Page 127 of Billionaire Romance

13

Ankor

It’s been three perfect months in New York. Three months of life with Sinclair. And in those three months, I’ve learned more about love and romantic relationships than in my entire life before now. There’s nobody else I’d rather spend every day with. Nobody else I’d rather come home to after a day at the office; nobody else I’d rather spoil every chance I get, with carriage rides through Central Park and trips to the opera. The look on her face at the singing alone was more interesting to me than the show itself.

I love her reactions to everything. How overjoyed she is at life itself.

We take weekend trips up to my parents’ place in the Hamptons while it’s still warm. I convince her to swim at the beach, even. The waves aren’t as big here in the north of the Atlantic as they were in surf-central Maui. She swims out deeper than I’d have expected her to, surprising me. Even when we rent a fishing boat to go out, she doesn’t seem scared anymore. She leans over the edge of the boat, laughing as dolphins appear and jump alongside us.

In the evenings, we grill fish on the beach with my family, laughing and joking. Margot and Sinclair spend more time together, especially on days when I need to go into the office to help with new product development or launches. It makes me happy to see them getting along. My sister has always been critical of the women I’ve dated—and to be fair, unfortunately, she’s always turned out to be right in the end. So it makes me smile to see her approval of Sinclair.

Not that I’m surprised. Nobody who meets Sinclair can resist her.

On weekends we’re not with my family, we go to the theater, musicals and plays alike. Or we see concerts in the park. One day we walk all the way down to the south pier just to see it. She gasps at the sight of the Statue of Liberty, then, and I can’t resist. I book us a private helicopter ride, taking us around the statue itself, so close it almost feels like we should be able to reach out and grab it.

She laughs the whole time, eyes bright with delight.

And I want to spend the rest of my life doing this. Spoiling her. Taking her out, enjoying her reactions to the world.

That’s how I find myself alone on Fifth Avenue, prowling some of the best designer jewelry stores, a man on a mission. Because just any ring won’t do. I have to find the right one. The perfect one, just like her. A ring that tells her exactly what she means to me, every single day she wears it.

I’m in the sixth store already.

“Let me just fetch some of our new designs from the back,” the manager is saying. “We haven’t put them out in the window yet; they’re new…”

I smile, which makes him run even faster. Only when he’s out of sight do I let out a sigh. So far, nothing has seemed right. Some are too gaudy. Others too plain. Some just downright ridiculous looking. Like a cocktail ring, not an engagement one.

Engagement.

I’ve talked it over with my parents. They worry I’m jumping into this too soon. But they do like Sinclair. Even Margot does. That’s a first for my family. Normally everyone hates whatever girl I’m dating within three minutes of meeting her.

Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve yet to meet someone who’s immune to Sinclair’s charms.

I’m lost in thought when the jeweler reappears. Before he even sets the tray down, my eyes go wide. Because there it is. Perfection. The ring I’ve been looking for.

It’s not a traditional diamond. It’s a sapphire, almost as blue as Sinclair’s eyes—or as blue as the ocean where we met. It’s flanked by two princess cut diamonds, and ringed by smaller diamonds as well, but the effect isn’t showy or gaudy. It’s tasteful. Rich without flaunting it.

“I’ll take it,” I say without bothering to look at the price.

The man’s face lights up. There’s a reason every jewelry designer in the past five blocks have been fawning over me. Commission is a lovely incentive.

He reads me off the price, and I hand over cash, plus extra. “For you,” I tell him, and that only makes his smile bigger.

He’s still wrapping up the box when the doors breeze inward. At first I think it’s just another customer. But then, an irritatingly familiar voice pipes up.

“Well, fancy seeing you in a place like this.”

I turn, my fists tightening with fury. Sure enough, there’s Lily, planted right across from me. She looks the same as ever. Cheap high heels, two seasons’ old outfit, sloppily applied lipstick. She’s also got her cell phone out, and before I can react, she snaps a photo of me, straight on. In a fucking jewelry store.

My face goes red. “Do not post that, Lily.”

“Always trying to tell me what to do. You’re so controlling, Marco, do you know that?”

“God, you are full of yourself.” I scowl and turn back around to accept the shopping bag from the man behind the counter. When I do, the guy catches my eye.

“Would you like me to call someone, sir?”

“That’s all right, I can handle this.” The last thing I’m doing is feeding the local tabloids the news break of the year by calling the cops on my possessive ex. I take the bag and brush past Lily toward the exit.

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