Page 97 of The Wrong Promise

“Aw… that’s so romantic,” she says with a sigh.

What is he doing? The crowd is cheering. Byron runs down the stairs and leaps onto the court. His smile is huge and not the determined I-will-win-at-all-cost expression we witnessed only minutes ago.

“What is happening?” the commentators say as they focus on the fans. It’s what everyone watching live wants to know.

“I believe Byron Hendricks just asked his girlfriend to marry him,” another commentator exclaims. “And she said yes!”

“The fuck?”At the game?

“Oh my God!” Zara screams. “That is the most romantic thing I have ever seen.”

Oh no, my brother does not get to steal the limelight of the romantic weekend I had planned for my girl. “The most romantic?” I grab Zara and pull her onto me, and shescreams as we roll over the bed. “You think that’s romantic?” She giggles as I tickle her.

I have her on her back, her hands fixed by her head. I stare into those brown eyes as she catches her breath. “It was romantic. You have to admit it,” she puffs out the words.

It was. I have witnessed him giving his heart to Giana from the day he asked me to help him buy the entire first floor of Franklin’s high-rise office block so Giana could have her own art studio. Then he surprised her with a vacation to the Maldives, and they flew with me on the private jet, and I made a stopover for them on my return trip to London. He has always been a romantic, and his gestures never inspired me until now. I see his proposal as a challenge because it’s in my DNA.

If showing the world how much you love someone is the ultimate trademark in romance, then I want to do something just as magical for Zara.

NOVEMBER

When you know,you know.

I open the box to admire the canary yellow diamonds on the necklace and gently close the velvet lid. “Thank you, it’s perfect,” I tell the jeweler, a renowned specialist in New York. It’s the first piece of exquisite jewelry I intend to give to Zara with a new piece every week leading up to Christmas to help her settle back into life in LA.

He places the box with three other boxes in the same bag. Ever since Piper’s death, Zara holds anything yellow in a special place in her heart because it reminds her of their friendship.

“We’ll see you next month, Mr. Hendricks.”

“Yes, you will.” I smile at him, then pass the security guards as I step out onto the street. The street is full of people going about their day. A little way along the street, I stop to check the time and hesitate on whether to go back to the hotel or straight to the airport to catch the jet back to LA. The wind whips around my head, and I tighten the scarf around my neck. I have been here three days, and it’s three days too long away from Zara. Catching my reflection in the glass window, I peer inside the small bar.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” a familiar voice says from behind me. He steps to my side and offers a lopsided smile as though he is nervous about speaking to me.

Holding out a leather-gloved hand, I give him a smile in return. “BJ. What brings you to New York?”

He smirks. “We had a game yesterday, and I needed some time alone before flying back with the team.”

Time alone. He is troubled, and if his performance is anything like the game against the LA Sharks when my brother whooped his sorry ass, then he needs a fucking month of isolation.

He pulls his shoulders up to his ears. Clearly, he hasn’t adapted to the East Coast winter.

I nod toward the bar. “Do you want to get a drink?”

“Sure.” He follows me inside, and I order at the bar before finding a small table in the corner. He runs a hand over his long blond locks to tame them from the wind. “What brings you to New York?”

“I had a meeting with a potential client.” He glances down at the gift bag by my feet. His brow creases then he composes himself. “I have bought a gift for someone special,” I say before he starts to guess who it’s for.

“Anyone I know,” he says with a grin, and when I nod, his eyes round slightly.

“Zara. Penny’s friend.”

He nods. “Nice girl.” The bartender places two whiskeys on ice in front of us. Brandon stares into his glass before he takes a sip. “How is Charlotte?” he asks without looking away from the warmth of his drink.

“Lottie is doing well. As I assume you are.”

He nods slowly. “Things worked out as they should have.”

“Is that what you believe?” I question dryly.

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