Page 73 of Anyone But You

The door clicked open just past midnight. I was curled up on the couch, surrounded by shopping bags and the faint scent of overpriced perfume. He limped towards me, his cane thuddingagainst the floor. He paused, and his eyes scanned the sea of luxury shopping bags.

“So, this is what happens when I leave you unsupervised with my AMEX.”

“You said—”

“I know what I said, woman,” he interrupted, grabbing my wrist and lifting it towards his face for a closer look.

“Do you like it? Me and the girls got matching watches. Alyssa picked the brand, Brittney picked the color, and I signed the receipt.”

“Rolex. Classy. Did you have fun?” he asked, voice low, warm, and inviting.

I nodded, suddenly shy. “I did. We laughed. We cried. And spent your money like it was Monopoly money. It was everything. Thank you for flying my friends out. It means the world to me.”

He didn’t say anything right away. Just reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.

My breath caught.

“I was going to wait until it was the right time,” he said, kneeling in front of me for the second time. “But then I walked in and saw you relaxed and glowing and knew I didn’t want to waste the moment.” He cracked open the box, and I gasped. “This was the errand I was running all day. I scoured most of the jewelry stores in Los Angeles, looking for the perfect ring.”

I couldn’t take my eyes off the massive oval diamond that was nestled on a band of brilliant diamonds. It was bold, and if I was honest, terrifyingly beautiful.

“Victoria Diamond Caldwell, marry me. Not because we survived the worst, but because I want to build the best with you. And because I have functioning knees.”

“Why are you like this?” I whispered through fresh tears.

“Because, despite what you tell yourself, you wouldn’t want me any other way. Will you do me the honor of officially becoming Mrs. That Man Over There?”

23

Back to the Grind

Victoria

I loudly huffed for the umpteenth time, trying to grab Knox’s attention, but he was lost in his own world. While in California, he’d gotten his hands on a new cell phone, tablet, and laptop and had been making business calls after business calls and answering emails left and right. He’d reverted to Knox Ramsey—the workaholic—as soon as electrical currents penetrated his brainwaves via his ears and fingertips.

I repeatedly tapped my foot against his knee, attempting to distract him from his call.

“Mhm…yes, that sounds doable. Mhm.” He grabbed my stockinged foot and massaged it, shooting me an apologetic smile. “Okay, yes. Randy, something came up, and I have to go. Very well. My calendar is open—send me an invite.”

He disconnected the call. “You’re scowling. Why are you scowling?”

“I’m not scowling. I’m pouting,” I corrected.

“Self-awareness is a beautiful thing, darling.”

“You’re working,” I accused.

“Don’t be unreasonable, Victoria. I’m trying to get our lives back on track.”

I pulled my foot out of his lap and stared at the unique cane he had acquired from an antique shop in California. It was hand-carved with intricate designs and was fitted with a brass snake handle. Knox appreciated the irony and said it was only fitting that he got it.

“And I can appreciate that, Knox, but right now, I need you.”

He swiveled his head to the bedroom at the back of the jet, and I rolled my eyes.

That’s my bad. I should’ve been more specific.

“No strenuous activities,” I reminded him.