A Ruthless Proposition

by Natasha Anders

  Her hands flew up to her mouth to stifle her gasp, and she simply stared at him in shock.

  “I love you and you keep leaving me,” he said angrily.

  “Well, it’s not like I knew you loved me,” she said logically, and he glared at her.

  “I know I’ve been an asshole,” he said, his voice earnest. “And that it’s probably hard to imagine yourself ever caring for me or loving me, but I’m trying to change and—”

  “Dante,” she interrupted him firmly, “let’s get two things straight. You haven’t been an asshole for a very, very long time. But I couldn’t trust you with my heart because I thought all you wanted was the baby, and I didn’t want a marriage like that.”

  “Would you trust me with your heart now?” he asked tentatively, one finger reaching out to stroke the back of her hand in a feather-light touch.

  “That was the second thing. It’s pretty easy for me to imagine myself in love with you.”

  “Sí?” he asked, hope blooming in his dark eyes.

  “Yep.”

  He edged closer, crowding her back against the sofa and twisting until his hands were braced on the back of the sofa and his torso was hovering above hers.

  “Care to elaborate on that?” he asked.

  “I think I’ve been the asshole,” she said, and he made a protesting sound. “Even after you showed me what a good guy you could be, starting with your immediate refusal to allow me to pay for my own medical bills, right up until Zach’s farewell, I still doubted that you could really care for me. Now maybe that’s just me lacking a whole lot of self-confidence, but it’s also in part because I never really believed in you. And I’m so sorry, Dante.”

  “I’m sorry too,” he whispered against her lips. “I didn’t give you much reason to trust me.”

  “So, now what?” she asked.

  “A couple of things,” he said, digging into his jacket pocket and tugging out a long black jeweler’s box. “Your Christmas present.”

  She took the box from him and held it in her hands, a little overwhelmed by everything that was happening. A Christmas present. How did she always keep underestimating him, despite all the evidence pointing to the fact that he was a good man? Cleo had never felt more foolish or more humble than she did in that moment.

  “Open it,” he urged, and she cracked the box open and gasped when she saw what was nestled inside. It was a tiny, heart-shaped gold pendant, with a minute off-center diamond catching the light. The pendant hung from a delicate chain.

  “It’s lovely,” she said, smiling.

  “I don’t know how you’re going to feel about this, but it seemed like the right thing to do at the time,” he said quietly, and she peered up at him curiously.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I removed a small portion of Zach’s ashes from his urn the night before we scattered them and had this pendant made for you. I thought that maybe after you’ve had time to think about it, you’d like the idea of carrying part of him close to your heart at all times.”

  “Are you saying the ashes are in here?” she asked in disbelief. The heart looked boxy but absolutely seamless except for the small holes running through the top for the chain. As she inspected it, she noticed the curling script on the back of the pendant.

  “They, uh . . . they seal it after they place the ashes inside. There’s a little indentation close to the bottom of the heart where they inserted the ashes.”

  “Oh, Dante!” she cried, not really hearing his nervous words, as she read the script. “It’s beautiful.”

  Zach, remembered forever.

  “You don’t mind?” he asked, and she flung her arms around his waist and hugged him close.

  “No, I don’t mind,” she said as she put the beautiful pendant on, turning slightly for him to fasten it for her. “It means so much. Just so much.”

  “I have one too.” He tugged on a leather cord around his neck and dragged out an infinitely more masculine silver hoop. It wasn’t very big, and again she couldn’t see how it could possibly contain the ashes, but it was beautiful and had the same sentiment engraved on the outer loop.

  “And the . . . the second thing.” He sounded really nervous, and she leaned back, her joy at the gift momentarily forgotten as she stared at him in fascination. He fumbled around in his jacket pockets again and this time produced a square box.

