Page 158 of Brutal Crown

The breeze picks up, rustling the vines. Music filters faintly from below, and we hear the distant sound of laughter from the dining hall. But up here, it’s just us. The world has shrunk to this rooftop, this table, the soft clink of wine glasses, and the look in his eyes.

“I want to show you something,” he says suddenly, rising from his seat.

I follow, curious, as he leads me toward the edge of the garden. We pass a sculpted stone bench and a narrow bed of lavender. And then he stops.

And turns to face me.

“Okay?” I laugh softly, uncertain. “What are you?—”

But he’s already sinking to one knee.

My breath catches. My heart stops.

He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small, velvet box. When he opens it, moonlight catches on the gold. The ring inside is stunning. It is vintage and timeless. The emerald glows under the moonlight, nestled in an intricate gold band etched with old Romano symbols.

It looks like it belongs to a queen.

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

“I don’t have a speech,” he says, his gaze never leaving mine. “I only have one truth. I love you. And I want you to be mine forever.”

I try to speak again.

I fail again.

He reaches for my hand, gently cradling it in his. “Will you marry me?”

Tears blur my eyes. My voice breaks. “Yes.”

He exhales, the breath leaving him like he’s been holding it for hours. He lifts my hand, and I see a hint of jealousy flickering in his gaze as he glances down at my ring finger.

The ring Marco gave me still rests there.

Francesco’s jaw clenches slightly as he slowly reaches for it, pulls it off, and sets it gently on the edge of the stone railing. Then he slides his own onto my finger, claiming me like we were always inevitable.

His fingers linger against my knuckles, and when he looks up again, I see the reverence in his eyes. Need. A kind of hunger that’s lingered for far too long.

I stare down at it, at the burnished gold against my skin. It fits like it was made for me.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s a family heirloom, forged for the first Romano bride centuries ago,” he murmurs, brushing a finger over the glowing stone.

I pull him up to his feet, and he cradles my face in his hands.

“You look scared,” he murmurs.

“I am. Kinda.” I chuckle.

He smiles. “I can fix that.”

His mouth covers mine.

The kiss is deep and slow and absolute. His lips slide over and between mine, drawing a moan out of my mouth. His hands move down to my waist, pulling me against his hard chest. I melt into him, dizzy like I’m drunk from wine.

But he’s the one who intoxicates me. The sheer gravity of him, the pull, the desire that courses through my veins whenever he’s near.

He walks me backward until I feel stone against my back, then lifts me up onto the bench beneath the arbor.