Page 40 of Secret Bump

She gives me an uncertain look.

“Please, Isabelle. Let me prove to you that I’ve wanted you from the very beginning.”

She hops off the bed, dragging the sheet with her across our bedroom to a small, nondescript oil landscape painting on the wall next to my dressing room.

“It hinges on the left. Tug on the right side.”

She does as I instruct and the painting swings away, revealing a safe.

“One of the features on all my vaults is a digital display that shows the last time it was accessed.” I stand up, following her. My heart is pounding. “When was that safe last accessed?”

“Three months ago,” she says slowly. Carefully.

“The day after I took you on my desk. Early in the morning. I stayed up all night thinking about you, Isabelle. How innocent you were, how perfect you were. I couldn’t stop berating myself for my hunger, for my desire. For the unforgivable sin I’d committed, but it didn’t feel like a sin at all. I should have stopped us, but I couldn’t. And I knew the only way to keep myself from being inside you every single day was to remove myself. From the office, from this city, from the entire continent.” I clear my throat, then tell her the password to the vault.

Six numbers. Six loud beeps in the middle of the night.

“But I can’t pretend that I was sure about that plan. I went back and forth. I hated myself for some of the alternatives I considered. And one of the last things I did before I got on my jet and flew across the ocean was demand a jewellery store open, a jewellery store I’d already visited once that week, the afternoon we first met.”

A small gasp punctures the silence following my confession. Then a long stretch of stillness before she reaches into the safe, and I can finally release the breath I’ve been holding.

I lower onto one knee.

When she turns around, her fingers curled tightly around a black velvet box, I’m kneeling in front of her, one hand outstretched.

“What is this?” she asks.

“It’s a promise I wanted to make three months ago.BeforeI knew you were pregnant. I swear, Isabelle, I’m not going tomarry you because you are having my baby. You are having my baby because I took one look at you and knew I would claim you. I knew you were mine. I love you, Isabelle. You. Not just the baby.You. You are the one for me, no matter what anyone else thinks or says. They don’t matter. You are all that matters. I want you to be my wife.” I flex my outstretched hand. “Give me the ring, little one.”

Eyes wide, she silently sets the box in my hand. I open it up so she can see the glittering diamond I chose for her, as bright as she is, my darling star.

“Isabelle Bright, will you let me marry you? Will you take me to be your husband?”

I manage not to say,or will you force me to throw you over my shoulder again and kidnap you to the nearest church?But it’s on the tip of my tongue as I watch her process everything I’ve said.

“Did you forget about the ring?” Her voice is wavering now, her eyes swimming with unshed tears.

I shake my head. “No, baby. I didn’t forget about it. But I thought any proposal I did now should be…from now. Fresh. This ring was bought before I even knew you.”

A flash of understanding sparks in her eyes. “No.”

Blood roars in my ears. No, again? Fuck me.

“No,” she repeats. “It wasn’t before you knew me. Maybe it was before you knew much, but…we knew that first day, didn’t we? And then the second day…”

I can still remember how soft her thigh was, pressing against my fingertips. The way my breath caught in my throat at the naked need in her eyes.

“I knew,” I say hoarsely.

“Ask me again, Mack.”

“Can I please be your husband, Isabelle? Will you marry me?”

“Yes.” She breathes it with such relief it floods the room with lightness. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

I slide the ring onto her finger. It spins, the diamond resting against her middle finger because the band is loose. “Sorry it doesn’t fit,” I mutter, feeling uncharacteristically clumsy.

As I stand, she reaches up and cups my face in her hands, her fingers curling into my beard. The sheet she was clutching to her body pools at her feet.

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