Page 24 of Broken

Her eyes rake over my features like she might read what I’m thinking by my expression alone. She won’t. “Did you choose it yourself, or…” She chews on the inside of her cheek.

I arch a brow. “Or?”

“Or did someone pick it out for you? A woman, perhaps?”

I pour her a glass of the Chardonnay I ordered when I arrived and fight to hold back a satisfied grin. I have no idea why this woman makes me want to smile so goddamn much. It’s unnerving. “Melanie, are you jealous?”

“No,” she retorts, a little too quickly. “But I’d like to know if it’s you who has such exceptionally good taste, or if you have some poor ex-girlfriend who dresses your dates for you.”

She is jealous. Why does that make me so fucking happy? “I picked it out for you. I saw it in the window at Barney’s and thought it would be perfect for you. Is that acceptable, Miss Edison?”

Her lips twitch. “Very, Mr. James.”

Her eyes light up when I wink at her, but the moment is interrupted by the waiter coming to talk us through the specials.

“So what’s the occasion?”Melanie asks, placing her soup spoon on the table beside her bowl.

I take a sip of my wine. “Any time I see you feels like a special occasion, darling.”

She rolls her eyes and snorts a cute-as-hell laugh. “Nathan. I’m serious. You said tonight was a special occasion.”

The ring box in my jacket pocket feels like it’s burning through the fabric of my suit. Some part of me wants to surprise her and see her reaction, but I have no clue why, seeing as this is merely a business transaction for her. And for me too—that goes without saying. I lean closer, careful to ensure nobody hears me. “I was planning to propose.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Here? Tonight?”

“It’s one of the most exclusive restaurants in Manhattan. It’s known for being a popular proposal spot. Seemed like the perfect venue.”

“I know that, but I guess I thought…” Her slender throat thickens as she swallows.

I frown. Surely she’s not having doubts now. “Thought what?”

She shrugs. “I dunno. It’s a little cliché, is all. I figured you’d be more inventive.”

“Well, maybe I would be if this was a real…” Hurt flashes in her eyes, and I decide not to finish that sentence, and not only because some piece-of-shit paparazzi could be close enough to read my lips.

With a nod, she sits back in her chair, her demeanor prickly in a way it wasn’t a few moments ago. “You’re right. This is the perfect venue.”

“If you’d rather …”

Her features soften on a faint smile. “Ignore me. I’m holding on to schoolgirl fantasies of a dream proposal. Here is great.”

I press my lips together and resist the urge to ask her about that schoolgirl fantasy. It doesn’t matter. I’m not her fantasy, and I never will be.

No time like the present. I fish for the ring inside my pocket and drop to one knee beside her. She gasps and puts a hand to her chest, playing her part to perfection. I’m vaguely aware of the restaurant coming to a standstill around us, and the vibrant hum of chatter fades to a few whispered voices. Keeping my gaze trained on hers, I take hold of her left hand and open the box, revealing the four-carat diamond ring. It sparkles, reflecting light from the chandeliers above our heads,

“Oh, Nathan,” she whispers. “It’s beautiful.” Her glistening eyes flicker between the ring and my face. She’s either an incredible actress or shereallylikes the ring.

“Melanie Edison, will you marry me?” I can barely believe the words come from my mouth, and I hold my breath, seeminglyalong with everyone around us given the quiet that’s now settled over the entire restaurant.

“Yes. Yes!” she squeals, wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling me close.

Applause erupts, and I press my lips to her ear. “They’re all still watching. I think we should probably kiss or something.”

“Put the ring on me first,” she whispers back.

I slide the ring onto her finger and notice the way her eyes shine with what appears to be genuine delight as she inspects her hand. There’s another round of applause and a few cheers. Then her eyes are fixed on mine, her hands are on my face, and everything else ceases to exist.

I kiss her, not because I’m supposed to, but because I can’t wait another second to press my lips against the plump bow of hers. Can’t stop thinking about how it would feel to slide my tongue into her mouth and taste her. And the second I do, I regret it. She tastes like wine and sweetness, of all the things I shouldn’t want. She tastes like she’s mine.

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