I suddenly realise he’s voicing his written words, and I draw breath to halt him, to tell him it isn’t necessary, but I’m hushed when the tip of his finger meets my lips.
‘You are my soul, Olivia Taylor. You are my light. You are my reason to breathe. Don’t ever doubt that.’ His jaw is tense, and even though this is a shortened version of his letter, hearing him speak his declaration hammers it all home more forcefully. ‘Be mine for eternity, I beg you.’ He reaches into his pocket and produces a small box. ‘Because I promise I am yours.’
My eyes are rooted on the tiny gift box, despite the urge to maintain my comfort from keeping our stares locked. I’m too curious. When he takes my hand and places the box in the centre of my palm, I finally rip my eyes from the mysterious leather box and look up at him. ‘For me?’
He nods slowly and rests back on his haunches, as do I.
‘What is it?’
He smiles, showing a glimmer of that rare dimple. ‘I love your curiosity.’
‘Should I open it?’ My fingers reach up to my mouth and I start to nibble at the tip of my thumb, all kinds of feelings, thoughts, and emotions running riot in my mind.
‘I might be the only man who can sate that unyielding curiosity within you.’
I laugh a little, flicking my eyes between the box and Miller’s pensive form. ‘You spike that curiosity, Miller, so my sanity relies on you sating it, too.’
He matches my amusement and nods at the box. ‘Open it.’
My fingers are shaking and emotions are rushing through me as I open the lid. I risk a peek at Miller, finding his blue stare centred solely on me. He’s tense. Nervous. And that makes me feel nervous, too.
Slowly, I pull the lid up. And lose my breath. A ring.
‘It’s diamonds,’ he whispers. ‘Your birthstone.’
I swallow hard, my eyes running over the length of the thick band that rises to a subtle peak in the centre with a brilliant oval-cut diamond flanked by a teardrop-shaped stone on each side. Smaller stones surround the band, all sparkling beautifully. The white gold is cut, making each encrusted piece look like it’s detached from the main diamonds. I’ve never seen anything like it. ‘Antique?’ I ask, abandoning the beauty for another beauty. I look up at him. He still looks nervous.
‘Art nouveau – 1898, to be precise.’
I smile as I shake my head in wonder. Of course he’ll be precise. ‘But it’s a ring.’ I finally steel myself to say the obvious. After today, Central Park, the tension, and Miller’s letter, this ring has just thrown me for a loop.
The box is suddenly gone from my grasp and placed to the side. He shifts to his backside, claims my hands, and tugs me forward until I’ve walked on my knees to between his thighs. I rest back on my haunches again and wait with bated breath for his words. I’ve no doubt they’re going to penetrate deeply, just as his crystal blue eyes are doing right now. He picks the box back up and holds it between us. The sparkles shooting off the exquisite piece are blinding. ‘This one here –’ he points to the diamond, the centrepiece – ‘it represents us.’
My palms cover my face, not wanting him to see the tears building in my eyes again, but I’m not blessed with privacy for long. He takes my hands and guides them to my lap, nodding his handsome head slowly in understanding.
‘This one –’ he points to one of the brilliant teardrop stones flanking the showpiece diamond – ‘is me.’ Then his finger drifts across to the matching one on the other side. ‘And this one represents you.’
‘Miller, I—’
‘Shhh.’ He places his fingertip on my lips and raises his dark eyebrows in gentle warning. Once he’s certain I will fulfil his wish to let him finish, he takes his attention back to the ring, and I can do nothing more than wait for him to finish his interpretation of what this ring signifies. His index finger rests on the teardrop diamond that represents me. ‘This gem is beautiful.’ The pad of his finger drifts across to the matching teardrop diamond. ‘It makes this one brighter. It complements it. But this one, the one that represents us –’ he rests his touch on the main gem and drags his gaze up to my stinging face – ‘this one is the brightest, most sparkling of them all.’ Executing one of his signature lazy blinks, he pulls the antique from the navy-blue velvet cushion, while I continue my internal battle to keep it together.
This perfectly imperfect man is more beautiful than I know he’ll ever accept, but I also appreciate that I really do make him a better man – not because I’m trying to change him but because he wants to be better. For me. He holds the ring up and glides his finger across the dozens of tiny stones that stem from the intricate peak. ‘And all of these shards of sparkles are those tingling fireworks we create together.’