Page 58 of The Billionaire's Cinderella

15

Ryker

My day passes in a blur,powered by a crazy mix of happiness and excitement. Ella joked this morning that today will be the best day of her life because she’s finally going to buy herself a pair of designer shoes as a reward for her hard work in the last several months. The thing I didn’t mention is that, if things go as planned in the next few hours, this will legit be the best day in both of our lives.

I cut out of work early, humming to myself as I run my errands and finish getting all my ducks in a row for tonight’s dinner at my apartment with Ella. And for everything that I hope will come after that.

Grocery store.

Wine shop.

Florist.

Jeweler.

Keeping one hand on the wheel, I pat the breast pocket of my suit jacket, where I’ve tucked two little black velvet boxes for safekeeping. But more on that later.

I even went so far as to call Rebecca and schedule lunch with her next week. I feel like I owe it to her, our shared past and our friendship, such as it is, to put a formal end to the previous phase of our lives. The pre-Ella phase.

It’s time. Past time.

I’ve tried to let Rebecca down easy. I’ve told her that I’m too tired or busy to accept any of her various invitations over the last several months, which have included everything from breakfast to a late-night quickie at her apartment. I’ve mentioned Ella’s name to her. Repeatedly. But Rebecca persists, probably assuming she’ll outlast Ella the way she’s outlasted all the other women I’ve hooked up with in the years since our divorce. I haven’t disabused her of that notion, which is my bad. I admit that. But it’s not because I want to string her along in case things between me and Ella don’t work out. It’s because it’s so much easier to keep my head down, not rock the boat and pray she finally gets the message without us having to have any difficult conversations. Easier for me to pretend I don’t know that she’s still in love with me.

She is, though. Which means it’s time for me to tie up that loose end. Officially.

My future is all about Ella. I need to make that clear to Rebecca and, more importantly, to Ella.

I don’t know how I’ve managed it, but I’ve held myself in ruthless check this whole time when it comes to expressing my feelings to Ella. I’ve gone slow. I’ve respected her boundaries. Her many boundaries.

If it were up to me, I would’ve laid my cards on the table a long time ago. Probably within a month of meeting her, if not sooner than that.

Look, she had a bad breakup before I came along. That does things to women emotionally. I get that. So I haven’t kicked up a fuss about us, say, moving in together. Hell, I haven’t even mentioned it. The same with us exchanging keys to each other’s places in the meantime or me paying off her student loans. I didn’t force my credit card into her hand and tell her that I’d happily buy her all the damn designer shoes she could ever want, need or wear. I’ve focused on the fact that we spend our weekends and most of our nights together and tried to be happy with that.

I have been happy with that. Explosively happy.

But a guy can only do so much when he floats through his days with his heart singing like a freaking John Legend wedding song. I’ve kept my feelings on the shortest possible leash, but it’s been a year now and I can’t keep them inside any longer. The words crowd my mouth until I feel like a chipmunk with his entire winter’s supply of acorns tucked away in his cheeks. One of them is bound to fall out, probably sooner rather than later.

I love you, Ella.

I’m crazy in love with you.

I can’t think straight with loving you.

The power of it tightens in my chest and forces me to clear my throat. I laugh at myself. I have, officially and without question, become the biggest fucking sap in the world. And I plan to embrace the change.

So, tonight…

Tonight, I go back home, cook her a fabulous pasta dinner at my place and tell her I love her. If that goes well and if the moment feels right, I’ll do the one-knee thing, ask her to marry me and surprise her with the Cartier engagement ring. If the moment doesn’t feel quite right, I’ll surprise her with the Cartier diamond studs and put the ring on ice for now. Oh, and somewhere in all of that, I need to invite her to the Black Ball. I strategically waited until now to do it. She can’t very well refuse to go or refuse my offer to buy her a dress for my event if we’re officially engaged and/or in love. And maybe I can propose there, if tonight doesn’t work. The romantic setting is ideal for a proposal.

No matter what happens tonight, though, my feelings finally come out of lockdown, and I couldn’t be happier about it.

Which is why her text hits me hard when my phone buzzes.

I frown down at the display the next time I roll to a stop at a light.

Long day. Can we do dinner another night? Going to bed early.

This is not a catastrophe, but my heart sinks anyway. I hit speed dial, just to check in (now that I think about it, she didn’t answer my text earlier when I asked her how the shoe shopping went, which is weird), but she doesn’t answer.

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