I get a few “Are you old enough to be a doctor?” comments, but I don’t let them get me down.
When I get home, exhausted and filthy, I shower and change into sweats, pouring myself a glass from a bottle of red wine Gabriel gifted me as a housewarming present. I look over the bottle, reading the label and smile. It’s from his family’s vineyard in France.
My phone dings and it’s a picture text from Rawley, another adorable selfie of him and our pets cuddled on his couch, making me miss them like crazy. A pang tears through my heart. Am I sure I’m set on not living with someone until we’re married? Then I remember my friends, past, disastrous relationships that began with moving in with someone with no real commitment, then their terrible breakups with no home to call their own, and I stand firm in my convictions.
I type a reply to Rawley.
Ah no fair
You get all the love
He types back.
You could be here too you know
There’s room for one more
Me:
I’ll be there Saturday
Save me a seat
Him:
I thought we could go out Saturday
Somewhere nice to celebrate your first week?
Me:
Where
Him:
Opulence eight o’clock
Don’t make daddy wait
A silly grin stretches over my face.
He hosted my graduation party at Opulence, a place to celebrate a special occasion. Are we only going to be celebrating my first week of work? Or does my daddy have something more up his sleeve? I stretch out my left hand, staring at how bare it looks, envisioning it with a lovely ring around my fourth finger.
Silly girl. It’s too soon. I’m sure he’ll propose, one day. I can be patient.
Can’t I?
The week flies by, and Saturday night finally comes. I dress in the red wrap dress I wore on our second ‘date,’ hoping he’ll like seeing me in it again. I smooth my hair and even put on makeup for the first time this week. I slip into some heels, grab my overnight bag, and hurry out to the car he’s sent to pick me up.
He’s wrapping up a meeting and says he wants to see me the second he’s done, so I’m meeting him there. The car ride feels long and lonely the closer I get to Vegas, Baby. I’m ready to be in his arms. I ride up the elevator and make my way down the long hall to Opulence.
There he is. My heart lunges to my throat at the sight of him. He’s dressed in a black tux, his hair slicked back, a single red rose in his hand.
This is it. I just know he’s going to propose. This is the night.
Tempering my speed so I’m not running like an idiot, I glide across the room to him. He hands me the rose.
“Thank you.”
“You look beautiful, baby.” He takes me in his arms, kissing the top of my head and inhaling.
“Are you smelling me again?”
He gives a laugh. “I can’t help it. It’s been a whole week since I’ve gotten a whiff of that sweet Emmeline perfume.”
“I’m not even wearing perfume.”
“I know.” He takes my hand, leading me through the restaurant. “It’s just your natural sweetness.”
There’s a table waiting for us out on the veranda. The cool night breeze blows through my hair as he pulls a chair out for me. There’s champagne in a bucket of ice sitting on the table. Nerves dance in my belly. Could I be right? Could this be it?
He takes a seat across from me, running a hand through his gelled hair and mussing it which only serves to make him look even more sexy. Is he nervous?
Nervous butterflies fill my own belly. I clear my throat, trying to sound casual, though every nerve in my body is on high alert. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
“I thought we’d come somewhere special to celebrate.” He clears his throat, his hand slipping into the inside of his jacket pocket. “And, I had something I wanted to ask you.”
Oh my god. This is the moment I’ve dreamed of. I watch him rise from his chair as if he’s moving in slow motion. His hand is still in his pocket, but I just know that when he pulls it out, he’s going to be holding a ring, or a little jewelry box with a ring hidden inside.
It’s a beautiful moment, a perfect moment. Suddenly a waiter appears at Rawley’s side, tapping him on the shoulder and whispering in his ear. Rawley’s gaze leaves mine as he leans in toward the waiter. Worry swirls in my belly. What’s going on?
Rawley’s brow furrows as he looks past me.
A woman approaches, standing at the waiter’s side. She’s striking, in that beauty pageant kind of way, blue eyes, shining, flowing hair, holding her head with dignity as if she’s gracing a stage. Her fingernails are impossibly long and hot pink, telling me she’s not washed a dish in her life.