Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67967 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67967 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Or, what if they don’t believe me to be his fiancée? What if they take one look at me, short and curvy with blonde hair that hasn’t even been professionally highlighted, a young woman with no real career, and wonder to themselves No way, un huh is that Darius’s fiancée. Or, how did he end up with her?’
How could they not?
Certainly, they’ll at least think I’m some gold digger, after him for his money. Engaged, with plans of a prenup and a lavish wedding followed by a brutal divorce after which I steal half of his wealth. My chest rises as I heave a sigh so loud that it wakes him.
Yawning and stretching, he pulls his arm from me. “Something wrong? Why aren’t you sleeping? I’d think after the night you’d had you’d be passed out.”
Should I tell him the truth, or play tough? Who am I kidding? Tough isn’t in my nature.
I take a deep breath and go for broke. “I’m... worried. What if they don’t like me? Or figure out we’re not really engaged?”
“Is that what has your brow furrowed in that cute way?” My heart pitter-patters in my chest. Oh, I like this side of him.
I look down at my left ring finger. “I mean, look. I don’t even have a ring.” I waggle the lonely little plain finger.
“Hmm. That is a problem.” Darius shifts in his seat, pulling something from his right pants pocket. He holds it up to me. It’s a red leather box with gold swirling words on it: Bachman’s Jewelers. “I ordered this from New York for you. It’s the finest jeweler on the East Coast. I have a friend there who helped me pick the perfect ring.”
He hands me the box to open.
As I hold it in my hand, my fingers begin to tremble. He bought me a ring?
He nudges me. “Go ahead. Open it.” He seems eager to see my reaction, his gaze hanging expectantly on my face.
I don’t know why, but I close my eyes as I flip open the lid. When I pry my eyelids open, I find a princess-cut sparkling diamond cushioned between two smaller diamonds, set in a silver band. I know nothing about jewelry, but the center rock, it must be over three carats—and flawless to the naked eye.
It’s gorgeous. Exactly what I would have picked if I was shopping for my fairytale dream ring. A fantasy come true.
I’m too afraid to remove it from its box fearing my touch will tarnish it in some way. “But it’s fake, right?”
Fake relationship, fake ring. He loves me not.
Ignoring my question, he takes the box from me, slipping the ring from where it's nestled in its little cushion. “Here, let me.” Gently, he takes my left hand in his, and slides the ring onto my finger.
It’s a perfect fit.
I can’t speak. I can’t breathe. All I can do is twist my finger beneath that little overhead light and watch the rainbows shoot out from the world’s most beautiful diamond. Finally, I find my voice. “This... this is for me?”
“All for you, babygirl. And it’s one hundred percent real.” He leans over, giving me a kiss on the cheek.
My heart wells in my chest, elation fills me. Not only am I now the proud owner of the world’s most beautiful engagement ring, he picked this out just for me. I sneak a glance at him out of the side of my eyes. He’s staring down at my hand, a content, pleased look on his face.
Wait... what’s real? I’m letting my imagination and my hopeless romantic heart get ahead of me. It’s a real diamond. That’s it. It signifies nothing. It’s really just a prop, to keep people quiet.
Right?
Is it possible that he likes the look of his ring marking my finger as much as I do?
I’m so happy, tears of joy are welling in my eyes. But, a moment later, my world comes crashing down with his next statement. “I had to get a real one if we’re going to convince people we're really engaged. My ex can spot a cubic zirconia fake from a mile away.”
My heart falls straight into my Jimmy Choos. “Your... ex?”
He scowls, the old grumpy Darius making a sudden return. “Yeah, I’m sure she’ll make an appearance at one point or another.”
There’s no time to ask questions because we’re beginning our descent. Somehow take-off and landing always leave me nervous, my knuckles white as they clutch the arms of my chair.
We survive the landing, but I barely survive my first taste of humidity as we step out into the Georgia air. Vegas might be hot, but it's a dry heat. This is... intense. My breath catches in my throat and even though I can’t see it yet, I know… my hair instantly shrinks up into a frizzy halo of curls with humidity like this.