  “So, I’m going to ask you again. I’ve asked you a million times already, Cleo, and I’m probably not asking again after this. Probably. So you’d better consider my question carefully.” He was rambling, and Cleo could only stare at him with what she knew was a besotted grin on her face. She had never really seen him this nervous before, and it was absolutely adorable. A word she wouldn’t previously have associated with Dante Damaso. He smoothed down his hair, straightened his tie, and then, quite unexpectedly, dropped to one knee in front of her.

  “So, Cleopatra Pandora Knight . . .” She winced at the use of her full name. “Will you marry me? Because like I said before, my life is shit without you, and I love the hell out of you.”

  “You going to show me the ring, champ?” she asked pointedly. “My answer may well hinge on the size of the rock you got me.”

  “Mercenary woman,” he said without heat. He flipped open the box, and Cleo gasped.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said reverently. It was a deep square-cut emerald bordered by smaller diamonds.

  “It matches your eyes almost exactly,” he said, removing the ring from its velvet cushion.

  “I love you so much,” she said, feeling completely overwhelmed by the depth of her feeling for him.

  “So you’ll marry me?”

  “If I must,” she said, striving for casual even though her eyes were heavy with tears. She held out her hand, and he kissed her ring finger before sliding the ring onto it.

  “No more running away from me, Cleo,” he warned. “Talk to me next time.”

  “I left because I loved you so much,” she said seriously, and he cupped her face in the palms of his hands.

  “Next time stay because I love you so much.”

  “There won’t be a next time, Dante.”

  “That’s all I ask for.” He kissed her deeply, and by the time he ended the kiss, she was straddling his lap, his tie was undone, and his shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest.

  “I’ve missed you,” she said, and leaned in for another drugging kiss, which he happily reciprocated, his hands cupping her butt. “I’m sorry I left. The first time you proposed, I thought you wanted to marry me because of Zach, and I never wanted you to feel trapped or obligated to marry. After he died, I thought we were just helping each other cope with the grief.”

  “No more talk. I’ve missed more than your weird sense of humor and your appalling taste in movies, you know,” he said seriously.

  “Oh?”

  “Yep, I’ve missed tasting this mouth,” he growled, before leaning up to do just that. It wasn’t nearly long enough or satisfying enough. “And I’ve missed this highly cuppable little bum.” Again, action to match his words. Cleo squirmed with excitement and wondered where he was going next. “Oh God, and these sensitive little beauties have haunted my dreams.” Her breath quickened in anticipation, and she wriggled on his lap, excited for what was to come. “My mouth has been empty without them to . . .”

  “Well, hello.” The masculine voice coming from such close proximity shocked the hell out of both of them. Cleo squealed and tried to jump off Dante’s lap, but his palms flattened against her hips and kept her in place.

  “You stay right there. At least until after I’ve managed to lose the hard-on,” he warned under his breath, and she collapsed against his chest in a fit of giggles, hiding her face from Cal, whom neither of them had heard come home.

  “Nice to see you again, Mr. D,” Cal said in a voice that sounded wholly insincere.

  “You might as well call me Dante, since you’ll be seeing so much more of me in the future
.”

  “And why would that be?” Cal asked.

  Keeping her face buried in Dante’s chest, not so much because of embarrassment but because it smelled so wonderful there, Cleo held up her left hand for Cal’s inspection.

  He gasped and grabbed her hand.

  “Now that’s a serious rock,” Cal said. “’Bout time you made an honest woman out of her.” His tone changed, going deeper and more serious. “I wanted to tell you I was sorry to hear about the baby. It just about broke my heart. You have my sympathies.”

  “Thank you, Callum,” Dante said sincerely. “That means a lot.”

  “So, look . . . this is a onetime deal. I’m gonna take some clothes and head over to a friend’s and stay the night. Knock yourselves out, but do not, for the love of God, have sex on my bed!”

  Cleo sniggered, and after an experimental wiggle, figured it was safe to climb off Dante’s lap. She launched herself at Cal and hugged him fiercely.

  “Thank you,” she said. “For everything.”

