Page 125 of Doomed
“Is this where you reveal you’re actually a serial killer?” I tease, letting him lead me. “Because this feels veryhorror movieright now.”
His laugh is low and warm. “You’ve known what I am from the beginning, baby. No surprises there.”
We stop, and his hands come to land on my helmet. “Ready?”
“For what exactly?”
“Your surprise.”
He lifts the helmet away, and I blink as my eyes adjust. The sight before me steals my breath. Eagle Point has been transformed. A small table draped in blue silk—of course—stands at the edge of the lookout, surrounded by dozens of flickering candles in glass holders. A picnic basket sits open, revealing wine bottles and covered dishes.
“Knox,” I whisper, taking it all in. “What is this?”
“A surprise for my girl,” Knox says, reaching for my hand.
As he leads me toward the table, his usual cocky demeanor seems... different. There’s tension in his jaw, a slight hesitation in his movements that I rarely see. Knox Blackwood, the man who faces down enemies without blinking, actually looks nervous.
“You okay?” I ask, squeezing his fingers.
“Perfect.” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just perfect.”
He pulls out my chair with uncharacteristic formality, waiting for me to sit before moving to the other side of the table. The view of Ravenwood Hollow stretches out beneath us, the city lights twinkling in the gathering dusk.
“Knox, this is beautiful,” I say, taking in the candles flickering in the gentle breeze, the way the table is arranged with such care. “I can’t believe you did all this.”
He reaches for the wine bottle, a vintage I recognize as one I’d mentioned loving months ago. His hands aren’t completely steady as he pours the deep red liquid into crystal glasses.
“Only the best for you,” he says, his voice husky.
When he lifts the covers from the dishes, I can’t help but laugh. Truffle mac and cheese, the sinfully good kind from that little place in the arts district. Chocolate-covered strawberries. Those ridiculous fancy sliders from the food truck we discovered during a rainstorm. Even the spicy tuna rolls from the Japanese restaurant across town that I’m always craving.
“How did you remember all my favorites?” I ask, genuinely touched that he’s paid such close attention.
Knox shrugs, but there’s nothing casual about the intensity in his eyes. “I remember everything about you, Bianca.”
I pick up my fork and dive into the truffle mac and cheese, closing my eyes at the first bite. “Oh my god. Still warm, too. How did you manage that?”
“I have my ways,” Knox says, watching me with that intense gaze that still makes my stomach flip after all this time.
We eat and talk about everything and nothing—his latest business deals, my new painting commission, the ridiculous gossip Michelle shared about Elliot and Julian’s very public argument at the gallery opening last week. But beneath the normal conversation, tension simmers. Knox keeps checking his phone, running his hand through his hair, shifting in his seat.
“You sure you’re okay?” I ask, reaching across to touch his hand. “You seem distracted.”
“Just making sure everything’s perfect,” he says, squeezing my fingers.
The sky darkens around us, the candles glowing brighter against the night. Knox reaches for one of the chocolate-covered strawberries, his movements suddenly deliberate. Instead of passing it to me, he stands and moves to my side of the table.
“Open,” he murmurs, holding the berry to my lips.
I part my lips, maintaining eye contact as he feeds me the strawberry. The chocolate melts on my tongue, sweet and rich. A drop of juice escapes the corner of my mouth. Knox catches it with his thumb, his touch lingering against my lip.
“Bianca,” he says, and suddenly he’s dropping to one knee beside my chair.
My heart stops, then starts racing double-time.
“Knox?” My voice barely makes it past my throat.
He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small velvet box. When he opens it, the diamond inside catches the candlelight, throwing rainbow reflections across his face.
