Page 99 of Don't Fall for the Billionaire
“Yeah. She’d take me to the store, pick one up, and then tell me I might be having a brother or sister. But she never was pregnant.”
“Good God.” Ashton shook his head.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
ONE MONTH LATER
Ashton
I flipped open the lid and handed the box to Charlie.
“Wow, Ashton. It’s gorgeous. Charlotte is going to flip when she sees this.”
“Do you think she’ll say yes?”
“What the fuck?” He laughed. “Of course she’ll say yes. That girl loves you more than anything.”
“I know she does. But a part of me is scared.”
“There’s that damn fear again.” He sighed.
“This is a different fear, Charlie.”
“Get out of your head.” He hooked his arm around me. “I can’t believe my best friend is finally getting married. When are you proposing?”
“Tonight. I want to give her an autumn wedding.”
“Next year, right?”
“No.” I furrowed my brows. “I don’t want to wait a year to marry her. I want to do it this fall.”
“Dude, it’s already almost spring. There isn’t enough time to plan a wedding.”
“I was thinking either the beginning or the middle of October. That’s seven months. We have plenty of time.”
“Okay. If you say so.” He chuckled. “Where are you going to do it?”
“Central Park. On the bench where we first met.”
“You mean the same bench where she threw a cupcake at you?”
“Yep.” I grinned.
“Priceless, man. Priceless.” His grip around me tightened.
I tucked the box into my pocket and left his office.
“Lila, I’m heading out for the day.”
“Okay, boss. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She smiled.
When I stepped out of the building, snow was lightly falling, nothing heavy, but just enough to set the scene for when I proposed. I took a cab to where the horse and carriages were near Central Park while I sent Dominic to The Cozy Crumb to get Charlotte. I didn’t have to worry about Eloise because Melissa was watching her at our home. Eloise knew what I was planning tonight because she helped me pick out the ring. I was worried she’d slip and mention something in front of Charlotte, but so far she hadn’t.
My heart pounded as I climbed up into the carriage, crouching low on the leather seat. Through a small gap in the velvet curtains, I watched the Escalade slow to a stop where our carriage driver, Marcus, had positioned our horse-drawn carriage.
“Is that yours?” Marcus asked.
“Yes.”
