We’re standing in front of the Eiffel Tower at some god-awful hour in the middle of winter. I’m a summer girl myself, but something about this place is magical during this season. Perhaps it’s the beautiful snowflakes falling around us or the twinkling lights from the tower. There’s also the sound of heavenly peace.
I breathe it all in—the beauty, the silence, and the man standing in front of me wearing a black Versace suit with no overcoat. Bearing the cold, yet still as dashing as the first moment I laid eyes on him three years ago.
“Em, there isn’t a day that goes past when I don’t imagine you in my life. We’ve been on this journey together, and the moment you walked into that restaurant I knew you were the one. Wearing that red dress… you looked absolutely breathtaking.” A puff of cold air escapes his mouth, followed by a nervous bite on my lip. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and only you.”
Wesley lowers himself to the ground on one knee, eyes fixed on me as he produces a small, black box. He flicks it open and inside sits a beautiful diamond ring. His eyes glaze over—a signature move he often does when he chokes up. And for a moment—if only a few seconds—I forget that the world is watching. It’s just him and me standing alone during this very intimate moment.
“Emerson Chase, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
The camera zooms in closer with Cliff watching behind the lens, his arms crossed. I try not to pay attention to the way his face has tightened or how his lips remain flat. Never a good sign.
Somewhere, deep inside, my heart asks if this man is the love of my life. If marrying Wesley is the best thing to happen to me. It’s all about relationship progression.
‘We can’t stay boyfriend and girlfriend forever.’ Words spoken by our publicist.
I begin to blink my eyes, and within moments, the tears build and one falls graciously down my cheek. “Yes.” I smile through that lonesome tear.
Wes’ face lights up with joy. His messy, brown hair flicks against the slight wind as he pulls the ring out of the box and slides it on my finger.
It’s beautiful.
I stare at it in complete and utter awe.
The rock is huge, no doubt some designer looking for a promotional opportunity. The second this image hits social media the ring will be sold out everywhere, and the designer will be laughing all the way to the bank.
In a swift and overexcited move, Wes pulls my body against his and kisses me deeply, moving his warm tongue against mine before pulling back with a grin on his face.
Wes is an attractive guy. Sweet, yet at times, arrogant and a know-it-all. The fans love him. The ultimate pin-up boy that every girl has in her bedroom and imagination. Yet, his boyish grin coupled with an exuberant attitude to make me his wife rubs off on me as the excitement slowly sinks in.
Holy shit! I’m getting married!
I take another look at my ring, glancing sideways to read the white cardboard that Cliff’s holding up. I should have practiced my lines, and Cliff’s annoyed face tells me he thinks the same.
“It’s such a beautiful ring,” I comment with a sheepish smile. “Where? How?”
Wes quickly kisses the tip of the ring while not letting go of my hand, holding them preciously as if they belong to him.
“Harry Winston, of course. Nothing less for my fiancée.”
“Fiancée,” I beam without effort. “I really like the sound of that.”
Wes runs his finger along the base of my jaw, tracing it with his eyes before raising them to meet mine.
Closing my eyes briefly, I take a breath and allow myself to feel this moment. This is it. The moment you imagined your entire life. The man you love proposing marriage. This is what all little girls dream about—Mr. Prince Charming, sweeping you away and creating this perfect memory that sets the foundation for a happily ever after.
“I love you, Em. Nothing will stop you from becoming my wife.”
“I love you, too,” I breathe slowly.
We both lean in for another kiss, lingering until Cliff yells, “Cut.”
Wes pulls away first but maintains his position. His body begins to shiver with the brutal cold finally settling in. “You like it?” He strains while his teeth shatter uncontrollably, cradling my waist in his arms and using my body to warm himself up.
“It’s beautiful,” I respond almost speechless and mesmerized by the exquisite piece of jewelry that now sits on my finger.
“Great work, guys, but we have one problem. Wesley, for fuck’s sake, you got the dress color wrong,” Cliff shouts, disgruntled, shoving his coffee cup into the chest of his assistant, causing the brown liquid to spill all over her white coat.
“I did?” Wes replies with a half-assed laugh.