Page 122 of How to Train Your Billionaire

“It was my great-grandmother’s. Charles left it to me with very specific instructions about who should wear it.”

Of course he did. Bossy old bastard.

“Francesca Anderson, will you marry me and continue to call me on my bullshit for the rest of our lives?”

I stare at him. At the ring. At the way he’s looking at me like I hold his entire future in my hands.

Which, I guess I do.

“Can I negotiate the terms?”

“What?”

“I want to keep my business. I want to travel. I want kids who eat junk food and make terrible jokes. There’s no way in hell I’m going to be one of those gluten-free, dairy-free, fun-free weirdos. I want a life that’s messy and real and nothing like the one you grew up in.”

Hayes’s smile could power the entire Greek electrical grid.

“Deal.”

“And I want to start a foundation. For seniors who can’t afford to travel but deserve adventures.”

“Done.”

“And I want you to stop pretending you don’t want things just because they might make you happy.”

His eyebrows lift. “Meaning?”

“Meaning if you want to do something other than manage money for the rest of your life, do it. Charles left you enough fuck-you money to tell your family to shove their expectations.”

“Anything else?”

I pretend to think about it. “Yeah. One more thing.”

“What?”

“I want you to promise me that when we fight—not if, when—you won’t run. You’ll stay and figure it out with me.”

His expression goes soft. Vulnerable in a way that still catches me off guard.

“That’s all I want too.”

“Good. Then yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I’ll marry you, you beautiful disaster.”

He slides the ring onto my finger and kisses me while the sun sets over the Aegean Sea. It tastes like promises and possibilities and the kind of love that sneaks up on you when you’re not looking.

When we break apart, I notice my phone lighting up between us—a new notification blinks at the top. “Did you change the Wi-Fi password for this?”

Hayes grins. “Check your phone.”

I pull up the network list. There’s a new one: “WillYouMarryMe?”

“The password is ‘PrettyFlyForAWife.’”

I burst out laughing. “That’s terrible.”