Chapter 1 – Amanda #2
I read this setup all wrong. This wasn’t him breaking up with the commoner, this was the Brit asking the Yank to be his—
“Oh, my lord,” I whispered, the words a harsh exhale.
Steven pressed the ring on the tip of my finger. Something sharp flashed in his blue eyes. “Would you do me the honor of being my wife?”
The room spun. Maybe it had been spinning the whole night, but now I was caught in the swirling vortex. The murmurs were too loud. The air too hot. The flickering candles on the tables around us popped and exploded in a myriad of oranges.
“Steven,” I wheezed, fighting through the rush of panic. “This is….” I gulped, praying the right words came. “This is unexpected.”
We haven’t been dating long!
And could our long-distance fling be called that? I didn’t even know he’d lost a family member, and if I was forced to do a quick calculation, we’d only seen one another maybe a dozen times. Always two ships passing in the rush of life.
“I know it’s a bit sudden.” This time, his jolly chuckle had an edge to it. “But I’m infatuated with you, Amanda. You light up every room you enter. You’re funny and kind. I want to spend the rest of my life adoring you.”
Well, shit. How was a girl supposed to say no to that?
My phone buzzed once more against my thigh. Stupid emails. Why hadn’t I silenced the thing? It was ruining the romantic ambiance.
Not that I felt romanced.
But to the outside observer, it would seem that way.
“Steven, that’s beautiful.” I smiled, hoping I looked normal.
Hoping that the shock, confusion, and lingering panic were adequately concealed.
The mental gymnastics to wrap my head around this proposal required more brain power than my sleep-deprived state could handle.
“Are you sure I’m duchess material though? ”
The mustache on his lip twitched. “You’d be a lady, not a duchess. I’m only an earl, love.”
That was the first time he’d used an endearment. I didn’t want to dwell on how wrong it sounded.
What am I doing? I was almost thirty. While career-driven girls didn’t marry for another decade—if at all—the socialites I spent what little free time I had with were all marching down the aisle to have kids before they hit three decades.
Steven was good on paper. I enjoyed spending time with him, even if he teased me mercilessly about the books he knew I read.
And heaven help me if he found the others. The darker ones that I would never be caught reading in public.
Why are you analyzing this?
Because…I analyzed everything. I learned long ago not to go with my gut. It steered me wrong. Besides, my soul was dead. So that left my brain to be the guiding force of my life. And right now, it agreed that this was a reasonable proposition.
“Yes, I’ll marry you.” I gave Steven a megawatt smile, covering for the lapsed moments of silence.
Steven let out a long breath. “You had me worried there for a second.”
He pushed the ring down my finger. It stuck on the knuckle, not budging over the thick lump.
“I know this is sudden,” he explained, trying and failing to push the ring. “But it’s like your book, Amanda. We’re meant to be together.”
The ring wouldn’t budge.
“It was love at first sight. I didn’t realize it when I joined you at the café that first time, but some force drove me to you. Made me sit down and begin a conversation over coffee and books. It made me believe in fate.”
Steven forgot the part where Dad purposefully made the introduction. They’d been walking to the office, and Dad popped in to surprise me, introducing me to the British nobleman, and then made himself scarce when another meeting required his attention.
“Steven,” I breathed, because it felt like I needed to say something to that declaration of ardor.
He gave up trying to push the ring.
“We’ll get it resized.” Steven studied my hand with a slight frown. “But I mean it, with my whole heart, you’re the one for me.”
That was quite possibly the sweetest confession ever.
Any other book girlie would squeal, would fan herself at the illogical declaration.
But I didn’t believe in love. Fate, if it existed, was cruel and never helpful. Giving your heart to someone only invited them to hurt you.
Mine pounded with the scars that never healed.
Like a silent carnival ride, the room began to spin again with a sudden jolt.
Garish lights danced across the edge of my vision.
I blinked, trying to dispel the illusion.
