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And we had.
In spades.
Because we’d worked together.
The light to his darkness.
Now it was time for a beautiful future.
Whatever that might be.
Easton
“What do you have up your sleeve, Mr. Saint?”
Sara’s question came out like a purr. “Who, me? Why do you think I’m up to something?”
“Because we happen to be in the most expensive restaurant in New York City. You purchased me a flaming hot dress and you are looking pretty dapper in a crisp new suit. Instead of ordering either caviar or lobster tail, or even a bloody rare steak, you insisted we have cheeseburgers. So, yes, I know when you’re up to something. You can never fool me.”
“Don’t forget about chocolate fudge ice cream on top of an ooey gooey brownie for dessert.” I leaned over the table, giving her a dominating look.
“That’s it,” she said, tossing her napkin on the table. “You are up to something. Confess or I’ll cut you off.”
Right.
“You’re not in charge. At least for now.” I laughed and nodded to the waiter who was standing by. “But I will do one better.”
When the mariachi band started, I grinned seeing the shock on her face.
“What the…” She turned around in her chair, more shocked than I thought she’d be.
It was my cue. Now or never. Something I could never do in Chicago. Or at least do and live it down. Somehow, I had a feeling I’d be on the news anyway.
I moved toward the band and for a full two minutes, I sang in broken Spanish very badly after donning a ridiculous-looking cape that belonged on some bullfighter. I might have many talents, but singing wasn’t one of them.
But it didn’t matter that my voice sounded worse than fingernails on a blackboard. Even from where I was, the flickering candlelight all around us allowed me to see the tears in her eyes.
As the song came to an end, I was thankful for small miracles. I took a long stride toward her chair, tossing the cape dramatically over one shoulder then the other before dropping onto one knee.
She clasped her hands on both sides of her face, shaking all over.
As I pulled out the velvet box, I knew about one hundred cellphones were recording every single minute. Oh, I had a feeling my brothers would remind me of this moment for the rest of my life.
So what?
As I opened the box, I heard dozens of women gasping. Then there was silence.
“My beautiful co-author, the lovely Sara Adams, the only woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. Through thick and thin, no matter what life tosses in our direction. Even when you’re sick and throwing up all over me or torturing me by forcing us to watch yet another horror flick, will you do this humble man the honor of becoming my wife?”
When she didn’t say anything, I was certain every single person had sucked in their breath, including me.
She dragged the tip of her tongue across her bottom lip, and I could see the mischief building in her eyes.
I leaned closer, whispering in her ear, “Am I making a big enough fool of myself?”
When I leaned back, someone yelled from the back.
“Honey, if you don’t marry him, I will.”
