Page 46 of Sweet Oblivion

Because Mom’s already falling for Delaney. And I get it. Just looking at her now... the way the sunlight hits her face. It softens her. She’s beautiful in the most natural, unassuming way. No pretense. No ploys. Just her.

“You ready for this?” I ask and don’t move until she nods. Then I’m out of the car, rounding the front, and opening her door, holding my hand out for her like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “If it gets to be too much, tell me. We’ll leave. No questions. No arguments.” I bend my knees, bringing us eye to eye. “All right?”

“Ryker...” she sighs, sliding her hand into mine and steps out. “I’m not made of glass.” Her chin lifts, defiant and fierce. Even now, after the hell she’s been through, I still see the woman I met last spring. The one who gave me hell instead of falling all over me like most of the women I’ve met over the years. “I’m fine, and we’re doing this.”

“Yeah, I know.” But still... I don’t let go of her hand. This is all so fucked. Six months ago, I couldn’t get Delaney Rousseau to go on a date with me. How the fuck did we end up here? “Wait,” I say, tugging her gently before she can take a step toward the vineyard. “I’ve got something for you.”

Freckles scatter across her nose as it scrunches, suspicion written across her face when I pull the small black velvet box from my pocket.

“What is that?”

Okay, I wasn’t exactly expecting her to be excited, but I wasn’t expecting that level of revulsion either. But then again, I’m quickly learning Delaney Rousseau never does what I think she will, so I shouldn’t be surprised. “Olivia said you needed a ring.”

My heart beats like the ball’s about to snap on the first play of the game as I crack it open. “I figured it was about time I officially ask you to marry me.”

“Ryker...” Her voice raises, and her gold-flecked eyes lock on the diamond like it might explode in my hand. “That’s not a ring. That’s...” She gestures wildly, spiraling. “That’s the freaking Hope Diamond. It’s too much. I can’t—I can’t accept that.”

“Well, you’re going to have to.” Taking her hand in mine, I slide the brilliant-cut, colorless diamond down her finger and twist it in place. It fits perfectly. Of course it does. I made damn sure it would. I may have gone a little overboard, but it looks beautiful on her finger. And that’s what I wanted. “I’m not taking it back. It’s yours.”

She stares at it, horror etched in her eyes like I’ve attached a literal ball and chain to her hand.

Got to say, this isn’t the reaction I ever imagined when I figured I’d propose to my future wife one day. Not that I’m some teenage girl who sat around daydreaming about it or anything, but I always knew I wanted a wife. A family. Something solid. Something real.

I want what my parents have.

What my brother has.

But the few times I’ve thought about it, it sure as shit didn’t look like this.

Even if the wife may have looked like Delaney once or twice.

“Ryker...” The warm breeze whips her hair into her face as her cheeks pink, and my God, my fiancée is so damn pretty.

Long black lashes frame gold-flecked eyes that refuse to look at me.

“Come on, Bambi. You already said yes. You told the detectives. You’ve said yes to the dress, according to your social media. If we’re doing this, we’ve got to play the part.”

Her lips part as her pulse quickens.

Electricity dances between us as I lift my hands slowly, giving her time to back away, but she doesn’t move. Doesn’t back away. Doesn’t back down. She lets me gather her face in my hands. “And if you were mine, I’d want the whole damn world to know it. Consider that ring me telling the world.”

She sucks in a breath as her eyes darken.

“So yeah... Consider that ring me telling the whole world.” My thumb brushes along her cheek just under her stitches. “Consider it a claim.”

“A what?” she whispers, stepping closer instead of back.

“It was either that or a brand. I figured the ring would hurt less,” I tease and press my lips to her temple. “Come on,wife,” I murmur against her skin. “Let’s go find Mom before this wedding turns into a three-day event.”

“I’m not your wife yet,” she challenges with a pretty smile.“Husband.”

And why is that word one of the best I’ve ever strained to hear?

The crunch of the gravel fades under our steps as we make our way along the path. Signs pointing us to the enormous barn apparently called The Arbor at Cherry Creek. It’s a massive, rustic, reclaimed wooden barn with wisteria climbing the columns of the wraparound porch like something out of a movie.

Delaney’s hand tightens in mine, and I squeeze back. “We good?”

She doesn’t look at me, but her grip relaxes, and she nods.