“I didn’t—don’t—want you to marry a guy you don’t love just to help him out. Or to help his kid out. I know what that’s like, because I did it with Geneva. I never loved her, and what I did was a foolish sacrifice because I was mainly just trying to give Vi some stability. But it didn’t even give her that. Just made everyone miserable. I don’t want you to be unhappy. I love you too much to let you make that kind of sacrifice.”
The guardedness in her gaze softens a bit, and the tension in her muscles eases…maybe ten percent.
“But…I was being a coward. Yes, I love you, but I also didn’t want to risk my heart. I wanted to play it safe—told myself I was doing it for you and Vi, but was I? What you offered was a chance. And I should’ve taken it and made you so happy that you’d fall in love with me, too. That would’ve been the right thing. And it took me this long to see it.”
She lets out a shaky breath. “Well, you’re improving. It didn’t take ten years.”
“I know.” I grab the crème brûlée box—the chocolate one—and drop to one knee, opening it. Inside is a platinum solitaire diamond ring that reminded me of her—so elegant and beautiful—when I saw it on my way home from Éternité. The band is set on a long silver pick, which is skewering the brûlée. Kim loves chocolate, and the dark background makes the ring pop more.
She places her hands on her cheeks. Her eyes shine.
“Kim, will you give m
e a chance?” I say, my voice shaking a little. “Will you marry me? I’ll spend the rest of my life making you happy. Making you love me a little bit more every day.”
“Yes,” she says, her voice trembling too. “And I already love you, you crazy man.”
Her declaration goes off in my head like fireworks. I almost jump up, then remember I’m holding her favorite dessert. Must not ruin the dessert. I have plans for it. And I want to watch her eat it in bliss.
So I carefully put the box back on the table, pluck the ring off the pick and place it on her finger, where it belongs. Then I kiss her until we’re both breathless.
Chapter Sixty
Kim
Our wedding takes place two weeks later. If it had just been up to me and Wyatt, we might’ve gone to a courthouse. But Yuna absolutely refused to let me do that, and Salazar was horrified at the idea as well. On top of that, Vi insisted on attending, and she wanted a pretty dress for the ceremony. She begged Jo to go shopping with her, and they picked out the cutest outfit.
Salazar lends us his immaculate garden. It’s so big that we could easily fit five times as many guests, but I only invited my mother and some close friends. Wyatt invited his parents and a few friends as well. We want to keep things small, with only the people who truly wish the best for us.
Yuna watches me get ready, her arms crossed. She’s in a pink Dior dress that made Jo squeal a little because apparently not many people can make it look good.
“I knew it,” Yuna says with smug conviction. “That Oscar de la Renta dress had your name on it. Written in a red only I could see.”
I laugh. The classy, off-shoulder gown is exquisite with intricate lace details. My hairdresser pulled my hair up, but left some tendrils down to frame to my face. I look beautiful in the mirror. Most importantly, I feel loved and content.
“You are absolutely stunning.” Hilary beams. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Wyatt’s going to have a heart attack when he sees you,” Jo says.
“He’s too young for that,” Ceinlys says, walking in. She’s probably one of the most gorgeous women I’ve even seen in my life. Even though she’s in her late sixties, she looks better than most women half her age, with her hair still sleek ebony black and her skin smooth and nearly wrinkle-free.
Since it’s Salazar’s mansion, she’s here to oversee the staff set things up, even though I told her I could take care of it. She said brides shouldn’t be left to stress about details. I’m so grateful for that, because otherwise Mom would’ve insisted on taking over the wedding, and turned it into a showy farce only she could appreciate.
Ceinlys smiles at me. “You look radiant, Kim. I’m so happy for you.”
“Thank you,” I say.
The door to the dressing room crashes open, and my mother appears, along with a cloud of Chanel No. 5. It’s a perfume she’s never worn before, but she got a whiff of Ceinlys and decided to wear it…as though the scent were the source of Ceinlys’s attractiveness. Mom’s bleached hair is pristinely twisted into an updo, and she is wearing a dress that’s as tight as sausage skin. The colored contact lenses she put on are a strange fakey-blue, and with her natural brown leaching through them, she looks weird.
But she doesn’t care as she rushes in to wrap me in her arms. “Honey! So sorry I’m late, but I had to look good.”
I cringe inwardly. I love my mom, but there are times I want to pretend she and I aren’t related, especially when she does something like this. I don’t even want to know what she considers “looking bad” if she honestly thinks this is a good look for her.
She continues, “I knew you could do it! I’m so proud of you!”
“Mom…” I hiss, praying nobody overhears what she’s about to say.
“Wyatt is perfect. What did I tell you? You were always capable of snagging a billionaire. You just had to put your mind to it.”