Page 77 of Fake Dating My Billionaire Boss

“Fizzy told me I had to. Are you upset with me?”

I don’t have to ask. Not really. He wouldn’t hug me like this if he was.

But it’s still a relief when I feel him shake his head.

“No, no. Not at all. I’ve been talking to Fizzy, and I read all his blogs. I get it—about the documents, and my Grandma Minerva. And I’ve been talking to Maxine, too.”

I pull back, and my eyebrows tuck together. “So, you know about the water rights?”

The room seems to be a blur around us. There are so many people. So much art. I can smell perfume, paint, metal, and the lemon polish Damian must have used on the glistening wooden floorboards.

Damian hesitates, clearly deep in thought. “Bella, there’s something I need to ask you.”

“I bet. Probably thousands of things you want to ask me. But Damian, maybe we should hold off on talking about the spring.” It’s so hard to say this, that my throat tightens. I gulp to try to clear the knot forming. “I mean, a more formal setting.”Like with lawyers around.

His eyes twinkle.

There is nothing about what I’ve just said that should make his eyes sparkle like this.

“You’re worried,” he says. “About the water rights.”

“I am. It might sound dumb to you, but that deed means a lot to me and my family, and to you and your family, and I’m not sure we’re in the best position to try to figure out what’s fair.”

“Maybe we are in the best position.”

There’s that playful glint again.

What’s up his sleeve? A better question, apparently, is: What’s in his pocket?

He reaches down into that fold of fabric and pulls out a small, dark-blue, velvet-covered box.

Now I think the tears that are blurring my vision might be justified. I’m not an over-emotional about-to-be-thirty-year-old woman, out of her element and in over her head.

I’m an over-emotional, about-to-be-thirty-year-old woman who’s about to be proposed to. And every woman who watches the man she loves drop down to one knee before her has a right to cry like a freaking fountain, in my humble opinion.

So, I stop trying to hold back the flow, and tears leak down my cheeks. Somewhere in the blurred room around me, I see Fizzy migrating our way. So is Maxine. More faces turn as Damian drops down to one knee and flips open the box in his hands.

It’d be nice if I had a Kleenex. As it is, I mop one cheek with the edge of my palm and then sniff back a sob.

“You’re a Sinclair,” Damian says. “I’m a Knight. Our families may not have gotten along. I think we’re in a good position to fix all that, because, Bella, I love you. I really love you. I did from the start. That probably sounds crazy, but that’s how it is with you. You make me crazy in the best way. So crazy that I finally feel sane. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want our family trees to come together because of our union. I’m hoping you feel the same way about me.”

“Can we—can we keep butter in the fridge?”

“So much butter.”

“Can we have house guests?”

“Let’s invite everyone we know, and maybe some people we don’t know, too.”

That makes me laugh. I sniff and wipe my cheek again.

The diamond in the box he’s holding out is so big and sparkly. Looking at it overwhelms me, and I feel my face pinch as I struggle to hold back another happy sob.

He’s right. We are in a good position to fix the problem of the water rights. No more Sinclairs versus Knights. Me and Damian could fix the rift. What’s his will be mine, what’s mine will be his. Since the spring is my inheritance, it could still be used for Bubbly Springs soda. We could decide together what to give to my dad and grandparents, to show our appreciation for the use of the water.

I’m sure my complexion is blotchy, and this crying-and-trying-not-to-cry look is hardly attractive, but Damian doesn’tseem to notice. He’s looking at me like I’m Venus, draped in seaweed and standing in the center of a seashell.

“What if Bo slobbers on your loafers?”

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