“Will they? And why do you say that, my handsome prince?”
“Because I am the lucky bastard who gets to take you home at the end of the ball and help you out of your pretty dress.”
“Ah, thinking ahead as usual, I see.”
He stalked toward me, something small I couldn’t make out in his hand. “I’m very good at forward thinking, baby. I didn’t make my fortune on a string of lousy predictions.”
“Indeed.” He stopped right in front of me where I could enjoy his intoxicating scent. “Do you have any predictions for the near future?”
“Oh yes,” he said wickedly. “For example, I see Cinderella being kissed thoroughly before she gets taken to the ball tonight.”
I couldn’t hold back the smile. “Cinderella likes your prediction.”
He tipped my chin toward his lips with one finger and descended. I had to resist the urge to bury my hands in his hair and go to town as I usually did. I loved seeing his hair mussed with a just-fucked flag proudly waving, but this wasn’t the time for it. Instead, I melted into his demanding kiss and let him get me all stirred up. “You are fucking gorgeous, Brooke. I don’t know if I can let you out of the house tonight,” he said.
“You will disappoint a great deal of people that way, I’m afraid,” I reminded him, even though I’d gladly stay home tonight if it were an option.
“Not me they want to see, baby. They want to meet Cinderella tonight.” He nibbled on my bottom lip.
My turn to sigh. “I hope you’ve remembered your promise to stay with me at all times. I’m nervous, Caleb.”
“There’s nothing to be nervous about, and everyone will love and adore you.” He placed something soft into my hand. “I have a very special gift for you. I’ve been waiting weeks to give it to you, and now is the time.”
“Oh!” I looked down at what I held, to see a small black velvet box. A jewelry box. My fingers trembled as they worked on opening the lid. I gasped. Oh, bloody hell.
The most unusual ring I’d ever seen—an art piece which had to be one of a kind. A large, dark-pink stone, resembling a pearl, set in masses of pink and white stones—possibly diamonds—to form the shape of a flower. “Caleb . . .” I breathed. “This is stunningly beautiful.”
“Do you really love it?” he asked. How could he doubt I would love this?
“Yes. I really do. Tell me about this gorgeous ring.” I was almost afraid to ask what the ring meant, but knew he’d tell me anyway because he was always honest about everything he did.
“It’s a peony—like the flowers I sent to you. The red stone is a forty-carat cabochon tourmaline. The rest of the stones are diamonds, rubies, and pink sapphires. I found it in the jewelry store window in Abu Dhabi, and went in there and bought it five minutes later. There was no question it was meant for you from the moment I saw it.”
“How did you know it was meant for me?”
“Everything about this ring reminded me of you . . . of how we met.”
“The meatball lesson?” I asked him.
He nodded and smiled. “After I went in the shop and they told me it was a peony, well . . . I knew it was fate at work again.” He took the ring out of the box and held it between two fingers. He slipped the empty box into his pocket. “Will you wear it tonight, Brooke?”
“Y-y-yes,” I stammered.
He slipped it onto the ring finger of my left hand. The engagement ring finger. I flipped my eyes up to meet his. “My whole life changed the moment I saw you, Brooke. I knew it then. It felt like the shades were drawn open, letting the sunlight in after being shut in the dark for years. That’s exactly how it felt for me.”
If I could love him any more, I would. He made gestures like this one all the time, rendering me speechless with his thoughtfulness in choosing the perfect gifts. “I love the ring. And I love you, Caleb.”
He took both of my hands and kissed me sweetly before pulling back to catch my eyes with his. “I realize you’re not ready right now, but I want you to know my greatest desire is to spend the rest of my life loving you—as my wife.”
I gasped as he went down onto one knee in front of the picture window, the city lights of Boston a stunning backdrop beyond us. “Brooke Ellen Casterley, will you be my wife and marry me when you feel you are ready?”
The swirling vortex had swept me up again and whisked me away to another time continuum—I was certain about that. It took me a moment to find my voice and to see through the veil of tears, which had welled up in my eyes, but I managed somehow. “I—I will, Caleb, my love.”
He did something I’d seen him do before on a few occasions . . .
He closed his eyes for an instant, and then looked up as if sending a silent prayer heavenward. It was a show of relief and gratefulness. My Caleb was so relieved I’d said yes.
To own such power over another person was fearsome in a way. To have the burden of their happiness along with your own was a kind of terrible, beautiful treasure.
Priceless . . . but so fragile at the same time.