning anger.
“Surprising me with a room filled with lightsaber nightlights is not romantic, Trace,” I snorted.
“It was one time!” He chortled. “And I thought it was cool.”
“It was definitely cool,” I agreed, “but not exac
tly as romantic as you’d thought. Next time, try candles.”
“That’s a fire hazard, Olivia.”
I stuck my tongue out at him.
Ignoring my protruding tongue, he continued, “So, are we really doing this thing?”
“Having second thoughts, Mr. Wentworth? I’m shocked.”
“Never,” he grabbed my hand. “I just,” he swallowed thickly, his lashes fanning against his cheeks, “I want to know that this is what you want. That I’m what you want.”
“Of course,” I gasped. “How could you ever doubt that?”
His tongue flicked out, moistening his lips. “Even the most confident people have doubts.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck and scooted as close to him as I could get in the car. “You’re exactly what I want, Trace. Bad dancing and all. I accept you as what you are…which in my eyes, is everything.”
