by Ava Miles
The engagement ring he’d picked out after flying Dublin’s finest jeweler down to Cork City this morning was in his pocket, and Aileen, Caitlyn, his mother, and Aunt Clara had all helped him make his selection. The emerald was the same dark green as the Irish hills behind Becca’s land, one he hoped to walk with her someday. In his other hand was the wool he and Caitlyn had dyed secretly with Aileen’s help in the old kitchen. It was the perfect Kelly green, and Aileen assured Trevor that Becca was going to love it.
“Make sure to be romantic,” Caitlyn was saying, “Get down on your knee and tell her how much you love her—”
“I can manage that,” Trevor said.
“Good, because some guys’ proposals are so dumb. This guy I knew pretended to have a vehicle breakdown on the highway at rush hour, and when he and his girlfriend got out to change the tire, he proposed with all the cars watching. Talk about ridiculous! I mean who wants a proposal in a traffic jam? Some guys really need a woman’s input.”
“You’ve given me something better than mere input,” he said, kissing her cheek. “You developed the perfect green dye.”
“You can tell her it was mostly you if it helps seal the deal,” Caitlyn said. “Okay, go! What are you waiting for?”
J.T. laughed, and they shared a glance reminiscent of the one they’d shared on their graduation day from Stanford. Life was about to change, and they both knew it. “You’re going to rock this. Man, I’m so happy for you.”
Be happy for me when she agrees, he wanted to say, but Caitlyn would only call him a Negative Nancy. Even if she didn’t agree to marry him today, he’d ask her again.
He opened the door and tucked the wool behind his back. “Wish me luck.”
Caitlyn socked him in the chest. “You don’t need it. She’s a goner where you’re concerned. But tell her I won’t take no for an answer.”
He could well imagine it, and he found himself smiling as he walked up the stairs. Boru and Hatshep were standing there at the top, as if waiting for him. “You’d better not take my clothes out of here after this.”
Boru barked, wagging his tail, and Hatshep rubbed her head against his calf. Okay, they were on his side. Whew.
“Hey!” he called out, stepping into the sitting room. “I was hoping I would find you.”
“Where else would I be?” she asked from the sofa. She looked to be knitting the last of Arthur’s sweater.
He knew she was mad at herself for not being able to leave her chambers yet. After his family had left to go to bed last night, she’d tried to go downstairs. She’d gotten halfway down before sitting on the step beneath her, eyes clenched, breathing like she was asthmatic. He’d sat beside her and pulled her into his arms. “You got halfway down, babe. It’s still progress.” She hadn’t said a word.
“What do you have behind your back?” she asked as Trevor rounded the sofa and sat next to her. Boru barreled after him.
“It’s a secret,” he said, “for the moment. Can you set your knitting aside please?”
She made the last loop and then placed it on the coffee table. “Are you ready to talk?”
His stomach went queasy. The way she’d said that made him fear she wanted to talk about why they couldn’t be together long-term. Not a great way to start off a proposal. “Let me go first.”
“I’d rather—”
“Please.”
Her mouth twitched as if she were deciding. Then she stood up. “I need to call Cian about something first. Be right back.”
With that, she was off, heading toward the bedroom. He leaned back so she wouldn’t see the wool. Looking around for a good hiding place, he realized he could tuck it behind the pillow for the time being.
She was only gone for a few moments, but it felt like an eternity of solitude.
“Okay, I’m back,” she said cheerily enough, picking up Hatshep as she sat beside him again.
The Persian stared at him and then hopped off Becca’s lap, nudging the pillow where Trevor had hidden the wool. Was that a sign of where he’d do best to start? He decided to let the cat pull the wool out. She dragged it onto Becca’s lap.
Thanks for the assist, Hatshep.
“What’s this? Oh my goodness, it’s beautiful! The finest green I’ve ever come across.”
