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CHAPTER1
LAYLA
Oh no. No no no no.
Maybe it’s not–
Christian opened the box and cleared his throat.
Please let this be a nightmare.
“Layla Annelise Davis, these last three years have been the best of my life–”
Really? I mean, they’d been fun, sure, but thebest?
“–you are everything I ever hoped I’d find. A best friend, a lover–”
Are people watching? Oh my God, they are. This cannot be any more embarrassing.
“–and if you say yes, I’ll spend my life making you as happy as you’ve made me.”
I should have moved out months ago.
My face flushed hot even as ice water trickled through my veins, freezing me in place. The speech was over. This was my cue. Wide smiles gleamed in my periphery. The low hum of conversation had been replaced by an expectant silence. The atmosphere was charged with anticipation. Hands were already halfway out of laps, ready to clap.
Why did he have to do this in a public place?
Because Christian liked an audience. He was an athlete. He was used to performing for the feedback of a crowd.
I licked my lips nervously. The silence was stretching out too long. Smiles were dimming. Hands were lowering. People were exchanging wide-eyed glances. Christian hiked the corners of his mouth up another centimeter and held his position. He was used to plays that came down to the buzzer. He was the master of the last minute, game winning shot.
“Christian,” I whispered, my voice barely eking out of the throat that had closed up right around the time he slid off his chair and reached into his pocket. “I don’t want to do this here.”
His expectant smile cracked. That answer wasn’t in the playbook. He didn’t know how to respond. “Layla,” he said urgently, lowering his voice. “I’m asking you to marry me.”
I trenched my fingers into my dark hair at the temples. A wild, inappropriate urge to laugh came over me. Only Christian would mansplain a proposal, as if the ring and the speech hadn’t been enough clues. And it was a very nice ring, I couldn’t help but notice. Guilt roiled in my stomach. Could you return an engagement ring?
“I know you are,” I whispered back. “But I just don’t know if I’m ready.”
Yes, that was a good response. If we’d been alone, I could have told him the truth–that I didn’t think I’d ever be ready to marry him. We could have done this cleanly, but now I had to prolong it.
“But you will be one day?” he prompted, still holding the ring out. “So we can have a long engagement.”
Feeling like someone had stuffed my skull with sandbags, I slowly shook my head. “I’m not even ready to be engaged.”
Around us, some diners tried to pretend like they hadn’t even noticed the large 6’4’’ man down on one knee, holding a ring. The clink of silverware on porcelain resumed. Some diners, though, continued to stare, agog. Was this really happening? Howfantastic. They were already turning it into the story they’d tell their friends. They were wondering if they could discreetly pull out their phones and film the rest.
Maybe it was because I’d worked in public relations for the last two years, but my fear of becoming a viral meme kicked in. I had to end thisnow. I reached out–mistake, Christian thought I was extending my hand for the ring. His face lit up and he started to extract it from the box.
I hurriedly switched hands and grabbed him around the wrist. “Let’s finish this at home,” I hissed, tugging him to his feet. In the commotion, the ring box snapped shut. The sound loosened some of the pressure in my chest. It felt like we’d managed to put a lid on Pandora’s box. It tightened right back up again, though, when I saw the look on Christian’s face.
Disbelief.
Devastation.
He wasn’t fooled by my delay tactics.
He’d heard the answer in everything I hadn’t said.
