9. She said Yes
SHE SAID YES
LIAM
I had fucked up.
The words had left my mouth and watched Deepika’s face transform from flushed and playful to distant in the span of a heartbeat.
It was like watching a door slam shut in my face.
I regretted it immediately. It was cruel, yes, but I also saw the flash of genuine pain in her eyes before she locked it away and buried it deep. It was the pain that came from a wound that hadn’t healed yet, that would never heal, and I had just stuck my finger directly into it.
For what? To win an argument? To protect my own bruised ego?
I was an asshole.
But I was going to make up for it. I knew I would. I was Liam fucking James after all. And got named ‘Heartbreaker’ by Cosmopolitan in twenty-nineteen (yes, they should’ve come up with a better nickname.)
Now we were walking side by side in Los Angeles in the late morning sun, neither of us speaking, and the silence heavy with everything we weren’t saying.
The weather was perfect at seventy-two degrees, clear skies, that particular LA light that made everything look like a movie set. Palm trees swayed lazily overhead, and the air smelled like jasmine and car exhaust.
Deepika had her arms wrapped around herself despite the warmth, like she was trying to hold herself together.
Her hair was flowing down her back and shoulders in an attempt to hide the hickey on her neck.
She didn’t have make-up with her, so she couldn’t cover it, but every time she turned her head, it was visible.
My hickey. I tried not to feel too smug about that.
“I’m only doing this for Ethan and Kiara’s sake,” she said, huffing.
A skateboarder came flying past us on the sidewalk, and I automatically tugged Deepika closer with my hand on her lower back.
Thankfully, she didn’t pull away.
“Sure,” I said, unable to help myself. “It’s definitely not because your stomach has been growling like you haven’t eaten in weeks.”
“Shut up,” she mumbled, without hitting me or slapping me.
Yay, progress!
I had chosen a small diner two blocks from the hotel. They served massive burgers and didn’t care if you looked like you had survived a natural disaster. Which we both did.
We slid into a booth, sitting across from each other, and I watched her study the menu carefully.
“The bacon cheeseburger is good,” I politely offered.
Her dark eyes sent a chill through my body. “I’m not taking food recommendations from you.”
Okay, someone was still mad. Possibly hangry.
“Suit yourself.”
She ended up ordering fries and the bacon cheeseburger without meeting my amused eyes.
I ordered the same with fries and a chocolate shake because I would burn it all off in the pool later. For now, I was going to enjoy the calories and... the strange company.
Across the street, I glimpsed someone with a camera, but they seemed focused on something else. Probably a celebrity sighting. This was LA, and you couldn’t walk two blocks without seeing someone filming something.
The food arrived, and Deepika attacked her burger like a starved woman on a mission.
“When was the last time you ate?” I asked, stealing one of her fries.
“Yesterday,” she said, swatting my hand away. “Craft services on set. It was disappointing.”
I don’t remember her having dinner last night. I should have ordered room service.
“Everything’s disappointing compared to a proper burger.”
“Agreed.”
She took another massive bite, and I tried not to find it endearing.
But I failed.
We ate in companionable silence, which was... weird. Good weird. The kind of weird where I wasn’t planning my next insult or bracing for hers.
She finished her burger before me, which was impressive, and leaned back with a satisfied sigh, her eyes closed.
But there was a smear of sauce on her lower lip.
“You’ve got—” I said, gesturing vaguely at my mouth. “Right there.”
She wiped her mouth and completely missed it.
“Other side.”
She wiped again.
“Here, just—” I leaned across the table without thinking, reaching out to swipe my thumb across her bottom lip.
The moment I touched her, everything stopped. The world stopped, my heartbeat stopped, and even my body stopped working.
Her eyes widened, meeting mine, and I was suddenly, acutely aware of how soft her lips were under my thumb, how close we were, and how her breath had hitched.
The attraction between us wasn’t just simmering anymore. It was a live wire, crackling and dangerous. I remembered last night and how perfect the sex was. Our bodies melting against each other—
I should pull back and make a joke to break the tension.
Instead, I stayed there, thumb still pressed against her lip, watching her pupils dilate.
She swallowed hard.
I cleared my throat and jerked back as if I had been burned.
She did the same, sitting ramrod straight, suddenly very interested in her napkin.
“Thanks,” she muttered.
“Yeah. No problem.”
What the fuck was that?
I needed to do it now, before I lost my nerve. Again.
I reached into my pocket. The same pocket in my Tom Ford jacket (which Deepika had ruined) and pulled out the small box I had been carrying around for years.
Deepika’s eyes landed on it immediately. “What is that?” She asked, her tone accusatory, as if a bug would come out to scare her.
“I’ve had this for years,” I said, my voice coming out rougher than intended. “I’ve been meaning to give it to you.”
I opened the box, and inside was a ring.
An ornate and vintage ring with delicate gold filigree work that twisted around a center stone.
Small diamonds dotted the band like captured starlight, and the gold had that warm, aged patina that only came from decades of wear and love.
It was beautiful and feminine. It was a ring that told a story.
“Is that…” she started, her lips parting.
“Your grandmother’s ring,” I confirmed, feeling heat rush to my face. “The one you lost in the pool when we were eight.”
I scratched the back of my neck, unable to meet her eyes, suddenly feeling like I was eight years old again and confessing to breaking something expensive.
“I found it the next day at the bottom of the pool. I was going to give it back to you, but…” I laughed awkwardly.
“You pushed me in again the day after, and I got mad and kept it. Then you stopped visiting, and I just... I felt guilty. I’ve been carrying it around for years.
I had it resized a few years ago, thinking I’d finally give it back, but I chickened out every time I saw you. ”
When I finally looked up, tears were streaming down her face. They were not angry tears or frustrated tears, but deep and genuine ones.
Oh no. I didn’t mean to make her cry.
“Liam,” she whispered.
I held the ring out to her, and that’s when everything went wrong.
My trembling fingers chose that exact moment to slip, and the ring tumbled from my grip.
I lunged forward, desperate to catch it, and somehow ended up on one knee beside the booth, the ring clutched in my hand, looking up at Deepika who was crying and beautiful and completely blindsided.
“I’m sorry it took me so long,” I said sincerely.
She smiled through her tears, and it was the most genuine smile I’d ever seen from her. “It’s okay. We were both pretty stupid.”
Neither of us moved.
I should have stood up and sat back down. Done literally anything except stay there on one knee, looking up at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.
But I didn’t.
And she didn’t tell me to move.
That’s when the diner staff noticed.
“Oh, my GOD!” a server squealed. “He’s proposing!”
And then everyone was clapping.
Oh.
Oh no.
The whole diner erupted into applause, people standing up to get a better look, phones coming out, someone shouting, “She said yes!” even though Deepika hadn’t said anything, just stared at me with those impossibly dark eyes.
“Wait—” I started.
“We’re not—” Deepika said.
But it was too late.
The moment had taken on a life of its own, and we were just passengers now, holding on for dear life.
Outside, I heard the rapid-fire click of a camera shutter.
The paparazzo, the one I dismissed earlier, was pressed against the window now, camera aimed directly at us, shooting as if his career depended on it.
Because from his angle, this looked like—
“Shit,” I breathed.
I finally stood up, and Deepika grabbed the ring from my hand, clutching it like a lifeline.
“This is bad,” she whispered, eyes wide.
“So fucking bad,” I agreed.