Forty Day Fiancé (Sassy in the City 3)

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“It is. But I still want to cover my bases.”

I was momentarily rendered speechless by the whole situation. My mouth kept opening and shutting like a clam.

“There isn’t a lot of risk involved for you,” he said. “Just a forty-day commitment.”

I poured more wine from the bottle, then decided not to drink it. I needed a clear head for this conversation. “You don’t think this is totally insane?”

Michael reached over and placed his hand on mine. His thumb rubbed my flesh in a gentle, arousing circle.

“Don’t tell me you don’t feel it. The connection between us. It’s real and I don’t want you to leave.” His eyes were dark, his voice low, hypnotic. Sexy. “I don’t want something incredible to disappear before it even starts.”

He’d said there wasn’t a lot of risk involved for me. But that was a complete falsehood. I could waste forty days in a disaster when I could have spent that time relocating. I could get in trouble with the government. I could get my heart broken. Because what if I wanted to stay with him and he wanted me to leave at the end of our little social experiment?

That would be bollocks. Plain and simple.

All of that.

But what did I say? “I don’t want it to disappear either.”

Michael pushed his chair back and reached into his pocket. He went down on a knee next to me.

A fucking knee. He was on a knee.

I heard a strangled sound come out of my mind or maybe it was my imagination. I did momentarily see black and thought I was going to pass out but it receded as quickly as it arrived.

“Felicia, will you marry me?”

A cushion cut diamond ring in a platinum setting appeared out of a box that was Tiffany blue.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” was my actual answer.

* * *

I hadn’t thought a yes was a guarantee. Not at all. But I also hadn’t envisioned her repeatedly saying fuck. I probably should have warned her. I had wanted a genuine reaction but this was a little too genuine.

“The waitress has my phone,” I murmured, low enough that no one else could hear but her. “Documentation for an interview later.”

That made her close her mouth and purse her lips in understanding before she gave me a wide-eyed nod.

“Is that a yes?” I asked, much louder.

“Yes. It’s a yes.”

Her hand was shaking when I put the ring on her finger. It looked good there.

The other diners erupted into applause.

She gave me a look of amazement. “Bloody hell,” she said. “It’s fucking beautiful.”

That made me laugh. I stood up and pulled her up out of the chair. “Give me a kiss.”

She did and it was hotter than I was expecting. It was like she poured all of her confusion and frustration into that kiss. I had to step back before I got hard in the restaurant. I turned, holding her hand, and smiled at the half dozen tables with diners. “Thank you. I’m a lucky man.”

Felicia smiled and gave a little wave in everyone’s direction. I held her hand until she was back sitting. She put her hand out and stared at the ring in awe. I actually had zero clue what she was thinking.

It had been a bold move on my part, getting that ring. But if you don’t aim for the stands, you’ll never hit a homerun. I’d figured if I ate the ring, so what? If we were going to pull this off, both for Immigration and for ourselves, long-term, we had to play it as if it was real.