Blame it on the Champagne (Blame it on the Alcohol #1) - Fiona Cole Page 0,39
with Mariano Shipping, so I assumed you’d be less likely to figure me out.”
My chest puffed with pride at her analysis of my company. She had no idea about the full history of the company. She didn’t know what the K signified. I’d worked hard to hide it in plain sight. But the future she laid out was all true and all because of me.
I watched her, the giggly, frantic energy from before gone, leaving a tired girl in its place. Defeat clung to her, and she wore it uncomfortably. I didn’t blame her. From the small time I’d known her, Verana Bar—Mariano, wore her strength like an armor. She stood tall with her back ramrod straight as if daring anyone to doubt her. Her pearls, cardigans, and sweet smiles presented a kind woman, following the rules, but somehow, with me, I saw the fiery determination beneath. She may follow the rules to a t, but she didn’t want to.
The idea from earlier expanded with the added information. It shifted and grew like a snowball down a hill, picking up pace, racing to an answer. It was a risk with zero facts behind it, but most elites distributed shares to members of their family. Surely, Verana had some too.
Before I could think it through and fully weigh the pros and cons, my lips parted, and blurted it out.
“Marry me.”
Her head jerked back. “What?”
“Marry me. If you marry me, you can’t marry Camden.” I practically sneered his name. She seemed to just be discovering what an asshole he was, but I’d always known.
“I—I can’t. My father—”
“Can’t hurt you under my care,” I interrupted, daring to reach out and run my finger along her reddened cheek. Electricity shot down my arm, and I struggled to remain still.
“Nico,” she breathed the nickname only my parents called me, and pleasure mixed with the jolt, creating a dangerous concoction I shoved aside. Now wasn’t the time. I dropped my hand and shoved both hands into my pockets to keep from repeating the process.
“Listen, Verana. Leave the box. Go home and think on it. Take tomorrow off. Then come to my place tomorrow evening for dinner, and we can discuss it more. It’s been a long day, and this isn’t a discussion to have after a bottle of champagne.”
“Two,” she muttered.
My brows shot high. Two bottles in her tiny body? Jesus…would she remember this tomorrow? Ignoring that for now, I pressed on.
“Come on. I know it sounds crazy, but just…think on it and promise we can talk.” I struggled to keep my tone neutral and not plead for her to accept the crazy idea.
God, it was so crazy. But it was crazy with a chance of victory—to replenish the opportunity I just lost. And I hadn’t gotten as far as I had without seizing every opportunity I had.
“Ummm…” She shook her head, pinching her eyes shut, and I took my chance to push the box to the corner. Not wanting to startle her, I gently rested my hand on her hip and guided her away from the cubby.
She let me lead her to the elevator and stood in silence, waiting for it to come. I glanced her way, watching her study the floor like it had the answer to the question I asked. Her lips pursed, and her brows pinched. I studied her like she did the lines in the hardwood, and I wished I knew what went on in that head of hers.
The doors slid open, and she stepped in. Before they could close, she finally spoke, “But you hate me.”
Maybe it was the hope she wouldn’t remember from all the alcohol or the raw honesty that had spilled around us tonight, but my tongue loosened, and my admission slipped free. “I don’t hate you. Far from it. I might even admire you a little.”
In the final moment, before the doors slid closed, her lips tipped in a shy smile.
With her gone, the reality of what I’d just offered roared around me.
My blood pumped harder, adrenaline flooding my veins. I’d asked Verana Mariano to marry me. She hadn’t said no. The daughter of my enemy had been under my roof this whole time, like a gift I’d yet to find.
Of all the emotions and doubt swirling around me, excitement hit me the hardest.
I just didn’t know if it was because I had an ace up my sleeve to take down my opponent or if it was because my ace was her.