She was holding it up, pulling apart the strands and studying it like a scientist might a new particle or something. He puffed out his chest. “I wanted to do something special for you. Something to show you how much I love you and believe in you.”
Her eyes flashed to his. “You did this?”
“Well, Caitlyn and one of her plant experts helped, but I did a lot of research on the best green dyes. We have a recipe for you. Caitlyn partially came here to test it on your wool, and it’s composed of—”
“Oh, tell me later,” she said, launching herself at him and planting kisses up and down his entire face so sweetly he clutched her to him. Hatshep gave a meow and jumped off the sofa, followed by a bark from Boru. “You wonderful man! It’s the best present I’ve ever received.”
She was soft and sweet in his arms, and he brought her against his chest and savored the moment before pressing back. “It’s the first of many, I hope.” He untangled himself and got on one knee, pulling out the jewelry box and flicking it open with his thumb.
“Becca O’Neill,” he said, his gaze steady on her shocked face. “I love you. I can’t imagine living without you. I told you I want to marry you, but now I’m asking you. Before you give your answer, let me tell you why you should take a chance on us.”
“Trevor, I—”
“Please, Becca, let me speak. This is…important for me to say.”
She nodded, and he reached for her hands.
“Becca, I knew I loved you the first time I saw you in the old kitchen, sunlight streaming over you, and you told me all about the wool you’d dyed with your own hands.” He squeezed them. “I want to be your partner in every single way. And this condition you think is a reason for us to be apart? I’ll be behind you all the way, helping you get where you want to go. I only ask that you let me share your life.”
Tears were running down her face, and she gripped his hand.
“I promise you that we’ll face whatever comes to both of us. Together.”
She took a deep breath, but she was smiling, and that had to be a good thing, right?
“Go look out the window,” she said, throwing him off balance.
The window? Why in the hell would he look out the window?
“I’m proposing here.” He jiggled the box in case she’d forgotten.
“I know you are,” she said, kissing him on the cheek, “and quite sweetly. Did Caitlyn help you with the ring? It’s brilliant, by the way.”
He could feel frustration rising. “I had a little help, sure. Becca, are you going to answer me?”
She gave him a look. “Are you going to go to the window?”
“Fine, I’ll go to the window.” Nerves clawed at his guts. “You know, I was trying to be romantic. Caitlyn told me some guys need help, and here I thought I’d done a good job.” He charged to the window. “It’s a fine sunny day out. Calm sea. Not a breath of wind.”
Her heard her chuckle and turned around. “Are you laughing at me?”
“Keep looking,” she said, her mouth twitching.
He swung his head back and scanned the yard. Then he heard a familiar hum and looked down. Standing directly under the window was Buttercup, and a sign hung around her neck. He squinted in the sunlight to make it out.
Will you marry me?
Rocking back on his heels, he put his hands on his waist. Then he spun around to face her. “Did Flynn put you up to this or something?” Surely his brother would know better than to play such a prank on the day he knew Trevor planned to propose. Wait, did she think Trevor had made the sign?
“Becca,” he said with new urgency, “I didn’t make that sign.” That was on par with the guy proposing in rush hour traffic.
/>
This time she fell back laughing on the sofa. “I know you didn’t make the sign, Trevor.” Her eyes were dancing when they met his. “I did.”
“You did?” His mouth parted for a moment as shock rolled over him. “But why? If this is your idea of a joke, let me be clear. I do not want to marry Buttercup. I want to marry you.”
She stood and walked to him. “It’s not Buttercup who’s asking to marry you with that sign. It’s me. I thought you might need a little encouragement since I put up such a fuss the other day. That’s why I wanted to go first.”
Oh, thank God. “You should have insisted on it,” he said, his face breaking into a smile.
“I liked hearing what you had to say,” she said, touching his arm.
“What changed your mind?” he asked.
“If you’ll let me get a word in, I’ll tell you, Trevor Merriam.”
He shut up.
