He drags both hands through his hair, then spins to face me, eyes blazing. “We need to speed up the marriage.”
The air leaves my lungs. I knew this was coming, but hearing it—seeing the desperation in his eyes—makes the whole thing feel terrifyingly real.
Worth stalks to his desk, yanks open a drawer, and pulls out a small black box.
He flips the lid open and pushes it toward me, like it’s a line item on a to-do list instead of a life-altering moment.
I stare at the ring, heat crawling up my neck. Not because it’s ugly—of course it’s not. It’s massive, sparkling. But the way he presented it…
Wow.Soromantic. Truly, every girl’s dream.
“This is how you propose?” I’m unable to keep the bite from my voice. “Out of a desk drawer, as if you’re handing me a stapler?”
Worth’s jaw ticks. For a moment, I think he’ll snap back, but instead he says, “Do you think I don’t know how this looks? That this isn’t how a man should ask a woman to marry him?” He exhales hard through his nose. “I don’t have the luxury of romance right now, Mya. I have a daughter to protect. And if I have to look like an asshole to do so, then so be it.”
The words hit me square in the chest, deflating my sarcasm.
Damn him for using the Brianna card right now.
My hand hovers over the ring, and I slowly lift it from the box. The diamond catches the office light, scattering it across the glass walls. For a second, I let myself imagine this is real.
I slide it onto my finger, almost tentatively; it fits perfectly. How did he know my ring size?
When I glance back at Worth, his eyes are locked on me.
I clear my throat, suddenly unsure what to do with the air between us. “Okay. So… what’s next?”
He exhales, then straightens, like he’s already building the plan in his head.
“We’re going to Paris.”
31
WORTH
The words leave my mouth as calmly as if I’d just said we were going for coffee.
Mya blinks at me, mouth parting, brow furrowing. “What?”
I steeple my fingers. “Paris. The city of love. We leave Friday.”
She’s still staring at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. “I—what do you meanwe’regoing to Paris?”
I can’t help the smirk tugging at my lips. “Exactly what it sounds like. A weekend trip. You, me, a few staged photos. And… our wedding.”
She jerks back. “Ourwhat?”
I push off my desk and walk toward her, slowly. “Think about it. People know about us now. The tabloids are circling. The headlines are everywhere. If we play this like it was a spur-of-the-moment decision—two people madly in love, swept away by the magic of Paris—it sells the story. No one will question it.”
Mya shakes her head, curls bouncing around her face. “No one just runs off to Paris to get married, Worth.”
“They do when they’re rich and in love. And that’s exactly what they’ll believe.”
I can see the battle waging in her eyes—logic versus the reality of what we’ve already set into motion. “This is crazy.”
“Crazy,” I agree, taking her hand, my thumb brushing her knuckles, “but believable. And believable is what we need right now.”
Mya finally exhales, like she’s given in to a battle. “Fine. Paris it is. But right now, I need to get back to work before Seraya hunts me down.”