The Wrong Gentleman

“Really?” I asked. I hoped that wasn’t the case.

She followed my gaze as the light display started. The stone walls that surrounded us on all four sides became screens as lasers projected the question “Marry me?” on one wall in large, red writing and then on the opposite wall, and then on the south wall and then on the north. The words began to slide across the walls, disappearing and then reappearing, dancing across the stone.

Openmouthed, Skylar watched the show.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her. “I thought you deserved a proposal that was a little more romantic. In front of your family.” I glanced over at Hayden, Avery, and August, who were huddled in a corner of the rink, watching.

She sucked in a breath, her eyes glistening with tears.

“Skylar, look at me.” She glanced down at my chest and then up into my eyes. “Will you let me love you for the rest of our lives? Ice skating or yachting, rain or shine, in London or Monaco. Say you’ll marry me?”

She seemed to take forever to respond, as if the ice we were standing on had frozen her still. “Of course I’ll marry you.” A grin curled around her words.

I nodded. “Good,” I replied, trying to hold myself back from screaming out loud about how fucking lucky I was.

“Good,” she replied, mocking my timbre and accent. “My very-British fiancé.”

I grinned and pressed my lips to hers as I lifted her off the ice then put her back down again.

“I might just change my mind about this holiday,” she said.

“I want to turn every bad memory you ever had into a good one,” I replied. That was my only mission now.

“I just want to create new ones with you,” she replied.

I bent down and pressed my lips to hers, kissing her like it was my job, ignoring the jeers and whistles from my brother and the girls.

Nothing but Skylar mattered and, despite the cold, I’d always be warm with her by my side.