Page 180 of The Billionaire's Fake Wife
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Sin
This woman. Every time I expect her to act in a certain fashion, she throws me for a bouncer. I'd proposed to her and thought... What? That she'd fall into my arms, with declarations of love and forever? That she'd be floored, perhaps be so swayed that she'd collapse and I'd catch her? Then ease her into my arms and kiss her senseless? Then we'd... live happily ever after? She is going to make me work for it, huh?
My thigh muscles twinge. I ignore it. Man up, bastard. Tell her what you really feel. It's now or never.
"What? No words?" she peers down at me. "Apparently, I've finally rendered you speechless, eh?" She pushes a finger against her cheek. "Should I be congratulating myself on that?"
I glare up at her. One side of her lips curves.
"The alphahole who'll sit across a table and negotiate until he gets his own way on everything, struck dumb." She swipes her hair from her face, "And all because I asked you to navigate a delicate matter of the heart?"
My shoulders bunch; my pulse begins to race. Sweat slides down my spine.
She glances at the ring in my palm, then at my face. Her lips turn down. "Guess that's it, huh?"
She turns to leave.
"Flowers."
She pauses.
"I know you love the violets among the wildflowers because they remind you of my eyes."
She stiffens, reaches for the door handle.
"You're allergic to gluten, yet you sneak your favorite brand of cake from Gregg's because it's not available anywhere else, then you swallow down half a bottle of Benadryl to compensate for the allergic reaction."
She flinches.
"A habit you have to stop, by the way."
She pushes down on the handle and the door whispers open.
"You hate stuck up snobs who have way too much money they don't know what to do with, yet you forgave the worst of them, because you realized he was broken enough to have to overcompensate for his insecurities."
Her shoulders shake.
"You love waking up at dawn sometimes and walking on the grass barefoot, while you lift up your head and sniff the delicate breeze that wafts down from the East."
Her entire body tenses.
"You hate the color pink."
She swings around.
"Who told you?"
"It's why you colored your hair and bought clothes in that color, because it was a way of training yourself to realize that you don't get what you want, so you have to embrace your flaws, and look beyond the surface to what really matters."
"What matters?" Her throat moves as she swallows.
"You."
My phone buzzes.
I glance at the device placed face down on the table; so does she.
