Tugging my tie lose, I walked into our bedroom. What had been only an efficient space for sleeping was now the obvious setting where two people shared a life. Fiona’s robe was draped over an armchair nearest the closet. She kept a stack of books on the nightstand, two novels and one non-fiction—always keeping up in her field.
Guilt sliced into me like a paper cut. Was I holding her back? The woman had her doctorate, and there was no doubt she was needed in her field, and yet here she was, applying all her expertise to Skye and Skye alone.
I heard rustling in the closet as I kicked off my shoes. “Fiona? You in here?”
“Hmmm?”
“Skye went down like a dream.” Socks, tie, dress shirt—they all made it to the hamper. I started to unbuckle my belt when Fiona stepped out of the closet. My heart stopped.
Her eyes were wide and there was a slight tremble in her lips, but her hand…her fisted hand actually shook.
“Sweetheart?” I asked softly. Was there a mouse in there? Wait…was Fiona even scared of mice?
“I…” She shook her head, walking slowly to where I stood at the center of the room. “I…don’t even know how to ask this.”
My stomach churned at the expression of absolute horror on her face. “Fiona, what’s wrong? Just ask. There’s nothing I won’t tell you.” As ugly as parts of my past were, I never shied away from them.
“I was putting away your laundry—”
“I told you to let the housekeeper do that,” I interrupted. “You already do so much—”
“—and when I was putting your socks away—”
Oh. Fuck.
My eyes widened and a knot the size of the arena set up shop in my throat. This wasn’t happening. Right? I hadn’t really been that stupid to put it there…
“—and I found this.” She rotated her wrist and opened her fist, revealing the small, black velvet box I’d foolishly stashed in my sock drawer right before flying out a few days ago.
“Right.” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This right here is why I’d never be cut out for romance. Sterling would have hidden it better. Cannon had probably been smoother and he’d been blitzed out of his mind when he’d married Persephone. Me? I had a sock drawer ring.
“Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.” Color drained from her face, and she swallowed, her eyes searching mine with a frenzy I could almost taste. “And I know I shouldn’t have picked it up. It’s none of my business what’s in here. I shouldn’t be holding it, but I saw it, and suddenly it was in my hand, and I’ve probably been staring at it for ten minutes.”
“Fiona,” I cupped her cheek and brushed my thumb over her soft skin. “There’s no reason to panic.”
“Brogan, is this a ring?”
Shit, was that really panic in her voice? Or possible excitement? I mean, wasn’t this what all women wanted? A whirlwind, passionate relationship that ended with someone playing Here Comes the Bride? It was all my female cousins had talked about growing up.
“I mean,” Fiona started to babble. “It’s just a box, right? Or it could be earrings?” Her eyebrows rose. “Or maybe a nice…broach?”
“What the hell is a broach?”
“Okay, not a broach.” She nibbled on her lower lip and it took everything in me not to suck it free and kiss her. “Or maybe it’s something for Skye?”
“It’s for you.” I took the box from her hand and studied her face, trying—and failing—to get a read on what she really wanted it to be. “But here’s the deal. We can just put it back, Fiona. We can pretend you never saw it and we can deal with whatever has you scared shitless another day.”
“I want to know what it is,” she said softly. “I need to know.” Something flashed in her eyes—a heartbeat of hope that eclipsed the panic.
“Okay.” My pulse skyrocketed. I was really about to do this. “I was out in LA a few weeks ago, and I stopped by my security deposit box. We’re not supposed to be out there again this year, and I wanted to have it here for when the timing was right.”
“The timing?” she whispered.
I nodded. “It’s my mother’s ring.” I fidgeted with the box, opening it a centimeter or two before letting it snap shut. “I had it sized. For you. It’s for you.”
“Oh, Brogan.” Her eyes shone.
“I know this is new between us, but Fiona…you’re it for me. I know it with every fiber of my being. I feel it every time we kiss, every time I touch you. I can’t imagine a single day of the rest of my life without you in it.” The words fell out of my mouth. “Whether it’s next week, next month, or next year, I want you to be my wife.” I turned the box toward her. “And I’ll get down on one knee, if that’s what you’re ready for—”
“No!” She closed the box before I could get it open.
I was going to be sick. Right here. Right now.
“I mean, not yet, not…no.” She covered my hand with hers and squeezed gently, blinking quickly.
“Okay.” Air filled my lungs and my heart started beating again. “Do you want to see it?” Fine, there was a slightly hopeful pitch to my voice.
“No!” She shook her head vehemently.
“Okay.” My fist closed around the box tightly.
“Shit, why isn’t anything coming out right?” She flinched, then took a couple of deep breaths. Good, at least one of us was processing oxygen. “I mean, yes, I want to see it. I’m sure it’s beautiful, Brogan. But I know that if I get even just a peek at what’s in that box, I’m going try it on, and then all logical thought will go flying out the window, and I just need some time, you know?”
Was that…fear in her eyes?
“I wasn't planning on proposing tonight. I just wanted to have it ready.”
“Because you’re organized.”
“Because I’m organized.” I nodded.
“But then I found it.” Her nose crinkled in apology.
“But then you found it.” I tucked the box into my pocket.
“Time is fine, Fiona. We have nothing but time.” It was the truth, and I’d never push her into something she didn’t want or wasn’t ready for. But damn, I hadn’t realized just how badly I’d wanted it until this very moment. How ready for this I was. How…slightly disappointed I was that she held onto the very logic I’d long since abandoned when it came to her.
I walked away and tucked the ring back into my sock drawer. It wasn’t like I needed to hide it anymore.
“Brogan?” she called my name softly.
“Hmm?” I shut the drawer and undid my belt as I came out of the closet.
She was leaned back against the bed—our bed, worrying that damn lower lip with her teeth again. “Would you have asked me tonight?” she whispered.
Drawn to her like a magnet, I crossed the floor to stand in front of her, close enough that the tips of her breasts rose against my chest with every breath she took. “If you’d wanted me to.”
“Really?” A slight smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and she looked at me with such wonder that my chest swelled.