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And she did try. Except for the ones that would conflict with her booking schedule. And even then, it broke her heart that she had to cancel.
As for me, she had been my personal music box. Because I convinced her to move in with me after weeks of begging. Promising to get her own grand piano for the penthouse was the thing that did it. And it was worth every penny. Because day and night, Reagan filled my home with not only love but her music.
The current song came closed out two and a half hour set. The dining hall was filled with applause and cheers, boosting her confidence that she had done a fantastic job. Not that she needed this confirmation. She knew she was good. All she wanted was to play for people.
And that was my cue to stand from my chair.
When my woman played her music, it was non-negotiable that I personally handed her a bouquet of flowers every time. It was the first thing on her contract. And everybody who wanted her to play had to allow me to be the first and only person to touch her on stage.
I felt the weight of the thing in my pocket. The small velvet box had been in my possession for five months. I had only needed the perfect place and time to do it. I even made the move to contact Ryan from Indonesia to tell him I was going to marry his sister. Reagan would want that. And I was willing to put aside my pride so I could show her how much I respected her.
Inside the box was a symbol of my promise that I would love her and spoil her until I died. And when I did, I’d make sure everything I owned would go to her.
Tonight, there were no flowers.
When I climbed to the stage, whistles from the guests continued, and flashes of cameras snapped in her direction.
I snaked my hand around her waist and she leaned into my touch, knowing that I’d be the first person to greet her once she was done.
She turned with muscle memory to grab the bouquet that wasn’t there, and then she’d usually take a step back and give it back to me. It was a gesture of love and loving in return.
She looked at me now, her brows softly furrowed at the absence of flowers. Reagan loved her flowers. She kept them in multiple vases in our room and in the penthouse. Now that she was here on the ship, our luxury room smelled and looked like a garden.
“Where’s my flowers?”
“You’ll get them, darling.”
And I went on one knee as the crowd hummed with awe, and whispers of surprise filled the room, knowing where this was going.
Reagan’s eyes grew wide as she gasped, pressing a hand on her chest, her eyes watering. She was shaking in nervousness and bliss.
“Reagan St. James,” I proclaimed, her name the sweetest thing that had ever graced my lips. “Your music has filled my life with unforgettable serenity. From the day I first heard you play, I knew you were going bring me to my knees.”
Her lips wobbled as tears streamed down her face. She didn’t even care about the crowd that was flashing their phones at us, watching us. Suddenly, the world was quiet and she was all there was—she was all that mattered. I continued. “You are the most beautiful, smartest, infuriating woman I know.” An echo of laughter followed. “Challenge me for the rest of my life, darling. Ground me. Let me hear your music every day. Marry me, Reagan.”
And she wept, nodding her head. “Yes! Yes, Matthew.” Then I rose to my feet, kissing her on the lips in front of everyone. Although I had wanted a more intimate proposal than this, I thought that the world needed to know Reagan was mine. And I was not letting her go.
I slipped the diamond ring on her finger, her hands shaking as she watched. It wasn’t the same ring I gave her when I proposed. This was more expensive, of course. Etched inside the band were the words “Au Clair de Lune”.
Because she caught me at Clair de Lune. And she would forever be my light in the darkest of nights.
THE END
