Page 301 of The Christmas Wife

43

Zara

"Wait, what? He proposed to you?" Solene screeches.

I hold the phone away from my ear and glance toward Isla, who’s seated in the chair opposite mine. Isla raises a shoulder in a gesture that embodies the confusion I’m feeling right now.

"It would seem that way." I turn back to the screen.

"And what did you tell him?"

"Nothing."

Solene’s gaze widens. "You didn’t give him an answer?"

"Nope." Strictly speaking, I couldn’t have given him an answer before, I was too busy gathering my jaw off the floor. He went down on one knee and asked me to marry him in this very room, and I was dumbstruck. A first. I stared at him for a few seconds, then pulled my hand from his. And this time, he let me. I backed away from him until the backs of my knees hit this very chair—where I’m still seated—and I sat down heavily.

Thankfully, I was saved from replying because Liam and Isla burst through the doorway immediately after.

Isla had one look at my face, walked over to me, and took my hand in hers, while I tried and failed to look anywhere but at Hunter’s face. When I finally made eye contact, his blue-green eyes seemed almost colorless. His features, as if hewn from a material that gave no inkling of what his thoughts were.

"I’ll be waiting for your answer," he bit out, then walked out of here, with Liam on his heels. I began to tell Isla what had happened, and she told me to stop and dialed in Solene so I could bring them up to speed on the soap opera that is currently my life.

My phone vibrates, then again. Yep, I have a second phone hidden away in the secret compartment of my bag. What? I’m a PR professional and the media is my lifeblood. You didn’t think I was going to stay without my electronic lifeline for even a second, did you? Only this time, I haven’t dared check my inbox, or my messages, or any of the social media channels…yet.

Given the crisis of Mount Everest proportions I walked out of earlier, I know things must be going crazy on the internet. But it’s not going to help if I get drawn into the online speculation. Right after Hunter left, I called my team, briefed them, then told them to reach out to key influencers for damage control. If things were really bad, they’d call me, but considering fifteen minutes have passed and there’ve been no SOS calls to me…yet… Maybe we managed to nip this thing in the bud. I’m not holding my breath, though. While the hours and days after a slip-up like what happened earlier between Hunter and Cade is the stuff bloggers and social media users around the world are waiting to broadcast to their followers, the long-tail effect of it surfacing in the future at the most inopportune moment is nothing to be sneezed at.

"So, what are you going to tell Hunter?" Solene asks.

I exchange glances with Isla, then shake my head. "I don’t have the foggiest."

"What does your instinct tell you to do?" Isla murmurs.

"To get the hell away from here. To refuse to be his PR manager. To cut all ties and move to another country and reinvent my life."

There’s silence for a second, then Solene laughs. "You’d never do that. You’re not the type to do a runner. You’re the strongest woman I know, Zara. In fact, I’ve always aspired to be you when I grow up."

I flush a little. "Don’t be daft, Sabatini, I’m hardly the poster child for how to live your life."

"You’re doing a fabulous job of it so far, Zara."

"That’s why I had a one night, which became a two night stand, with the possible Prime Minister to be of this country, and I might be pregnant with his child."

Silence descends on the room.

Isla looks at me with concern in her eyes. Solene stares at me with a shocked expression.

A woman clears her throat. "Umm, sorry, don’t mind me. Cade sent me in to make sure you were okay. But uh, I’ll just tell him you’re fine."

I glance up to find a woman standing at the doorway. I scowl at her, and she raises her hands, palms face up. "The door was open."

Fantastic.

"Who’re you again?" I manage to choke out.

"Uh, I’m Cade’s friend’s sister. Cade didn’t have a date to the gala, that’s the only reason he asked me to the ball and… Oh, god, I’m talking too much, aren’t I? I swear, I didn’t mean to barge in and listen to your secrets. And no, I didn’t just hear you say that you’re pregnant—I mean, possibly pregnant—with the child of the man who might be our next Prime Minister and… Hey, are you going to marry him?" She seems to run out of steam, finally, and glances between me and Isla.If Isla’s face looks anything like mine, it’s a combination of shock, horror, surprise, frustration, and maybe even a glimmer of humor—because, let’s face it, there’s a touch of absurdity to the proceedings.

Isla is the first to recover. She rises to her feet, marches to the door, shuts and locks it, then gestures to the sofa. "Take a seat please—what’s your name again?"

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