I didn’t. I pulled back. Zipped the suitcase closed. Stared at it. I would still be surprised. I hadn’t seen the ring. I’d just practice my shocked face. Make sure it wasn’t grotesque or too exaggerated. I saw his phone, the bulge of it sticking from a side pocket and grabbed it.
I set both phones on the entrance table and took a chance, walking to the back balcony and stepping out. As I scanned my eyes over the beach, moonlight reflected off waves, the sand pristine, unmarred. No billionaire walked along its surface. Nothing but nature. Yeah, it was pretty. Big deal. I would have traded it all for a television with HBO.
A ring. A proposal. This was the perfect place for it. Mrs. Layana Sharp. The name alone put goosebumps on my skin. Was it what I wanted? Absolutely. No question. My biggest complaint with our relationship was that I wanted more of it. More time with Brant. More insight into the beauty that was his mind, the pieces of him hidden behind his slight smile. I wanted a partnership, wanted children with the man, wanted to move in and fill up a home with memories. Be his wife. Grow up and have a purpose. And tomorrow, it seemed, I would have it.
I scanned the beach one last time and turned, stepping back into the room and closing the doors, the sound of the ocean muted. I glanced back at the bed. Took a moment and contemplated a return to it.
I was used to waking up alone. The few nights I had spent at Brant’s he often got up during the night. Headed down to the basement to work or drove to the office. It didn’t bother me; I wasn’t someone who needed a full night’s bed commitment to feel secure. But here, in this resort, with no work in sight, where was he? And why didn’t he leave a note? The questions tugged at me. Kept me from moving toward the bed. I moved to the closet instead. Tugged a robe over my silk pajamas, loosely tied the belt, and worked my feet into slippers. Grabbed both of our phones, my room key, and a handful of cash. Schooled the goofy smile on my face into a more appropriate one. Then I stepped out, tugging the door shut behind me. And went to find my future husband.
It didn’t take long. It was a small resort—another issue that ensured the Sharp party of two would not be making a return visit. There just wasn’t enough to do here. Not for a couple who didn’t want to hike nature trails or watch sports. Especially not for a man who got his kicks off on things that beeped and lit up. Ten minutes later, I walked into the place I should have started at—the hotel bar. Even though Brant didn’t really drink, didn’t seek out social mingling or groups of people. But, at almost 2 AM, it was one of the only places open inside the gates. I walked through the doors, eyed the scant crowd, and saw him, his back to me, hand resting on the bar, in a cluster of people I didn’t recognize.
I smiled, relief washing through me. I didn’t know what I expected, what the tight grip of my back muscles had anticipated, but the tension left when I saw him. I made my way through the bar, my pajamas out of place, a few women giving me looks that deserved a sharp word, but I continued. Fished his phone out of my pocket as I moved, powering it on. I’d give him his phone, kiss him goodnight, and then make my way back upstairs. I didn’t need to stay down there; I wanted to go back to our bed, would have my cell if he got drunk and needed help finding his way back to the room. I smiled at the absurd thought of a drunk Brant and moved closer.
A few steps away. Bodies moved aside, gave me a better view of him.
Closer. My slippers caught on the tile and I tripped slightly. Caught myself, my face heating.
Heard the murmur of his voice. Reached out. Placed my hand on his shoulder and pulled gently.
The smooth rotation of his torso, the over the shoulder glance that came full circle and looked down at me…
In the next few minutes, everything about our relationship changed.
I had fallen for him. Planned our future, already mentally accepted his proposal.
It turned out I didn’t even know him.
Chapter 19
2 YEARS, 3 MONTHS AGO
Brant
I had intended to propose in Belize. Cancelled that plan when the jet was nixed. Reestablished that plan when Lana bullied us into commercial. Then our trip had a hiccup; she got sick and the moment never happened.
Tonight. The second attempt. I shake a pill out, place it under my tongue and try to relax. Swig ice water and stare at the back wall of my office, a stainless steel surface broken by glass views of the hills.