Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
But the closer we grew, the more time in each other’s presence… it was only a matter of time. I now understood Jillian’s fight, her battle to keep us apart, the minor things she did to place obstacles in our way.
As it was, I discovered his secret on our first night in paradise.
Chapter 18
There was the flap of curtains in pitch-blackness when I woke up. The crash of waves put me in my bedroom but the air was wrong. Not the icy Californian chill, but a balmy caress, warm enough to comfort, cool enough to kiss my skin. I sat up, my eyes adjusting, the white linen curtains billowing in the wind, the glow of the moon becoming visible. I relaxed back against the sheets, rolled, stretched out my arms, feeling nothing but emptiness beside me. Stilling, I listened, lifting my head when I didn’t hear anything. “Brant?”
Dead silence. No one in our suite but me. I slid off of the bed, my bare feet slapping across the floor as I made my way to the bathroom. Found my purse and pulled out my cell. Powered it on.
This resort didn’t believe in electronics; they were of the mindset that you couldn’t relax unless you ‘Got Away From It All!’ and ‘Returned To Nature!’ It was one of those concepts that seemed like a good idea until we got here. Within two hours we realized our attachment to air conditioning and Internet, our technology withdrawals peaking at the moment when we failed to find in-room electrical outlets to charge our cells. I flipped on the bathroom light and watched my Samsung go through its opening scripts, the time finally displaying. 1:22 AM. Late.
I called Brant’s cell, realizing, as it went to voicemail, that his cell was off, its battery-saving mission more important than my own. I stepped to his suitcase, unzipping its top and digging through it, looking for the brick of his cell. What I wasn’t looking for, when my hand shoved aside underwear and swim trunks, was the ring box.
Oh no. My hand froze, as I stared at the black velvet box. No. No. No. A woman got proposed to only once, assuming she picked wisely. It should be handled perfectly, the correct amount of delighted surprise filling her eyes. This discovery, at this moment in time, might ruin my reaction. I reached forward, brushing my fingers over its surface, and fought the urge to pull it out. Flip it open. Take a little peek.
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.