Chapter 13 - Evania #2
“No. Down. You want to look approachable.”
I studied myself in the mirror again. The dress hugged my waist without being too tight. It was simple but also elegant. It was the perfect option.
“Tell me about him,” she said suddenly.
“What about him?”
“How old is he?”
“He’s older,” I admitted.
“How much older?”
“A bit.”
“Evania.”
“Six years.”
She raised a brow. “And?”
“He runs a business.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “He sounds like a catch.”
“It’s just lunch,” I repeated.
“With his parents.”
"Sabrina."
“Fine,” she said finally. “Send me a picture before you leave.”
“I will.”
“And don’t try to be someone you’re not.”
I glanced at my reflection — at the composed version of myself staring back.
“I won’t,” I said.
That part, at least, I knew was true.
“Go make your good first impression,” she said.
“Thanks, Sabby.”
“Always.”
I hung up, smoothed the fabric of the dress, and took a steadying breath. The moment I grabbed my purse from the kitchen counter, my phone rang. I didn’t need to look at the screen to know who it was.
“Hello?” I tried to sound composed, but there was a smile tugging at my lips.
“I’m outside your building.”
Callahan’s voice was calm as always but there was something softer underneath it. I wondered if he was as nervous as I was before I shrugged off that idea.
“You are?” I hurried toward the door, nearly tripping over my own shoes. “I’ll be right there.”
“Take your time.”
The elevator ride down felt longer than usual. I caught my reflection in the mirrored walls, glad I was smart enough to ask Sabrina for help. When the elevator doors slid open, I stepped into the lobby and pushed through the glass doors.
As soon as I opened the door, I saw him. He was leaning against the side of his car like he had all the time in the world.
The sleek black vehicle practically gleamed under the afternoon sun, but it wasn’t the car that made my breath hitch. It was him. His slacks were tailored perfectly, his hair styled but slightly undone like he’d run a hand through it too many times.
The moment he saw me, he straightened so he could walk around the car to open the passenger door.
I smiled brightly, warmth spreading through my chest. “You know,” I said as I reached him, “for someone who claims this is just a business arrangement, you’re the perfect gentleman.”
He blinked, a faint pink tint dusting his ears. “I was raised properly.”
I laughed softly. “Clearly.”
His mouth curved into a shy smile that surprised me. While I've always wanted to marry rich, my ideal type isn't someone with a cold personality. Knowing that he could be shy around me without fear of losing his reputation as a bachelor did something dangerous to my heart.
He waited until I was fully seated before closing the door gently and walking around to the driver’s side. As he slid behind the wheel, the car filled with the faint scent of his delicious cologne.
The drive to his parents’ estate was surprisingly quick. Or maybe my nerves distorted time. I stared out the window, trying not to overthink what I was walking into.
“Relax,” he murmured, glancing at me briefly. “They won’t bite.”
“They're not cannibals,” I said dryly. “But they might interrogate me.”
He didn’t deny it.
Great.
We pulled up to an enormous iron gate that opened automatically, revealing a driveway long enough to host a small marathon. The house itself—no, mansion—stood proudly at the end, tall white pillars framing the entrance like something out of a historical drama.
My stomach flipped. Callahan didn’t move immediately. Instead, he turned off the engine and reached into the back seat.
I frowned slightly. “Did you forget something?”
“Something like that.”
He pulled a sleek leather briefcase forward and placed it on the center console between us.
“What’s that?” I asked.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he opened it.
And my breath stopped.
Inside were velvet boxes.
Several of them.
“Callahan…” I whispered.
He took one out carefully and opened it.
The engagement ring caught the light instantly. It was stunning. A diamond that wasn’t obnoxiously large but impossibly brilliant, set in a delicate platinum band that looked both timeless and modern. It was everything I wanted in an engagement ring, beside it was a wedding ring that matched.
“My wife can't show up without her rings,” he began, clearing his throat slightly, “I picked these out for you.”
My heart squeezed.
He took out the engagement ring first. “Do you like it?”
I stared at it for a second longer than necessary, emotions swirling in my chest. “It’s perfect.”
Relief visibly washed over him.
“Good.” He gently took my left hand, his fingers warm against mine. He slowly slid the engagement ring onto my finger, the cool metal warming me to my core. Then he added the wedding band. I stared down at my hand in wonder, unable to look away.
“What would you have done if I didn't like it?” I asked lightly, not actually expecting an answer from him.
“Then…” He hesitated.
Slowly, he reached back into the briefcase and opened all the other boxes. Each ring had a different style, setting, and cut, completely different from the one on my finger.
“You brought backups?” I asked, incredulous.
“I didn’t want to assume,” he muttered, looking away slightly. “I had options prepared. In case your taste differed from mine.”
My smile widened before I could even think to stop it, not that I wanted to. "You're so sweet."
He shut the briefcase quickly, clearly embarrassed. “It’s the least I could do.”
“I love the one you chose,” I murmured, hoping he could feel my sincerity. “You didn’t need backups.”
His eyes flicked to mine, searching.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
His eyes softened on me, the question in his eyes disappearing as soon as I expressed how much I liked it. He looked away, that adorable pink rising on his ear yet again. I dare let myself believe my approval mattered more than it should have.
“You ready?” he asked quietly.
“No,” I admitted. “But let’s do this anyway.”
He huffed out a small laugh. “That’s the spirit.”
We walked up the grand staircase together. His hand rested lightly at the small of my back, steady and protective. The large front doors opened before we could knock, revealing a uniformed member of the house staff who greeted him respectfully.
“Mr. Sterling. They’re expecting you.”
“Of course they are,” he muttered under his breath.
The interior was just as impressive as the exterior—marble floors, a crystal chandelier, with walls lined with artwork that probably cost more than my entire apartment building.
I tried not to gape. Callahan’s posture changed subtly beside me.
His hand stiffened around me. I followed his gaze to find him staring daggers at the woman opposite us.
She was tall. Elegant. Impeccably dressed.
Blonde hair cascading over her shoulders in perfect waves.
She looked like she belonged in this house.
Like she’d always belonged here.
“Callahan,” she said smoothly.
His entire body went rigid.
“Vanessa,” he replied, his tone clipped.