26 Will
THE SWELTERING HEAT in Phoenix slowed me down as I carried my freaking heavy golf bag on the course. Five more holes to go. I would make it if I didn’t melt into the ground first.
Miranda’s dad, Miles, had insisted we walk the course to fully appreciate the beauty of Arnold Palmer’s design. Insanity. I’d have enjoyed it a lot more if I wasn’t soaked in sweat with a sunburned nose. But I sucked it up and wouldn’t be a “weak, spoilsport rich boy.” Those were Miles’s words when I’d offered to pay for the golf cart.
I had a feeling he was putting on a “tough dad” façade. A little healthy intimidation was a good thing in my book. After all, I was in love with his daughter; he needed to be sure I was suitable for her. I wouldn’t fault him for that.
“Miranda tells me you’re taking her to Paris… for two weeks?” Miles asked. He chewed vigorously on his gum, eyes squinting behind his shades. The sun was bright, but I had a feeling it wasn’t why he had a narrowed gaze.
“Yes, sir.” I should have elaborated, but he hadn’t asked a direct question, so why divulge any details if I didn’t have to?
“Anything else on your itinerary?” Okay, there was a semi-direct question, but honestly, did he want a full rundown of where we would be? I needed clarification.
“Sir? I’m not sure what you’re asking.”
“Listen, Will, I’ll be straight with you.”
“I wish you would.” I grabbed a small towel out of my bag to wipe the sweat dripping down the sides of my face. God it was fucking hot for eleven in the morning.
“Miranda is my baby girl. Myonlychild. An affluent man like you could have any woman you want, and yet you’re with my sweet girl. And you’re taking her to Paris.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Men don’t take women to Paris for a vacation.”
I pinched my brows together. “Sir?”
“You can stop calling me ‘sir’ now. I’m just Miles to you.”
I gave him a sharp nod.
“In our family, we’re traditional. There’s an expectation we live by when it comes to… marriage. Get my meaning?”
The sun blinded me, turning my vision white. I blinked several times, unsure of what to say to Miles.
“She doesn’t need a sugar daddy. She makes a decent living on her own. You can’t win her with your money. She loves you genuinely. I need to know what your intentions are. Is there a future for her with you? If not, let her go now.”
Jesus, let her go? Was he out of his fucking mind? Miranda was mine. MINE. I’d never let her go.
Did he want me to propose to Miranda in Paris? The thought had crossed my mind. I’d even ordered a ring, but I hadn’t settled on doing it yet. “Listen, Miles. I love Miranda, I do. But we haven’t talked about marriage. However, let me assure you… I see her in my future.”
He studied me, a stoic expression on his face. “I believe you. But when you’re ready to propose, it’s only proper to ask for her father’s blessing.”
Blessing?Had that been what he meant about “traditional?” Hell if I knew. My damn brain wasn’t working right. I felt like his words evaporated as they hit the sultry air, leaving me scrambling to make sense of what he was trying to say.
I’d just wing it.
“Miles, since I’m here now, let’s do this asking-for-your-daughter’s-hand-in-marriage thing, just in case the mood strikes me to propose while we’re in Paris.” I grinned, feeling proud of myself. If I were alone, I’d pat myself on the back for a job well done.
Except Miles screwed up his face. “If the mood strikes you? Do you not know Miranda at all?”
I flinched at his accusatory tone.
“You don’t propose to her without a ring! I thought rich people like you were all about etiquette?” He huffed, clearly irritated with me. “And if that’s your speech, it sucked.” Miles chugged down water, shaking his head.
It had to be the goddamn heat. I wasn’t this inept. I was an articulate, educated man who knew the formal prose for such a monumental question. Feeling panicked and like a fool, I exclaimed, “I’ve ordered a ring.”
He stopped guzzling his water, eyes twinkling behind his shades. “You have?”