Page 99 of Pucking Billionaire

“Bingo,” he says. “Now… the lagoon?”

“Sure.” We walk to said location and then sit on a bench overlooking the ocean as one of Donatello’s children crosses our path.

Okay. I’d better tell Mason what’s going on. But how is he going to react? I guess there’s one way to find out.

I inhale the salty air for courage. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Mason turns away from the view and looks into my eyes, which never fails to animate the ladybugs in my belly.

“What’s going on? A problem with the sabbatical?”

“No. The school got someone to cover for me.” I drag in another breath. “What I have to say, like this whole trip, has to do with continuing a species. In this case, they’re the opposite of extinct but?—”

“You’re pregnant?” He leaps to his feet.

Shit. Is he upset? Why else would?—

He drags me to my feet and envelops me in a muscly bear hug.

“This is amazing!” he shouts into my ear.

Then, letting go of me, he asks the question that I had to answer for myself when I noticed that Aunt Flo never came to visit. “How?”

“Turns out, antibiotics and birth control pills don’t play well together,” I say.

Yes, somehow, I didn’t know this, though I do know what “acosmism” means. Just shows you how practical a philosophy degree is.

Mason beams at me. “Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

Is it possible to tell this early? I guess I’m not the only one who doesn’t know the basics of human procreation. “The line on the pee stick looked a little bit like a hockey stick. So… maybe a boy?”

The only other time I’ve seen such an expression of wonder on Mason’s face was while watching his favorite nature documentary. “Girls can play hockey too. Either way, incredible.”

“Yeah.” It really will be.

“Well, then, I have something to talk to you about as well.” He rummages in his backpack until he pulls out a small black box.

My eyes widen. “Is that…?”

He drops to one knee. “The original plan was to do this on the cliffs of Møns Klint, during our trip to Denmark, but if hockey has taught me anything, it’s how to adapt.”

Rendered speechless, I stare down at him and just nod.

“Ladybug,” Mason continues, his gray eyes gleaming. “You’re the love of my life, and now you will be the mother of my child. Would you do me the greatest honor and marry me?” He opens the box, revealing a giant diamond set in a band that resembles a sword.

My power of speech partially returns, enabling me to ask, “What’s with the stabby-stabby?” I point at the band.

Mason gives me a wide smile. “Vikings exchanged swords as part of their wedding ceremony, so I figured we could use one as part of our engagement too.”

“Wow!” Denmark and Viking wedding rituals? The man has a whole theme in mind. I almost squeal out loud, but then moderate my response to a more temperate, “Thank you! It’s awesome.”

Mason narrows his eyes. “Aren’t you forgetting a small little formality?”

“Ah, right.” I grab the ring and put it on my ring finger. “Yes, Mason, I’ll marry you… under one condition.”

“Name it,” he says solemnly.

I’m so giddy with excitement my knees wobble. “I want to keep my maiden name.”

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