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“Hey, Atlantic City is just a stone’s throw away from where you are, and he’s a hot rich guy who treats you like a princess. Why would you say no?”
“Because I’m not a princess in a fairy tale,” I shoot back.
Sasha’s huff makes me smile. I can totally picture her puffing her curly bangs out of her eyes and folding her arms with frustration.
“Listen, my grandmother married my grandpa three days after they met. And they were happily married for 47 years!”
My smile widens as I pluck a feather sticking out of my pillow while Sasha rabbits on about all of the people she’s heard about in history who found true love and got married super quick.
Finding a husband back in the old days was so much simpler.
But then my mind draws a picture of William, standing in his sharp suit, his dark eyes boring into mine.
He’s got his hands in his pockets and a look about him that is traditional. Maybe he’s Cary Grant incarnate.
Maybe the idea of waiting to marry someone is the truly crazy choice. I mean, if you know, you know. Right?
But what do I know?
I know that when he takes my hand, I’m basking in a warmth that makes my heart race and knees buckle. I could bottle his scent and smother myself in it every day because it soothes me.
And I can’t stop thinking about how wrong it feels to be sleeping in separate beds.
All logic and reason aside… I kind of want to do this.
But a worry tugs my mouth into a frown.
A marriage proposal based on a half-truth. It’s a fairy tale beginning with a questionable foundation that could quickly turn into a nightmare.
I end the call with a heavy heart, my mind a battlefield of what-ifs and maybes.
Sasha might believe in happy endings, but I know that every story has its complexities, its challenges.
I think about my own parents. Both were divorced when they met, with a no-nonsense attitude and high expectations of each other. They are about as romantic as doing taxes on Valentine’s Day.
But if I say no to his proposal, will that make things super awkward? He might not want to show his face again and call of his meeting with Sasha’s grandmother.
Then I’d go back to London hurt, alone, with no future prospects, and Sasha’s grandmother will miss the only opportunity she has left to get massive exposure for her work.
As the night deepens, I'm left wondering about the future, about what lies ahead for William and me.
I know that he will be expecting an answer in the morning… unless the sunrise brings a heavy dose of logic that brings him to his senses.
Who knows, maybe he’ll make his excuses and withdraw his proposal?
My stomach knots, and I frown, wondering why I’m upset by the idea.
I remind myself that this isn’t who I am. I don’t fall for guys this fast.
Sasha is the romantic, not me.
But here I am. Palms sweaty, heart fluttering, all while I’m seriously considering William’s rash proposal.
I fall asleep with one question running through my head on repeat: what do I tell him in the morning?
WILLIAM
I'm up early, pacing the floor of my bedroom.
