Chapter 10
Dez
I 'd just turned over when my phone vibrated on the nightstand. Carefully, I extracted my arm from beneath Angelina and grabbed it, squinting at the screen.
Gianna.
I slipped out of bed as quietly as possible and moved to the bathroom, closing the door before answering.
"That was fast," I whispered.
"I'm efficient." I could hear the smile in her voice. "I'm in your living room. I have everything. But you need to close the bedroom door when you come out. We're going to need time to set everything up, and we can't risk waking her."
"Everything? Already?"
"I called in every favor I had. Now get out here before I have to send someone in to get you."
I hung up and looked back at the bedroom. Angelina was still curled in the center of the bed, sleeping peacefully, the sheet barely covering her. She looked peaceful in sleep, vulnerable, and something fierce and protective surged through me.
Mine .
I pulled on sweatpants and a t-shirt, took one last look to make sure she was truly asleep, then slipped out and closed the door behind me. The living room was chaotic.
Gianna stood in the center of it, directing traffic like a general commanding troops.
There were at least six people moving through the space doing one job or another.
Some carried massive arrangements of roses, others with boxes of what looked like decorations, one person setting up what appeared to be a portable spa station.
"Dez!" Gianna spotted me and waved me over. "Come here. We have options."
She led me to the dining table, which was covered in choices.
"Chocolates," she said, gesturing to a selection of boxes from at least five different high-end chocolatiers. "Cards—I have romantic, sweet, funny, and honest. Take your pick. Bouquets—roses, obviously, but I also brought peonies, orchids, and lilies because I don't know her taste yet."
My head was spinning. "This is… Gi, this is incredible."
"I'm not done." She pulled me toward the windows where someone was setting up what looked like a full breakfast station. "Chef Danny is going to prepare whatever you want. French toast, eggs Benedict, pancakes, the works. He'll plate it beautifully and have it ready on time."
"Jesus."
"And here…" She led me to a corner where a woman in professional attire was setting up a massage table and what looked like enough spa products to stock a salon. "Full spa treatment. Massage, facial, mani-pedi, whatever she wants. The technician will stay as long as you need."
I stared at my sister. "How did you do all this in three hours?"
"I told you. I called in favors." She squeezed my arm. "You're my brother. When you call me at midnight talking about love and Valentine's Day and making someone feel special—I make it happen."
"I don't deserve you." I said in awe.
"No, you don't." She smiled. "But you're going to deserve her. That's what matters."
A man approached us. He’s older, distinguished, carrying a leather case. "Mr. Moretti?"
"This is Samuel," Gianna said. "He's a jeweler. One of the best in Seattle."
Samuel set his case on the coffee table and opened it, revealing a stunning array of engagement rings. My mouth went dry.
"I wasn't sure of your taste," Samuel said, his voice cultured and professional. "So I brought a variety. Classic solitaires, vintage settings, modern designs. All exceptional quality. All you have to do is let me know what speaks to you."
I stared at the rings, each one more beautiful than the last. Diamonds that caught the light and threw rainbows. Platinum and gold settings that looked like art, bright and shiny.
"I don't know her ring size," I said.
"We anticipated that." Samuel pulled out a small piece of ribbon with markings on it. "If you can get this around her finger, I can use it to size the ring properly."
"You want me to measure her finger while she's sleeping?"
"Unless you'd like to wake her and ask directly." Samuel's expression was perfectly neutral. "Though I understand this is meant to be a surprise."
Right. A surprise.
I took the ribbon. "Give me five minutes."
I crept back into the bedroom like I was infiltrating enemy territory.
The door opened silently. Thank god for well- maintained hinges.
Then, I moved to the bed on silent feet.
Angelina hadn't moved. She was still on her back, one arm thrown over her head, the sheet tangled around her waist. I knelt beside the bed and carefully, so carefully, lifted her left hand. She stirred slightly, and I froze.
"Mmm," she murmured, but didn't wake.
Moving slowly, I wrapped the ribbon around her ring finger, marking where it overlapped. Her hand was elegant, slender, with short practical nails that somehow made it even more attractive.
I imagined a ring on that finger. My ring. A symbol that told the world she was mine. The possessiveness that surged through me was primal and absolute. I slipped the ribbon off and carefully lowered her hand back to the bed. She sighed and rolled onto her side, still deeply asleep.
I stood there for a moment, just watching her.
Her hair across my pillow. The curve of her shoulder, enticing me to kiss it.
The marks I'd left on her skin. In a few hours, I was going to ask her to marry me.
Really ask her. With a ring and a romantic setup and everything she deserved.
The thought both terrified me and thrilled me.
I backed out of the room and closed the door again. Samuel was waiting, and I handed him the ribbon. He studied the markings with practiced ease.
"Size seven and a half," he said. "Excellent. Now, let's talk about stones."
For the next twenty minutes, I examined rings with Samuel's guidance. He explained cuts and clarity and color grades, showed me how the light played through different stones, discussed settings and metals. But I kept coming back to one ring.