* * *
Becca touched Trevor’s strong jaw, her heart filling with the warmth of her love for him. “It was a million things, both big and small. It was the way you slept beside me in the closet when I was at my worst, and the way you walked behind me as I forced myself to leave it.”
He cupped her face, his eyes alight with love. “I’ll always be there.”
“I know,” she said, putting her hand over his heart. “When you came here at first, I couldn’t reconcile the man you were with your mission, but I soon learned you were everything I’d ever dreamed of finding in a partner. Steadfast. Fair. Easy on the eyes. Charming. Supportive. And loyal.”
She reached inside her shirt and brought out the St. Christopher’s medal he’d placed around her neck.
“When you gave me this and told me about your Grandpa Noah and Grandma Anna, I started to dream about us making it as husband and wife. When you were asleep last night, I snuck out here and read the letters they wrote during the war, and something Anna said really stuck with me.”
He swallowed thickly. “What was it?”
“She said she was tired of letting fear run her life. She was just going to love your Grandfather Noah, not knowing what would happen or what would come of it. She only knew her love for him couldn’t be stopped. Not by a war. Not by anything. I realized that’s how I love you.”
“Oh, baby,” he said, stroking her cheek.
“Trevor, I don’t know how well I’ll become or if I’ll ever be cured, but I won’t give up. I’ll try this new psychiatrist, and if he doesn’t help, we’ll find someone else. But I promise you… I’m never going to let it stop me from loving you or any children we have, and I’ll never let my fear stop me from becoming more and living a better life. And yes, I want to share my life with you.”
She held out her hand. “So let’s make this official. Then we can see if I can make it out of my chambers because I very much feel like celebrating with your family.”
He slid the ring onto her finger, and it didn’t surprise her at all that it was a perfect fit.
He was the perfect fit for her, and she looked out across the sea, imagining the stars she’d seen that night they’d made love on the window seat. Her mind conjured up the same dream, of the two of them holding hands and walking out toward the cliffs with their children running ahead of them, the sunlight streaming down on them all, the scent of wild roses fragrant in the air.
She willed it to happen, and being Irish and believing in magic, she knew it would come true.
Because true love created miracles.
Epilogue
Another engagement in the bag, Arthur thought, as he and Clara returned to Honeysuckle Cottage.
“We did fine work here, Clara,” he said, glancing up at the midnight Irish sky filled with stars. “I’m going to miss this place.”
“We’ll be back,” she said, taking his hand and pulling him inside. She was a determined woman sometimes.
He kissed her slowly, and she sighed in his arms. Yes, they’d celebrated the new engagement with her family, and he’d had more than a few whiskeys, but he felt young and vital again. “It’s like I’ve drunk from the fountain of youth.”
She had the audacity to laugh, but that’s why he loved her so. “We’re each other’s fountains of youth, you idiot. I thought you knew that.”
He did, but she could only handle a few compliments a day. “So where to after this, my love? Back to Dare Valley?” Goodness, he missed his family there, but his granddaughter Jill kept him up on all the news with her infernal texts and emoticons. Sometimes he was downright afraid the entire English language would be replaced by a string of smiley faces and other symbols, like some technology-inspired cuneiform. He hoped he’d be dead before that ever happened.
Clara linked her arms around his neck. “I figure we go home for a spell and then head to the south of France.”
Forgoing kissing her, he asked, “Whatever for? Do they have a crystal factory there or something?”
Her hard look only made him grin. “No, you silly man. Caitlyn plans to pitch her new perfume enterprise to Quinn soon, and if all goes well—”
“Which it will.” He’d seen that girl in action. No man in his right mind could turn down her brains and enthusiasm.
“Exactly, so I figure we fly out there after she settles in. Becca has inspired Caitlyn to go to the source of her product.”
“And that is?” he asked.
Her sigh gusted out, and she got that very female look on her face, one he knew meant romance. “Flowers.”
Oh, brother.
