Page 66 of The Proposal
My stomach flips at the thought of giving Blakely Evans a wedding ring. It should scare the hell out of me. I go out of my way to ensure that no woman ever reads too much into our relationship, lest they get the wrong idea and think it’ll become something permanent. But I’m not nervous. Hell, I might be a little excited to watch her reaction.
That’s what scares me.
“Hey, Mom,” I say after picking up my ringing phone on the table in the foyer.
“Hi, kiddo. How are you?”
Her voice, calm and kind, makes me smile. “I’m on my honeymoon, you know. It’s kind of rude for you to call.”
“I can’t help it. I’m excited. I can’t wait to meet your wife and take her shopping and invite her over for dinner and—”
“Whoa, lady. Chill out a little, will you?” I chuckle. “You can’t come at her with all that at once. You gotta ease into it. Maybe start with hello and work from there.”
“So I shouldn’t mention that I’ve been going through her social media, right?”
I shake my head. “Why would you do that?”
“I have to know what my daughter-in-law likes, Renn. Will she want coffee or tea? Does she like dogs, or should I put Willard and Winifred in the kennel when she visits? And it helps to know what she looks like …”
Sighing, I lean against the wall and stare across the ocean.
Unlike my father, my mother has been all-in from the start. It’s unsurprising, being that this is her dream. But what is a little curious is that she’s never once asked me if it was real. And I wonder why.
“Mom?”
“What, sweetie?”
“Why have you never asked me about the Vegas wedding to a woman you’ve never met? I mean, I appreciate the support, but I do find it a little odd.”
She laughs softly. “I figured you got enough of that from your father. Besides, you are an intelligent, capable man, Renn. You’ve known Blakely for years, so I knew there was a solid friendship there.” She breathes through the phone. “You seem happy. At the end of the day, that’s all I really care about.”
A smile slips across my lips.
“Are you happy?” she asks.
Voices whisper through the house just before a door shuts. I glance over my shoulder as Blakely enters the room.
My God.
“Renn?” Mom asks.
I clear my throat. “Hang on.” I drop the phone to my side and turn to my wife.
Her face is bright and beautiful—refreshed. A blue tank top with thin straps accentuating her dainty shoulders hangs close to her body. Every curve, every bend and dip, is on full display.
“That was the most relaxing thing I’ve experienced in a long time,” she says, padding barefoot across the floor. “You didn’t have to do that for me.”
“So you enjoyed it?”
She laughs. “Yeah. Of course, I did.”
“Then I had to do that.”
“Renn! What’s going on?” Mom says, her voice growing louder.
Shit. I chuckle, bringing the phone back to my ear. “Sorry, Mom. Blakely just came in.”
“Oh, may I please say hello?”