A rough pounding formed right behind my eyes.
From above, the air vent blew over us. There was nothing sweet or refreshing about the perfectly chilled temperature.
The rush of air felt like a thousand insect feet marching down my back.
The panic from earlier spiked again, and I needed to escape before I collapsed on the floor, tucked into the fetal position, and began to hyperventilate.
I gently tugged my hand away. Plucking the ring from my finger, I unclasped the strand of pearls on my throat, slid the heirloom onto the necklace, and reattached it.
“I’ll wear it like this for now,” I said sweetly. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I’m going to freshen up.”
He didn’t notice my distress. I was glad he didn’t, but part of me wanted him to see me. To know how bothered I was with this whole thing. To offer a solution.
“I’ll order us dinner.” Steven held up two fingers to summon the waiter. “And then…maybe we can go to your place for dessert?”
The volume increased tenfold. The buzz was now an alarm bell, and I stumbled as I rose. Across the table, Steven also stood, his movement distracting him from my shaking, trembling lack of balance.
He wanted to sleep with me.
He’d hinted at it the last time he was stateside, but our schedules hadn’t aligned.
“Dessert is good!” I said a little too loudly as I plodded away from the table.
Holding my clutch and phone in a death grip, I forced myself to take measured steps, cursing the Jimmy Choo pumps the whole way to the bathroom.
The small space was heavily scented with some nasty floral aroma.
It was the last straw.
I dove into a stall, fell to my knees, and retched wine, water, and saliva into the porcelain bowl. Since there hadn’t been time to eat lunch between meetings and the mountains of briefs, there wasn’t much for my stomach to upheave.
Leaning back on my haunches, I wiped my mouth with a tissue. I sat there, on the floor, taking deep breaths until the panic subsided. Usually, I felt the attacks coming and could breathe my way out of them. Tonight’s was just unusual.
There wasn’t a good reason why the attack was triggered.
I’m just stressed.
An opportunity presented itself a few weeks ago.
There was a position for a senior partnership at work.
When I made junior partner last year at the firm, I didn’t think I would have a chance to reach the next rung in the corporate ladder this soon.
But it didn’t stop me from trying. I’d spent the time working my ass off, and my billables were in a league of their own.
Nothing, not a single force on earth, could stop me from trying.
With a sigh, I rose and went to the sink. A small mercy—the bathroom was empty.
“You’re going to go out there, put your game face on, and have a pleasant evening,” I ordered the blonde staring back at me in the mirror. “Then you’re going to take your boyfriend—“ I held up my palm “—no, your fiancé home and rock his world.”
My stomach flipped again, but there was nothing left for it to hurl.
Great. The thought of finally having sex with a great guy like Steven made me sick.
I shook my head. It’d been a long day—and an even longer week. The stress had nothing to do with my reluctance to want to be with my boyfriend. It just didn’t help.
After fixing my lipstick, I remembered to silence my phone. But because I was a good little employee, I scanned my notifications, making sure there wasn’t a crisis that needed the attention of a junior partner.
My breath caught in my throat.
It wasn’t my email app that notified me. There were two text messages from an unknown number.
Unknown: You need to leave.
Unknown: Don’t say yes.
I dropped the phone. It clattered on the granite counter and slid into the sink. Blood thumped in my ears. This wasn’t the same rush that precluded a panic attack. No, this was something different. Fear laced with a sweet edge.
I looked around the bathroom, knowing already that I was still alone. But I didn’t feel alone. Not when the confirmation that I was being watched finally made itself evident. This was it! This was proof my stalker was real.
That the feeling, like a shadow’s sweet caress, there and gone when I turned to look—that the feeling wasn’t something I constantly imagined.
I’m not going to deal with this right now. Later. There would be time to process this later.
Swallowing hard, I forced myself to pick up my things. Head held high, emotions bottled up, I walked with determined steps back to the table and the grinning, perfect man waiting for me.