Page 184 of His Good Girl

“Oh, God,” I whispered.

He looked at me, and the man who had built towers and made entire rooms behave was suddenly just a man kneeling on one knee with his heart in his eyes.

“I love you.”

His words broke something open in me.

He had said them before, privately, in bed, in the kitchen, once in an elevator when he thought I was asleep against his shoulder and I had not reacted because I had wanted to hear what his voice sounded like when it believed no one was listening. This was different. This was spoken directly to me, and I couldn’t help the little gasp that escaped my throat.

“I love you,” he said again, as if the first time had not nearly killed me. “Not because of your father. Not because I promised him anything. Not because you needed help and I liked being needed. I love you because you are brave in the exact ways you think you’re weakest. Because you make every room you enter brighter. Because you can be terrified and still stand strong. Because you see me too clearly and stay with me anyway.”

My eyes filled.

“I am not asking for a quiet woman to stand behind me,” he continued. “I am not asking for someone to make my life simpler. God knows you have never made anything simpler.”

A laugh broke through my tears and his smile softened.

“I am asking for you, Avery,” he said. “The woman who walked into my office with a crooked badge and a questionable resume and somehow took apart everything I thought I had settled. The woman who makes me better by refusing to let me become noble in ways that cost other people too much. The woman I want beside me for the rest of my life.”

He took the ring from the box.

“Avery Hale,” he said, his voice rough now, “will you marry me?”

For once in my life, I did not have a joke ready.

I looked at him. At the ring. At his hands. At the man who had given me doors, choices, rules, praise, pleasure, consequences, work, scandal, safety, and a love that did not ask me to become smaller so it could fit around me.

“Yes,” I whispered.

His eyes closed for a moment and then he slid the ring onto my finger. It fit perfectly. Callum lifted my hand and kissed my knuckles.

I should have been dignified.

I burst into tears.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, rising enough to pull me into his arms.

“I’m fine,” I sobbed into his shoulder.

“You are absolutely not.”

“I’m happy.”

“I know.”

Callum drew back enough to look at me. “What is it?”

“I need a minute.”

His expression changed immediately, concern sharpening through tenderness. “Avery?”

“No, not that kind of minute.” I wiped under my eyes carefully. “A different minute.” I stood, my legs still shaking, and reached for the garment bag. “I’ll be right back,” I said.

The bathroom attached to the private dining room was absurd. Marble, brass, flattering light, enough space to hold a minordiplomatic summit. I hung the red dress carefully on the back of the door because I was newly engaged, not feral, then changed into the black pencil skirt and ivory blouse with hands that shook less than I expected. The skirt fit smoothly over my hips, tight through the thighs, and tighter at the knee. I tucked in the blouse, left two buttons undone, slipped on a pair of red stilettos, and looked at myself in the mirror.

I took a deep breath and then opened the door. Callum was standing near the fireplace when I came out. He turned and every part of him went still. His gaze moved over my whole body once, slow enough now that there was no pretending he was being polite.

“There,” I said, voice unsteady but presumably mine. “Now I’m wearing it. My answer is the same now as it was then.”