“A unique one,” Mrs. Bird added. “Late nineteenth century, rose gold, with a carved shell cameo. Undamaged, as you can see. Notice the detail on the woman’s dress too, the open flower near her collar.”
Liv slipped the ring onto her finger and spread out her hand. “My mother used to have something like this. It belonged to her mother, I think. I don’t know what happened to it.”
“Does it fit, Cinderella?” I asked.
Mrs. Bird smiled. Liv twisted the ring and nodded.
“How much is it?” she asked Mrs. Bird.
The owner glanced at the tag inside the counter. “Nine hundred dollars.”
“Oh.” Liv tugged the ring off. “It’s lovely, but I’m afraid that’s too much.”
“We’ll take it.” I pulled out my wallet.
“Dean—”
“I haven’t gotten you an engagement ring yet.” The words just came out.
Liv stared at me. My stomach twisted.
“Uh, if you… if you want one, that is,” I stammered. “An engagement ring. I mean, if we… I… want to… you know. Get married.”
Mrs. Bird chirped with excitement. Liv blinked. I started to sweat. I wanted Liv with a force that hurt, needed her like I needed air, loved her beyond reason. But not until that instant did I realize I couldn’t imagine the rest of my life without her.
“Dean—”
“Ring it up, please.” I handed Mrs. Bird my credit card.
“Oh, what a romantic gift!” Mrs. Bird fluttered over to run my card through the machine. “Congratulations to both of you.”
Liv was quiet as I finished paying and Mrs. Bird packed up the ring in a little box. When we stepped back outside, Liv put her hand on my arm.
“It doesn’t have to be an engagement ring,” I said quickly. “It can just be a…” Shit, what was another reason for a ring? “A… friendship ring.”
“Dean, I love you.”
My heart stopped as I waited for the “but.”
Liv smiled that beautiful smile that hit me in the middle of my chest every single time.
“And I would love to be your wife,” she said.
But…?
She looked at me expectantly. I swallowed hard.
“But?” I asked.
“What?”
“You would love to be my wife, but… what?”
Liv looked baffled. “But nothing.”
“You would love to be my wife, period?”
“Yes.” A frown creased her forehead. “You do want us to get married, don’t you?”
Jesus, West, pull it together.
Because I couldn’t stammer out a sentence, I just grabbed her and hauled her against me. I planted a deep kiss on her that was probably indecent in public. Then I eased away to look into her brown eyes.
My girlfriend. My fiancée. My beauty.
I wanted her to be my wife as soon as possible, but I knew women had ideas about big weddings and fancy dresses. Though I didn’t think Liv ever had, I asked her what kind of wedding she wanted.
“One that ends with us married,” she said.
I thought I should do something extravagant to make up for my pitiful excuse of a proposal, so I contacted an old friend whose father owned a vineyard in the Loire. After a few months of making arrangements, Liv and I went to France in July and were married on the villa’s terrace by the cleric of the local church.
The details are all fused together—like the parts of a brilliant, stained-glass window.
Ivy climbing up the stone walls of the villa. The Delacroix family sitting nearby. Endless sloping hills covered with grapevines. The family dog lounging in a patch of sunlight.
Liv walking toward me in a simple white dress, a few flowers threaded through her long hair. Breaking my heart with her beauty.
The soft clasp of her hands around mine.
Her smile, like a secret meant only for me.
Her voice, gentle and certain.
The intense, overwhelming love that almost brought me to my knees.
“I’m at your feet forever, Olivia Rose,” I whispered the instant before our lips met. “I’ll move heaven and earth to give you whatever you want, whatever you need.”
“Oh, Dean.” She pressed her hand to the side of my face. “All I need is you.”
And then the kiss, a perfect harmony of the stars and planets that started my universe all over again.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Olivia
March 28
finally understand why Dorothy, Maria, Eliza, Gigi, and Sandy break out into song in the midst of going about their lives. Sometimes your heart gets so filled with emotions that words alone can’t express them all. So you need singing and dancing, a philharmonic orchestra, and a full chorus backing you up. Because there is that much inside you.
Since I don’t have an orchestra or chorus, and my dancing skills are decidedly lacking, I compensate by humming a little tune as I arrange croissants and brioche in baskets. It’s just past dawn, and the air is filled with the rich, fragrant scents of coffee and fresh baked goods.
My husband is home… my husband is home… my beautiful, intensely hot husband is home…
And he has a sexy weekend planned that has me all fluttery with excitement. I couldn’t be more in love with that man if I tried. I also couldn’t be more stirred up at the thought of all the erotic things we’re going to do, but I manage to contain my arousal beneath my anticipation.