Marrying Mr. Darcy (Love Manor #2) - Kate O'Keeffe Page 0,4
a dream as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, Tiffany blue box. Tiffany blue, people! As in the color, as in the store, as in…he presses the little silver button on the box and wham! I’m half blinded by the most beautiful solitaire diamond ring I’ve ever seen, nestled into its black cushion, glinting out at me.
Oh, my sweet Lord, he’s proposing with my fantasy ring from my fantasy ring store.
I think I’m gonna faint.
“My love, will you do me the great honor of agreeing to be my wife?”
I drag my gaze from the ring to his hopeful eyes, my heart ready to burst, my legs threatening to give way at any moment. As tears leap into my eyes, I reply in a rush, “Yes, Seb. A thousand, million, trillion times yes! I will marry you!”
He straightens up, and I jump into his arms, and we kiss and kiss and kiss some more. We take a break long enough for him to take my left hand and, with shaking fingers I’d not noticed before, slip the ring onto my finger.
“I love you, Brady Bunch,” he murmurs into my hair, using the nickname he gave me when we first met.
I look from the stunning ring on my finger and back into his eyes. I beam at him, profoundly content. Sebastian may be in fear of losing his family home, we may be from different worlds, and the media may have decided I’m the original she-devil of the British Isles. But I know in my heart that together we can leap over whatever hurdles are thrown our way—and man, are there some hurdles—and I know we’ll do it together.
“Right back atcha, Mr. Darcy.”
Chapter 2
“Tell me again how it happened,” my best friend and business partner, Penny, asks through the phone from her house in Houston.
I glance at Sebastian sitting on a high-backed leather chair in Martinston’s library. He’s focusing hard on something on his laptop, and my heart fills to the brim with love for him as I watch the look of concentration on his handsome face, the way his brows are pulled in, the way he tightens and loosens his jaw.
Even when he’s completely absorbed in reading some boring banking article (yawn), he’s totally hot.
I move my phone to my other ear and wander over to one of the large windows overlooking the gardens. “Penn, it was beyond romantic. He got me my favorite meal—”
“Not mac and cheese.”
“Mm-hm, and chocolate chip cookies.”
“Oh, this guy is perfection, Em.”
“I know, right?” I reply with a sigh. “He proposed in this gorgeous gazebo on top of a hill overlooking the house.” I gaze out at it as I speak. “You’ll have to see it when you come visit.”
“You’re gonna tell me it was at sunset, aren’t you?”
“It was at sunset.”
“I knew it!” she shrieks into my ear.
“Ouch,” I complain.
“Sorry. I’m just super excited for you. I guess your working vacation has turned into a permanent move now, huh? You’ll be a proper English lady.”
“Can you seriously imagine me as a proper English lady?”
“Good point.” She lets out a sigh.
I lift my left hand and admire the way the diamond catches the light. “I still can’t quite believe we’re getting married.”
“Your proposal was so romantic. Remember Trey proposed to me at the Taco Bell drive-thru? Not quite as romantic as sunset in some gazebo on an English aristocrat’s estate.”
“I’m sure it was just as romantic.”
“Well, he did order me those fries I like. So, yeah. Just as romantic.”
I giggle. “You are a lucky girl.”
“I know, right? But what Trey might lack in romance he makes up for in other ways, if you know what I mean.”
“Penn, I do not want to know what those ways are.”
“I meant he’s an awesome griller. Get your mind out of the gutter, Ms. Engaged to be a Lady.”
My tummy does a flip. “OMG, I’m actually going to be an official lady.”
She laughs. “So fancy. My BFF is a lad-ay.”
“I’ll always be plain old Emma Brady.”
“Are you going to take his name? Emma Huntington-Ross does sound pretty good. Like out of a Jane Austen novel, which is totally apt, considering how y’all met.”
“You know, he hasn’t said anything about it, but I think it’d mean a lot to him if I did take his name. He’s kinda old-fashioned in some ways.”
“The women’s movement means you get to choose, babe. As long as you don’t do a Madonna on me and change your accent as well. I’m