  “Anytime, hon. Anytime.”

  A couple of hours later, sated and exhausted, Dante and Cleo lounged on the sleeper couch, completely naked.

  “I’ve never made love on a sleeper couch before,” he said bemusedly, and Cleo giggled. She felt absurdly happy.

  “It’s called slumming it.”

  “I mean, we could have gone to the Damaso International Hotel on the Golden Mile,” he said, referencing Durban’s famous beach strip. “But the thought never even occurred to me.”

  “So . . . some stuff to talk about,” she said, toying with his pendant as she sat on his lap.

  “Hmm.” He looked and sounded exhausted.

  “I hate that penthouse; we’re getting a real house.”

  “Bossy,” he said on a yawn.

  “And we’re having a proper wedding with a big white dress and a tux and everything, but you’re paying for it because I’m totally poor.” He snorted as his hands roamed absently up and down her slender back.

  “We’re honeymooning in Japan,” he added. “And going to each and every page marked off in your travel guide.”

  “How do you know about that?” she asked, stunned. As far she knew, he’d never even noticed her guide.

  “Please, you were poring over that thing every time we were in the car with Daisuke, asking him questions about places that interested you in the book. Most evenings, I had Daisuke drive by some of those places so that, even though we didn’t have the time to properly visit them, you could have a sense of what they were like.”

  “I wondered if that was your doing,” she said. It had been a kind and considerate gesture, to say the least.

  “I also happened to leaf through the book one day while you were in the bathroom.”

  “Sneaky,” she tut-tutted.

  “Hey, it was just lying there, in full view at the top of your handbag,” he joked.

  “I also wanted to discuss children,” she said, and he went still, obviously bracing himself for something. “I’d like to hold off on another baby for a couple of years, if that’s okay.”

  “That’s fine with me, dulzura. I get to have you all to myself for a while.” He looked so relieved by her comment that she was curious.

  “What were you expecting me to say?” she asked.

  “I was concerned that maybe you never wanted another one.”

  “What would you have done if that were the case?”

  He considered her question carefully.

  “I would have left you to think it over a little longer, and in a few years’ time I would have asked you to reconsider. If you were still adamantly against it, I would have tried steering you toward adoption.”

  “You wouldn’t have minded?”

  “I would have minded very much, but your happiness is my happiness,” he said simply, and she cupped his stubbled jaw between the palms of her hands and kissed him.

  “I also want you to draw up a prenuptial contract,” she said quietly, and he went still beneath her. Every muscle in his body froze.

  “We don’t have to.”

  “We do,” she said. “You’re not your father, Dante, so don’t be stupid. Draw up the contract.”

  “But I’m happy to share everything I have with you.”

  “And that’s fabulous, but I want you to approach this union as you would have approached marriage to your boring dream woman. Draw up a contract that you know we’ll never use because we love and respect each other too much for the ugly notion of divorce to ever enter our heads. Do it for me. Make sure I don’t take you for every penny you own.”

  “You’re a weird and wonderful woman, Cleopatra Knight.”

  “God, I wish you’d stop calling me that! And don’t you ever use my middle name again, Dante Aloysius Damaso,” she said, and he scowled. “Remember, I can dish the dirt too.”

  “I have some rules for you too,” he said. “They’re pretty simple. You allow me to finance a studio for you so that you can start teaching on a more serious basis.”

  “But that’s . . .” He held up his forefinger and tilted his head.

  “Shush. I’m not done talking yet. You always share a workout space with me, because you’re seriously sexy when you’re doing that whole ballerina thing.”

  “So are you when you’re doing the boxing thing.”

  “Once we get a house, we’re getting a dog. Not one of those snappy, fiddly little things. A proper dog.”

  “Sir, yes, sir,” she saluted sarcastically.

  “This last rule is negotiable,” he said, tilting his hand in a “so-so” gesture. “You walk around naked all the time and tell me you love me at least twice a day.”

