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Deacon shot him a mean-looking glance before he turned to Olivia. “So are you telling me that Samuel didn’t call you and ask you to stop me from getting on the plane?”
“No, I’m not telling you that at all. Samuel did call me. And he did want me to stop you from leaving. At first I thought I rushed to the airport because I didn’t want my designs to fail.” Her voice lost some of its belligerence. “Those are my designs that are going to be on the runway tonight—designs that I have spent most of my life working on. And I’ll admit that I want them to be a success.” She tipped up her chin and tried not to lose herself in the deep purple-blue of his eyes. “But when I saw you sitting on the plane, I realized that my designs had nothing to do with me not wanting you to leave. I don’t want you to leave, Deacon, because I realized that I don’t want to live without you. And it doesn’t seem to matter that you’re Michael’s son—”
Donny John cut in. “There seems to be some confusion on fathers here. Deacon is my son, not Michael’s.”
When she sent Deacon a questioning look, he nodded. “It’s true. Michael was infertile. The letter my mother sent Michael was just to tell him about my birth in the hopes that a nephew would mend things between the two brothers.” He stepped closer. “Now what were you saying about not being able to live without me regardless of who my father is?”
She might’ve been annoyed with his arrogance if the hopeful look on his face hadn’t been so cute. “I don’t care who your father is. To me you’ll always just be Deacon. The arrogant, controlling boss who walks into a room and takes charge. The sweet, caring man who took me to Paris. The polite Southern gentleman who pulls out my chair and opens my doors and makes me feel like a woman. Not a weak woman, but a strong woman who can be anything she wants to be. Even if the only thing she truly wants to be is your woman.” She tried to continue her speech in a strong voice, but it was hard to appear strong when a tear leaked out of her eye. “I love you, Deacon. That’s why I drove like a maniac to get here. Why I bought a ticket to Louisiana. And why I got on the plane and made a fool of myself.”
Deacon studied her as if he were studying a sales spreadsheet, his gaze intense, as if he were ferreting out all her secrets. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, he spoke. “Okay.”
“Okay?” Her eyes narrowed. “I spilled out my heart to you and all you can say is ‘okay’?”
“No. I have some other things I’d like to say, but they’ll need to wait. Right now we need to get you to a fashion show.” Without waiting for a reply, he swept her up in his arms and carried her out the door.
