Page 148 of On The Rocks

“Miss you, baby,” Callum breathed. “So fucking much.”

My throat heated at his words. I nodded, and finally, I threw him a bone. “I miss you too.”

His face softened. After a pause, he threw me a chin lift and disappeared through the door. I heard the door bang, then silence.

I dropped down onto my back and sighed when a memory floated through my head from the night before.

I’d walked into the bar and seen Callum making a beeline straight for the blonde woman, and immediately, my belly tightened painfully.

Before I knew it, I’d moved to stand behind him so I could eavesdrop and managed to work out pretty quickly that she was an old flame of his.

I’d never been jealous in my life, but heat swept through my veins like wildfire until I heard Callum tell the woman he was married. At that moment, the relief I felt was so palpable that my shoulders slumped with it. The second he saw me, he explained who Beth was, which was a step forward from Saskia because even though our marriage was on the rocks, he was honest about Beth.

A part of me had died without Callum, but I also knew that taking a time-out was necessary.

What he did wasn’t acceptable. I wasn’t a commodity, and neither was our marriage. Maureen had shed some light on the relationship he had with Lorcan, and it gave me a lot of insight into Callum’s state of mind. I understood how his da’s actions must have affected how open he was, and also how confused he must have been in his grief, but it still didn’t give him a pass. He needed to show me he’d learned his lesson before I could even think of trusting him again.

After sending him the clear message that I needed things to change, I had to stick to my guns and make sure he was willing and able to do just that, or what was the point of going through all this heartache? If Callum couldn’t be honest about the important things, I’d have to leave, and a clean break would be best.

My cell phone began to buzz loudly, indicating I had a call.

Turning my head toward the nightstand, I grabbed it to see who was calling and winced slightly. I clicked the answer buttonand put it straight onto loudspeaker, murmuring, “Hey, Sophie. I’m sorry if I offended you or Atlas last night.”

“Oh my God,” she screeched. “Are you crazy? I’ve never laughed so much in mylife.”

Something loosened in my chest. “Thank God. My “Pony” routine can get a bit racy.”

“The only time Atlas ever danced with me was at our wedding,” she informed me. “So seeing him up with you having such a good time was a joy. Kennedy and I were on our knees, laughing so hard at him, yelling, ‘Giddy up, Toots,’ that she peed herself. Breaker had to take her home and get her in the shower.”

I laughed. “Poor Ned.”

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Delicate,” I admitted. “I’m not a big drinker.”

“Atlas is still in bed, nursing a hangover. I’m going to Abe and Iris’s for breakfast and to collect the girls so he can sleep for a while. I just wanted to check in with you.”

“I’m good, thanks,” I said, touched by her thoughtfulness.

“Tomorrow, Tristan’s salon at ten,” she told me. “He’s getting the coffee and lemon heaven bars.” Her voice lowered. “We all want the gossip about what happened when Callum carried you upstairs.”

My eyes rounded. “Hecarriedme up?”

She let out a short laugh. “More or less.”

“Sweet Jesus,” I mumbled, chewing my bottom lip.

We said our goodbyes, and I clicked to end the call before sitting up and turning my upper body toward my nightstand. Then, as I placed my cell on it, I noticed a package wrapped in pretty silver and blue paper and an envelope with my name scrawled across the front.

Cocking my head, I picked it up, feeling the weight of it in my hand. Then, carefully, I unwrapped the paper, gasping when I saw the beautiful treasure inside.

Two exquisite cream leather-bound early-edition volumes ofPride and Prejudiceby Jane Austen, one of my favorite books ever.

Slowly, I turned the front cover of the first volume, staring down at the publisher and date. My breath caught in my throat when I saw 1895 and the embossing of a London Publishing Company, J.M. Dent and Co. The smell of old parchment paper wafted up to meet me, and I smiled at the musty, earthy fragrance I’d missed so much.

Carefully, I turned the page to see the title and author, then an illustration of a woman dressed in Regency clothing seated at a table, looking away from a man who leaned toward her imploringly. My gaze flicked to the words at the bottom of the page, telling us of the scene the image depicted.

Mr. Collins proposes.

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