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She leans back in her seat. Her eyes show surprise. Her gaze signals she’s digesting everything I’ve said.
"If money were that important to me, I wouldn’t have left home when my father told me he’d disinherit me. Or I might have put my emotions aside and married Knox, which I didn’t.”
“This is different.” I tilt my head.
“How’s that?”
“You turned your back on your father’s money to prove to yourself you can make it on your own. Which you have now.”
“But—” She begins to speak, but I interrupt.
“As Serene’s nanny, you make enough to live comfortably. You don’t have to prove anything to yourself, on that count.”
Her forehead wrinkles, but her expression tells me she’s paying close attention to my words.
“As for Knox—you’d never have gone ahead, knowing he had feelings for someone else. Knowing”—I look deeply into her eyes—“you had unfinished business with his brother.”
“Unfinished business, huh?” She tips up her chin. “Thought that was done when you didn’t reach out to me for almost six months.”
“But I did—I admit, it took me time to get my head out of my arse and work out my feelings. But I did reach out to you.”
“To ask me to become Serene’s nanny. It wasn’t to ask me to be your—” She firms her lips.
“Wife?” I supply.
She shakes her head. “That’s not what I said."
“I’m saying it now.” I walk around the table and go down on one knee in front of her. She looks at me, flabbergasted, her eyes wide with shock.
I take her hand in mine. “Marry me, Cilla. Help me raise Serene. Make the three of us happy by agreeing to be my wife.”
34
Priscilla
The answers you seek aren’t out there.
They’ve been whispering from within…
-Cilla’s Post-it note
The man of my dreams is on bended knee, asking me to marry him. Everything he’s said so far is perfect. If only it’d happened a year ago, when I was a little more naïve. When I believed if I wanted something badly enough, I’d draft a manifestation statement with my self-help books, and the universe would, in time, give it to me.Which is kinda, sorta, happening now.
And it’s freaking me out. Or rather… I can’t really get my head around the fact that he really wants me—Me!—to become his wife.
All of his reasons make sense. And it's not like he’s making me feel cheap by offering me money in return for marrying him.
He's being so reasonable, so gentlemanly—so logical.Maybe I simply need more convincing?
Pulling my hand from his, I rise from the table and walk over to the sink and place my almost empty cup of tea on the counter. Then I turn and lean a hip against it. "You’re good at coming up with convincing arguments."
"Have I convinced you yet?" Far from being deterred that I didn’t give him a yes, he rises to his feet with an expression of determination on his face.
I lock my fingers together. "I’m not sure."
"What else can I say to help persuade you?"
By rights, he should feel nervous that I might say no. He should be impatient that I haven’t decided yet. After all, it’s his entire fortune on the line. But he stays calm. Resolute. There’s a steely tenacity in those mismatched eyes. It warns me he’s going to try everything possible to make me agree to his proposal. And damn him, but I’m so tempted. It really is what I want, on many levels.