  “That’s a hell no on the first, and an amendment to three times a day on the second.”

  “Spoilsport,” he pouted.

  “I love you,” she said, and he grinned.

  “That’s one,” he said, and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “Who’s counting?” Then, leaning down until her mouth was right next to his ear, she whispered, “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you . . .”

  EPILOGUE

  FIVE YEARS LATER

  Cleo stared at her reflection in the mirror with a critical eye, tilting her head this way and that as she swung around to look at her butt. Dante stepped into her line of sight, and she gave him a perturbed frown in the mirror.

  “This kid is making me fat,” she pouted, and he grinned, coming up behind her to wrap his arms around her. He could barely fit them around her huge stomach.

  “You look beautiful and you know it,” he told her, dropping a kiss onto her shoulder.

  “Everybody’s here,” he murmured. “You ready for this?”

  She covered his hands with hers and looked at the picture they presented in the mirror. Both were wearing white—Dante, a simple shirt-and-trouser combination that looked devastating on his lean form, and Cleo, a pretty maternity sundress with shoulder ties.

  Every year on the anniversary of his birth and death, they celebrated the life of the son who had brought them together. During their first two years of marriage, they’d gone out on the Arabella to the same spot where they’d scattered his ashes and watched the sunset. They never saw the phosphorescence again, and that made the memory of it so much more special to Cleo.

  On the third anniversary they changed things up a bit as their daughter, Tamara, had been only a couple of months old, so they commemorated the day differently, planting an oak tree in their garden instead. Afterward, they worked together for months to create a beautiful little remembrance garden around the tree. Dante had a stone bench placed in the garden, and they would often sit there together, or sometimes alone, and think about their lost baby. He also commissioned a discreet engraved memorial stone to be placed at the base of the tree, and like their pendants, it simply read

  ZACH, REMEMBERED FOREVER.

  After that, they started having the anniversary in the garden and included Blue
and Luc, Cal and Tami. And this year, Enrique Damaso, who was between wives at the moment, had joined them too. A doting grandpapa, Enrique visited and Skyped regularly, but he had never been there for Zach’s memorial before.

  The day had become one of celebration as they remembered their baby with joy rather than sorrow. And sometimes in the privacy of their bedroom, when it was just the two of them, they would wonder aloud what he would have been like.

  Dante’s hand moved up to toy with her pendant.

  “Cal is trying to convince Luc that he’s the better braai master, and the two will be having some kind of cook-off later. As if I’d let either of them anywhere near my grill,” he snorted, the corner of his eyes crinkling attractively. The man just got more gorgeous with age; the sprinkling of gray in his hair and the fine lines forming around his eyes and on his brow just added to his disgusting good looks. It was something she often complained about, protesting the fact that she was getting a bit saggy in the boob area and a little thick around the middle, while he just improved like fine wine. He usually shut her up by making love to her until she couldn’t speak, and telling her that he loved her, “saggy boobs, stretch marks, and all.”

  “Jeez, why don’t Blue and Kyle put a leash on their men?” Cleo asked in exasperation, stepping out of his hold and moving toward the bedroom door at a fast waddle. Kyle was Cal’s longtime boyfriend, and they were talking about tying the knot. They’d been together for nearly four years. Cal, who was now the principal male dancer in his company, had never been happier, and Cleo was ecstatic for him.

  “Blue’s too busy trying to stop Adam’s crying, and Kyle’s teaching Tami and my father a magic trick,” Dante replied. Adam was Blue and Luc’s two-week-old son, their first child. After Dante finally convinced them to take a loan from him four years before, Luc and Blue had, at long last, been able to fix the house and get married. Dante was still trying to convince Cleo’s proud brother to work for him at Damaso International, Inc., but Luc was being stubborn about accepting.

  Dante sauntered out of the room after Cleo and caught up with her at the stairs. He took her elbow as she moved down the stairs, adding his support.