Page 44 of Honeyed

There are so many little nuances to opening a small business or a store, and we’re learning on the fly. So much so that it feels like we might be in a little bit of free fall without a safety net, but as long as I have her, I’m confident we’ll get everything done. Though, unfortunately, even with Thomas’s blessing on our marriage, he still won’t budge on the idea that the store is a bad idea. That means we’re not getting much help or assistance from her family, but it kind of gives us the chip on our shoulder we need if we’re going to succeed.

On the way home from a meeting with the mayor over a grand opening celebration, I stop by the only upscale jewelry store in town. The moment I walked in the first time, about three weeks ago, every woman in the store squealed with delight. Mrs. Owens, the jeweler who’s owned the store for more than twenty years, knew exactly why I was there and had been more than happy to throw every sparkly setting at me for my choosing.

My fake wife and I never talked about what she would have wanted were she to be presented with an engagement ring. Sure, we’re best friends, but I’m a guy. Stuff like that isn’t exactly what I have on my topic of conversation agenda. Now that I’ve tried to pick one out, though, I wish we had.

Ultimately, I went with a princess cut for the princess of the Ashton family. A big ole fat diamond winking at the center of a thin rose gold band. I paired that with a rose gold wedding band circled in diamonds because the plain gold one I bought for our courthouse ceremony just doesn’t suit her.

While this marriage might be fake, and eventually, she’ll take them off, I want to give Alana something to smile about. I always want to be the one to make her smile if I can help it.

If I could see past all the lying I’m doing to myself, I’d admit that I dreamed about putting a diamond ring on her hand in such a real way since I had my first wet dream during puberty. And that this little exercise in presenting a gift is way more than just wanting to see her smile.

Her car is in the driveway as I pull in and park, the sun still high in the sky even on a weeknight as we move into summer territory. Some nights, she’ll drag me to the back deck to watch the sunset and drink wine like an old married couple.

My hands shake as I get out of the car and put the ring box into my jean pocket. Is this how every dude feels before he gets down on one knee? I already convinced her to marry me, and here I am, sweating like I’m sitting on the edge of the sun. Jeez, no wonder guys have their voices cracking and minds going blank the minute they try to put a ring on it.

“Al?” I call as I unlock the door and walk in, the whole coming-home routine feeling very domestic every time I do it.

“Up here!” she calls, and I know she’s probably been lying on her bed half-dressed from work and half in pajamas since the moment she arrived home.

With every step up the stairs, my heart beats harder, and my resolve gets more fragile. This is a big deal, even if it isn’t real and even if we’re already committed.

Just like I thought, she’s lying on the bed with her eyes closed, comfortable black leggings on with the same blush pink sweater she wore to the restaurant today. Her hair is splayed out around her, and my God, she looks so close to an angel that I want to kneel down and worship her.

“Hey.” I join her, sitting on the edge of the bed.

My hand moves like it has a mind of its own, reaching out to stroke through her dark hair that feels like silk under my fingertips.

She groans in a way that shoots straight to my cock, but I keep focused.

“Mmm, massage my scalp. It feels so good when you do that.”

Fuck, why does she make it so difficult not to turn everything she says dirty?

I do as she asks for about half a second before I slide off the bed and get on one knee. When thinking about giving her these rings, I knew I had to do it the right way. The way I proposed the idea of marriage to her was definitely not traditional, but she deserves this to be.

“Warren?” she asks, and I can see her eyes are still closed and she’s annoyed that I stopped touching her.

Staying silent, I wait for her to glimpse my position. Down on one knee, rings presented with pride.

Alana flips over onto her stomach, unassumingly looking to see where I went and why I’m not skating my nails over her scalp, before gasping loudly.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Launching up to her knees, she takes in my pose.

“Proposing?” I chuckle because we’re technically already married.

“You got me a ring. Rings.” She blinks, her expression one of astonishment.

I grin up at her. “Even if it isn’t real, you deserve to wear something beautiful. You’re a princess, Al. Your ring finger should show that accordingly.”

“These must have cost … Warren, this is too much.” She shakes her head, and I frown, handing the box to her because I want her to take them and put them on.

The best friend I knew would never turn down a gift, especially one like jewelry. So why is she placing them back in the box and handing it to me?

“What are you doing? I bought those for you to wear. They’re yours.” I shove them back at her.

“They’re not. I’m fine with my gold band.” She twists it around her finger as she shrinks away from me, pushing back toward the headboard.

“Too many people have made comments about me not buying you a proper ring, and I’m sick of it. You deserve the full treatment, the whole shebang. Diamonds, included.”

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