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“Yes,” I burst out. “Yes.”
42
Abby
I glance down at the ring on my finger. It’s a flashy, multi-carat, pink, diamond ring. One of those over-the-top rings movie stars flash when they declare to the world that they’ve gotten engaged. It’s big enough that the press had me pose separately with it, much to Cade’s chagrin.
Apparently, who needs a man when you have his diamond on your finger, huh? Guess Marilyn Monroe knew what she was talking about, after all. There was a subtle shift in how the journalists treated me after I had the diamond on my finger.
That speech of Cade’s was something—straight out of a textbook, or a romantic movie, or a romance book, even. It was heartfelt and swoon-worthy and struck all the right possessive notes. Enough for the most cynical journalists to thaw a little toward him.
And god, I lost my heart completely to him. I couldn’t stop myself from saying yes. Not that I’d have said no, but maybe, I should have waited a few seconds more before I said yes? Oh, well, it’s too late now. His proposal is already making the rounds on social media channels and is breaking all kinds of records for being most viewed in the least amount of time.
Isla beamed at us as she ushered us out the car. The reporters threw questions at us, but Cade made it clear he wasn’t taking any right then. He also added that he was in too much of a hurry to spend some alone time with his fiancée.His fiancée.AKA me. He meant me. I’m the fiancée.
I raise my hand, and the moonlight floods in through the window of my bedroom in Cade’s townhouse. I thought I’d move out of his place after our last showdown, but when I broached the topic with him on the way here, he refused to hear it. We have to keep up appearances, especially now that the proposal is getting so much media attention. His phone and my phone kept blowing up on the way here with messages from friends. Zara called him, and he accepted her congratulations. Penny and Mira texted me, but I haven’t returned their messages yet.
Isla uploaded the video to Cade’s social media feed and tagged me, and the last I checked, my follower count had tripled in the last hour. This is in addition to all of the comments and shares the video attracted. A cursory glance revealed #fiancegoals #idealproposal #brandnewcade and #cabby. Yep, we have our own social media couple hashtag, I should have seen that one coming. Not sure if I like it or hate it. Not that it matters. I also spotted #heartbroken #Cadeprefersplussize #whatdoesheseeinher and #diebitch. Ugh, that last one made me click out of my social media accounts completely.
It didn’t seem to put off Cade. He spent the rest of the trip to his condo scrolling through his feeds. He made sure to hold my hand all the way to the car and until we were completely clear of the photographers. I was too dazed with everything that had taken place to ask him about his proposal.
And as soon as we got home, he told me he was going for a swim. He invited me to join, but I refused. Now, I lower my hand and glance down at where he’s cutting through the water. His powerful legs propel him forward, and he finishes yet another lap. And another. And another. I’ve lost count of how many he’s completed before he finally pulls himself up over the side. As always, the sight of him in a bathing suit sets off waves of heat low in my belly.
He dries himself with a towel, then wraps it around his waist before stopping and glancing up to wave at me. I blink, and wave back. He flashes me a smile, then turns and walks inside. I shuffle my weight from foot to foot.What’s the etiquette now that we’ve gotten engaged. Am I supposed to move into his room? Not that he’d asked me to…yet. So, do I continue to stay in my room, under his roof, after I promised I wasn’t going to sleep with him again?
But that was before the engagement.What happens now, after the engagement?Oh, fuck it, it’s best to ask him and put myself out of this misery. I turn to leave, then stop and glance down at myself. I’m wearing yoga pants, a sweatshirt, and have thrown my hair up in a messy bun. I guess, I’m passable. I head toward the dressing table, then pause.I’m not going to wear make up for him, am I? I’ve never done that before, so why should I start now?It’s ridiculous how self-conscious I’m feeling, and all because he put a ring on my finger.
I shake my hair back from my face, then pivot and head toward the door. What he sees is what he gets. It’s not like he’s going to break off his engagement… Not yet… He needs me, for the moment.We’ll have to stay engaged a few months, at least, so the positive press from it continues to change his perception in the media, eh? And then, who’s going to break it off? Me? Or him?
My steps slow. My chest hurts.It’s not a real engagement, so why should it matter that one of us is going to have to break it off soon, eh?I square my shoulders, walk out of the room and up the corridor.
I enter his room just as he emerges from the bathroom, trailing a cloud of steam. Droplets glisten on his chest, and he rubs his hair with another towel. His chest muscles ripple, his biceps flex, and the towel is knotted so precariously low on his waist, I’m sure it’s going to slip off. The heat, which had already flared to life low in my belly, bursts into full-blown flames. Sweat beads my upper lip, and I raise my hand to wipe it off. He must spot the movement, for he looks up at me.
He pauses, then smiles again at me before he drapes the towel about his neck and heads toward his walk-in closet. He steps out of sight, and I hear him open a drawer and shut it.Is he getting dressed? At this time of the evening?I walk toward his closet and peek inside just as he pulls on a pair of jeans. He shrugs into a button-down shirt, then turns around to face me. He does up the button placket, then holds out an arm.
I glance at it, then back at him, then back at the sleeve. “Oh, right.” I close the distance to him, fasten the button on one sleeve, then the other.
“Thanks, babe.” He kisses the top of my forehead, then brushes past me. I sniff at that mind-blowing Cade scent he leaves behind, and my pussy quivers. By the time I look up, he’s already out the closet door.
“Wait!” I hurry after him to find he’s seated on a chair near the bed and is tying up the shoelaces on his sneakers.
“You’re going out?”
“Of course.” He rises to his feet, then slaps his palms on his hips. “How do I look?”
“You look—" I take in his gorgeous, well-groomed figure. “Delicious.”
He smirks. “You’re a doll, you know that?”
The hair on the nape of my neck rises. He never calls me doll and babe. What happened to baby and Sparrow or just, Abby?
He flashes me another smile, then turns to leave.
“Stop, Cade.” I rush after him, then around him, forcing him to stop.
He frowns, then glances at the watch on his wrist. “It’s getting late, babe.”
“For what?”
