Page 63 of Mail Order Valentine (Hawthorne Billionaire 2)

“I’m pretty sure it’s my fault,” I hurried on when he sat up and turned to look at me. “I thought I’d help get it out, to take pressure off tonight, in case you wanted to propose low-key. I let it slip to the hairdresser and the nail techs.”

“That was good thinking, but I would like to have been prepared. Some of the cameramen can get rather aggressive,” he said, leaning back into the seat. “Gunner, that was terrifying how fast you were on that guy.”

“All in my job title, sir,” he called back through the open divider. “I think you need to fill me in on what’s going on tonight, so I’m prepared.”

“As I said earlier, Imogen and I are getting engaged. It’s not a surprise. We had to plan it because the family is on my case about my latest scandal,” Asher said warily. “You don’t know this, but I’m kind of the bad boy of the family.”

“Sir, I’ve already researched you and your family. I don’t really think you’ve done anything to beat yourself up about,” Gunner said earnestly. “I do respect you trying to make the family, especially your mother, happy though.”

“Good to know you are on our side. When we arrive, there will be more of the same. So, I need you to help shield us from the cameras.”

We arrived at the restaurant. We could see a few mingling paparazzi, but nothing crazy yet. Gunner pulled to the front entrance then jumped out to open the door. Asher stepped out first, then turned to extend his hand to help me out, but instead he leaned in to speak to me when I took his hand.

“Are you ready to make me look good tonight?” he asked, putting his hands on my arms and rubbing up and down after he pulled me to stand in front of him. “Don’t fidget. You look beautiful when you’re not fidgeting. And Tall.”

“Crickey, do you know the whole movie?” I covered my mouth laughing.

“Let’s go get engaged.” He waggled his eyebrows at me and smiled a sexy smile.

Chapter 46

AUGUST

Entering the restaurant went smoother than I expected. I had built up in my head Asher being loud when he arrived somewhere. It appeared not to be the case. We were among the rich and famous, so no one was making a big deal about us walking through the room. We were ushered to a table off to the side overlooking their famous dancing fountains. Gunner nodded from the entrance, then took a seat at a small table I’d set up for him. I wanted him nearby.

“Should we just enjoy our meal before causing a commotion?” I said, wiping sweaty palms along my pants. “Or would you rather get it over with?”

“I like your first option. My emotions are all over the place and if we warm up to it, I can get used to the idea,” Imogen answered, twisting the napkin the waiter had laid on her lap. “Does that make sense to you?”

“It makes all kinds of sense. Let’s look at the menu,” he said, putting his arm across the table requesting her hand. “I think we’ll need to be here for each other.”

I watched Imogen’s eyes scan around the room looking at other couples that were, in fact, looking over at us. I could tell she wanted to get up and pace the room, but was holding back.

“I don’t think I can be part of this big show we’re about to do. I’m so sorry.” Imogen’s voice wavered.

“Let’s take a few deep breaths and relax, then look over the menu and order,” I said, still holding her hand. “Order something even if you don’t think you can eat it.”

“Me not eat?” She gasped in laughter, then covered her face with the menu, sounding better already. “Did you see my breakfast plate?”

“Yes I did and I can see your body shaking- I know you’re laughing behind that menu,” I said trying to keep a straight face. “Hey, get it together, the waitress is approaching.”

We both put our menus down on the table. I ordered a bottle of vintage wine, then motioned to Imogen to place her order.

“I’ll have the seafood linguine,” she said. “What’s it gonna be, steak man?”

“I’ll have a porterhouse steak, medium rare, with the potato and broccoli,” I said, accepting her jab at me. “One of these days you’re gonna change your mind and try meat.”

“That is never, ever going to happen,” she said emphatically.

“I love your dress, by the way, and your hair is practically glowing.” I whispered. “But what I want to know is whether you like the color?”

“I was getting tired of wearing that wig, but I wanted to keep the color, so yeah, I like the color,” she answered distractedly.

We sat looking at each other, still holding onto one another’s hands. Imogen noted that she had never been to a restaurant with a live orchestra. My cell chimed, but I was too mesmerized with everything around us and the woman sitting in front of me. I didn’t want to make a spectacle of my feelings for her.

Oh my God. I have feelings for her.

The salad had arrived at the table. While the orchestra played, we both anxiously picked our way through lettuce, spinach, and tomatoes. Imogen looked ready to jump out of her skin.

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