It was elegant but not ostentatious. A three-carat round diamond in a platinum setting, with smaller diamonds set into the band. Classic. Timeless. Strong but beautiful. Like her.
"This one," I said, picking it up.
Samuel nodded approvingly. "Excellent choice. The center stone is flawless, D color, excellent cut. The setting is one of a kind. It's a ring that makes a statement without being vulgar."
"How long to size it?"
"For you? I can have it ready by eight a.m." He checked his watch.
I looked toward the bedroom. Angelina would probably sleep until at least seven, maybe eight given how exhausted she'd been.
"Do it," I said. "I'll send a car to pick it up."
"Perfect." Samuel packed up the ring carefully. "And Mr. Moretti? Congratulations. Whoever she is, she's a lucky woman."
I wasn't so sure about that. But I was going to do everything in my power to make it true.
While Samuel left, I turned my attention to the rest of the setup.
The team was working quickly and efficiently, transforming my penthouse into something out of a romantic fantasy.
Rose petals scattered across the floor, creating a path from the bedroom door to the living room.
Hundreds of them, deep red against the white marble.
Balloons in burgundy and gold, anchored in clusters near the windows.
Candles everywhere. The coffee table, the dining table, the bar cart, even on the floor in strategic locations.
They'd use battery-operated ones, Gianna explained, so there was no fire risk.
But they looked real, and that's what mattered.
The ones on the dining table would be real, though.
And in the center of it all, spelled out in roses against the window?—
"Will you be my Valentine?"
My throat tightened.
"Too much?" Gianna asked quietly, coming to stand beside me.
"No." My voice was rough. "It's perfect."
"Good." She squeezed my hand. "Because you're going to make this woman very happy, Dez. I can tell."
"How?"
"Because you're terrified." She smiled. "You're never terrified. But she scares you, in the best way possible. That's how I know this is real."
I couldn't argue with that.
The team finished up around four thirty. The living room looked like something out of a movie—romantic, elegant, overwhelming in the best possible way.
Chef Danny approached me, pulling me aside.
"Everything is prepped," he said quietly. "When you're ready, you text me. I'll come in, light all the candles, and have breakfast on the table within fifteen minutes. Just tell me what you want to serve."
"What do you recommend?"
"For romance? French toast with berries and champagne. Classic. Delicious. Not too heavy." He smiled. "Trust me. Twenty years of cooking for couples, I know what works."
"French toast it is."
"Perfect. I'll wait for your text." He handed me a card with his number.
Gianna gathered everyone up, herding them toward the elevator.
"Thank you," I said to my sister. "Seriously. I don't know how to?—"
"You don't need to thank me." She hugged me quickly. "Just make her happy. That's all the thanks I need."
"I will."
"And Dez?" She pulled back, her expression serious. "Don't be afraid of this. Don't be afraid of her. What you're feeling, it's not weakness. It's the most honest thing you've ever done."
I nodded, taking it all in.
“When you text Danny, the masseuse will be notified. She’ll be here by the time breakfast is over.
Then she was gone, the elevator doors closing on her knowing smile. I stood alone in my transformed living room, surrounded by roses and candles and romantic gestures I'd never thought I'd make. And I was excited. Actually, genuinely excited in a way I couldn't remember being since I was a kid.
I wanted Angelina to wake up and see this. To watch her face when she walked out of that bedroom and see if she'd cry or laugh or just look at me like I'd lost my mind. I wanted to put that ring on her finger and hear her say yes and everything that came with that.
The realization was startling. I'd spent my entire adult life carefully controlling what I wanted, limiting my desires to things that were achievable and safe. Want made you vulnerable. Want gave people leverage.
But with Angelina… I wanted it all.
I moved back to the bedroom, opening the door as silently as possible. She'd shifted again, now on her stomach with one arm hanging off the side of the bed. The sheet had slipped lower, revealing the curve of her back, the swell of her ass, the faint marks from the flogger I'd used on her earlier.
Beautiful.
I stripped off my sweatpants and climbed back into bed, carefully positioning myself beside her. She immediately rolled toward me, seeking warmth even in sleep, and I wrapped my arms around her.
"Few more hours, sweetheart," I whispered against her hair. "Then I'm going to show you exactly how serious I am about this."
She made a soft, contented sound and burrowed closer.
I closed my eyes, but sleep didn't come.
My mind was too busy racing through possibilities.
Would she like the setup? Would it be too much?
Not enough? Would she understand what I was trying to say?
That I heard her, that I was willing to try, that I was already falling despite my best efforts not to? Would she say yes?
The uncertainty should have bothered me.
I was a man who dealt in certainties, in contracts and negotiations where every variable was accounted for.
But this leap into the unknown with a woman I'd met less than twenty-four hours ago felt right in a way nothing else ever had.
So I held her close and waited for dawn, to ask her the most important question of my life, and to see if she'd be brave enough to say yes.