* * *
Caitlyn surveyed the rosewood double door to Quinn’s office.
Even though his assistant had told her she could go in, she needed a minute to compose herself. She wanted this bad, and she had to get her way.
“What are you waiting for?” Michaela asked, popping out of her seat and grabbing her by the shoulders. “This is a walk in the park.”
“A piece of cake,” she echoed, grateful her sister had agreed to accompany her to the Big Bad Wolf’s office. “My report is solid.”
“It’s better than solid,” Michaela said, pushing her toward the door. “Not only do you have the product plan, but you have a crazy ingenious marketing plan. How could Quinnie boy say no?”
Because it wasn’t Quinnie boy on the other side of the door. It was Quinn Merriam, M.B.A, Esquire, and total badass vice president of Merriam Enterprises, only second to the number one badass, Connor Merriam. They didn’t eat children for breakfast, but they’d made more than one person lose their lunch from nerves. She was determined not to go that route.
But she wanted this new challenge. Craved it. Dreamed about it. Was slightly obsessed by it.
“Okay, I’m going in.” She stormed to the door and yanked one side open.
Quinn immediately looked up from the papers arranged in perfect angles on his desk. “Don’t pull the hinges off.”
Great. What an opening salvo. She closed the door softly and crossed the room in her Manolo Blahnik Hangisi Floral Lace Crystal-Toe Pumps, the heels a subtle advertisement for her new venture, as was the moonflower pin on her navy suit jacket’s lapel.
“Let’s get this started,” Quinn said, coming around his desk. “I’m running a little behind today.”
She almost rolled her eyes, but she was a Merriam employee right now and not his sister. “I’ll do my best to be short and sweet.”
They walked over to his oval side table, a notable exception to the crisp geometric appearance of the rest of his office. Modern art hung on the walls and the London sky outside the large floor-to-ceiling window was foggy, obscuring his breathtaking view of the Thames. Good, she didn’t need the distraction.
She slid her report in front of him. “I know you’ve probably read it.”
“Seriously?” he asked.
Was that an eye roll from the Big Bad Wolf?
“I always read the report, Caitlyn. Let me make sure I understand the high points. You think there’s a market for a boutique perfume from farm to va
nity table, so to speak.”
Clever way to put it, bro.
“I don’t just think it,” she said, folding her trembling hands in her lap. “I know it. Let me tell you why. Every market is trying to show a connection to local farms, whether by marketing stories about the farmers who make their products or telling the customer where something was raised—with organic materials, no less. Currently, there are few companies marketing pure plant essences, and they haven’t been selling them as high-end perfume.”
“Yes, as an essence,” he said, sitting back. “I read your report. Why do you think you can sell a perfume that’s organic?”
“Because I’m going to up the magic factor,” she said, knowing he wouldn’t like that word. “Hear me out. It’s one thing to have a spectacular perfume. It’s another to create something that women crave, and do you know what that is?”
“I’d like to think I do,” he said, “but go ahead and tell me.”
“They want a fantasy,” she said, drawing out that last word. “Most perfume marketing campaigns use beautiful women who are actresses or famous models to target women. I think that’s effective in only certain cases where a woman believes she can be as desirable as the woman in the ad. I mean, seriously. Take Charlize Theron in the Dior ads. How many women do you know think they can be that beautiful and sexy?”
His lips twitched. “I’m listening.”
“But use one of the world’s most compelling men,” she continued, “the kind of man every woman wants to be with, the kind of exemplary man who seems to love all women simply because they’re women?”
“Such a male paragon exists? Let me guess. It’s Flynn, right?”
She almost laughed. “In his dreams probably. But the research I’ve done suggests I’ve landed on the perfect candidate.”
“Is he an athlete?” he asked.
“No. Too violent for some women.” She hadn’t included this part in her report, and she knew she’d hooked his interest.
“Let me guess again. A celebrated actor?”
