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“A proposal,” he finally echoed. “All right.” But nothing backed that up. His left knee jiggled a little. His right hand drummed atop the other. He stared into the corners of the room as if expecting something to materialize from the rafters. A guardian angel? An avenging demon? I couldn’t figure it out.
“Isn’t that why you’re here?” I queried gently. “For ideas about how to propose?”
He swung his head back around. Practically impaled me with his gaze. “Do you have any?”
I smiled again. I’d never meant a sentiment more. The dichotomy between the bustling businessman prince I’d met this afternoon and this awkward, earnest suitor, all but fidgeting from one end of the couch to the other…I was kind of enchanted. And yeah, might as well admit it, jealous as hell of Ambyr Stratiss. I hoped the woman knew what a rarity she had in him.
“To be honest,” I finally said, “I don’t. I’m sorry. By the time our company is contacted, the proposal part is usually finished.”
“Of course.” Shiraz rubbed both hands against his knees now. “I suppose that would be the case.”
I pulled in a long breath. Faced him more fully, curving a knee against the cushion. “Look, there’s no right or wrong way. The most important thing is that you’re sincere. You and Ambyr are…friends…at least, right?”
Felt like a safe question—somewhat. Weirdly, the words still seemed like eggshells. Wasn’t like I wanted the intimate details about their relationship, but maybe he’d disclose a few key details to work with.
“Friends.” He repeated it like learning a word in a new language. “Hmmm. Yes. I suppose that will suffice.”
I forced composure into my face. If I didn’t, I’d surely laugh. Or cry. I wasn’t sure which. That will suffice? He was going there because of the language difference, right? Surely, even if the union with Ambyr was being induced by Arcadia’s current politics, the woman had to be more than “sufficient” in his life.
A long moment passed as I waited for more. Kernels, even a few, of something I could use to help him with this dilemma.
The silence stretched on. Thick…then awkward.
Finally, I heaved a harsh sigh. “Okay, and what else?”
The man stared like I really was speaking another language. “What else…what?”
“Sheez.” Another long breath. Carefully in, not so patiently back out. “Shiraz. You’ve spent at least a little time with this woman, right?”
“Yes,” he snapped, adding a Duh face. “Of course. I have escorted her to three Palais dinners and the annual fencing tournament. She also went with me to—”
“Don’t need the Wikipedia entry.” I flung up a hand. “So you’ve dated, and—”
“No.” His eyes turned stormy. “Those weren’t dates.”
I struggled to stifle a smirk. Success. Wasn’t so winning with staving my follow-up question. “Errrm. What’s your idea of a ‘date’?”
He grunted. “Not what I did with Ambyr.”
I wanted to push more, if only to interact with this oddly cute side of him. By now, the only reminders of the imposing corporate hunk from this afternoon were the formal loafers on his feet and the styling product in his hair.
“All right then,” I murmured. “So you’ve been to some events and parties together. Had some pleasant times. Probably a goodnight kiss or two…” I watched him carefully while letting that one linger. There. His shoulders stiffened against his shirt. “Or more than goodnight kisses?”
More intent observation, especially when he didn’t deny it. Well, shit. Maybe my reading on Ambyr and him was all wrong—an admission instantly twinging my chest—and worse, making me scramble for ways to finish this conversation without helping him one damn bit. If he’d been able to stick his dick into the girl, what the hell was he doing in the guest suite of a stranger, asking for advice on how to propose to her?
“What if…I have not even kissed her?”
A stranger now feeling like twenty kinds of a bitch.
And forty kinds of elated.
And sixty kinds of holy-shit-what-do-I-do-with-this?
“Wait.” I pointed at him. Flummoxed, let my hand drop. “You’re going to propose marriage to this woman, but you haven’t even kissed her?”
His shoulders hunched, even more huge with embarrassment. “That is—weird, I suppose?” He glanced over, lips twisting. “Wrong?”
“No.” Before I could think to stop, I leaned and grabbed the shoulder closest to me. Fuck. Nothing met my touch but stone-hard sinew. “No,” I blurted again, trying to squeeze him in reassurance. “It’s sweet. And sexy. And kind of cool. And it also answers your question about how to begin the proposal.”
