The Bachelor's Perfect Proposal (Bliss Series Book 2) (4 page)

T
he last dinner
I had with my family in France was when I’d turned eight. There had been plenty of food then, but it wasn’t as nearly enjoyable as this—a real family dinner full of warmth, laughter and shared memories.

I’d tried my best with what I was given: eggs, milk, an uncanny amount of processed cheese, bread and vegetables. The meal wasn’t gourmet, but thankfully, they all seemed to like it. And nobody choked.

With the blankets and cushions Veronica brought out to the patio, everyone was comfortable. Flowers in old teacups and colored glasses dotted the middle of the table, surrounding a medium-sized pumpkin, and weaved around it were candles in different sizes. Despite the chill, it was a cloudless night and the stars added to the ambiance.

I’d never celebrated Thanksgiving. Year after year, I’d ignored it like any other holiday meant for spending time with family, and had spent time with whichever woman wanted to be with me instead.

Veronica and Maggie cleaned up while their mother changed into something less formal. June and I sat in the living room and watched his football games on video. He didn’t talk much, and when he did, it was only about football, but he was pleasant company.

To my dismay, as we retreated to our bedrooms, I found out I wouldn’t be sleeping in the same bed as Veronica. But we were at her mother’s house, and her mother had strict rules. If I were to prove I belonged with Veronica, I’d have to follow those rules.

However, while stretching on what used to be Veronica’s bed, I craved her warmth and the steady beating of her heart. And her soft kisses, her touch. The taste of her. The sweet scent I would never tire of.

Turning on my side, I punched the pillow in frustration and huffed a heavy breath. I had to stop thinking of her and what she could do to me or I’d be faced with more than lack of sleep. Then I heard the creaking of the hardwood floors outside the pink and purple bedroom. I propped myself up, reached over to turn on the lamp, and pulled the sheets to cover my bottom half before the door opened.

“Hi.” Veronica gingerly snuck into the room and closed the door behind her. She crawled into bed in that sexy way that drove me wild, with her butt in the air and a wicked smile playing at her lips.

“What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t allowed...” She didn’t let me finish. She swooped in and kissed me like it was our last time on earth.

“I can’t sleep without you,” she said after letting us breathe.

“Me too.”

After turning off the lamp, Veronica curled in beside me, reached for my arm, wrapped it around her, and intertwined our fingers. I nuzzled her neck before burrowing my nose in her hair. Our feet tangled under the sheets. I was warmed. Comforted. Loved.

Her breathing became steady. I inhaled her sweet scent as my eyes started to droop close.

“Thanks for saving Thanksgiving,” she said in her sleepy, hushed voice.

“You’re welcome,” I said and smiled against her hair.

I never understood why Americans felt they had to stuff themselves silly every year like they did on Thanksgiving. But tonight, having eaten dinner with Veronica and her family, I realized that it was about more than the food. It was about togetherness. It was about family and those they loved, a concept that was alien to me.

Although Veronica thought I had saved Thanksgiving, what she didn’t know was that she had saved me. And I would forever be grateful to her for that.

“
W
ill she say yes
?”

Martina regarded me with her scrupulous gray eyes when she asked the question. Her silver hair was effortlessly pulled back into a chignon. Wrinkles lined where they should on a seventy-two-year-old woman’s face. There wasn’t a hint of that ever-present playful smile, not that our conversation was anything to laugh at.

“You don’t trust that I know the answer?” I said in a steady voice, leaning my tensed back against the chair.

Martina lifted the small, square box and studied it, as though it hadn’t been in her possession for decades.

“I’m surprised, that of all people, it was you who’d asked for this. No one else dared.” This was common knowledge in my family: only Martina had worn it for years. My mother wouldn’t have considered wearing it despite what it represented; the ring was too simple for her taste.

Martina raised a thin eyebrow at me. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

I’d been the first one to turn away from any semblance of commitment in the past. Martina had witnessed it year after year, relationship after relationship. The closest I’d gotten to a real relationship was with my ex, Natalie, but even she knew whatever we had wouldn’t last, and we’d decided we were better as friends than lovers.

“Will you at least let me meet her?” There was a hint of hope in her voice, though she would never admit to it.

I scoffed, rubbing the three-day growth on my jaw. “I don’t know if I can trust you with her. What if you turn her against me?”

“If I could do that, then she isn’t the right woman for you,” she challenged me, with an eyebrow raised and her chin lifted. Her words struck a chord. However, my trepidation wasn’t if Veronica was the right woman for me, but if I was right for her. If I was good enough, worthy enough.

Taking my eyes away from my grandmother, I watched the men and women working in the vineyards through the terrace doors. The sun peeked behind cumulus clouds, and the heat wasn’t bothersome: a perfect day for a green harvest. Martina predicted that it would be a successful year for the entire region. She was rarely wrong when it came to these matters. Only a handful of people had her skills. She loved to pretend that it was all guesswork, but I had seen her work. It wasn’t an exact science, but with a bit of luck and years of experience, she had created a working formula.

She’d also been right about a lot of my past romantic interludes. Though I knew she would never interfere with my current relationship, she would scrutinize it to pieces. I couldn’t let her do that this time. Not that I was afraid she would find something amiss with Veronica.

There’s no such thing as a perfect relationship, but what I had with Veronica was damn near perfect. She came into my life like a breath of fresh air, when I was already suffocating. When I finally admitted that there was something missing in my life. I hoped that it could only get better from here. That I could lay my own insecurities to rest.

“Make sure you get it back if it doesn’t work out. We can’t forget what happened to Alexandre. Imagine if he’d given her this.” Martina replaced the box on the painted table, and slid it my way. I caught it before it dropped to the floor.

A dry laugh escaped me. “You just had to, didn’t you?” Any mention of my brother was a sore subject. I opened the box, took the ring out and examined it in the light. “After everything that happened, did we expect her family to give back anything Alexandre had given her?” My chest tightened.

It had been in my family for years, and since there was no sign of Alex ever returning to our lives—not that I wanted him to—it only felt right that I asked for it. No matter how much doubt came from Martina. It would mean a lot to me if…when Veronica decided to wear it, having it represent our commitment to each other. And it could bring us luck, just as it had to my grandparents—the only couple I knew who’d stayed with each other until death.

She stood and walked over to me. Her left foot dragged slightly on the floor, and it took her longer to get anywhere with the pain she experienced, the pain she would never talk about, pain that I couldn’t easily ignore. She cradled my head between her hands, and made me tilt my face up, much like she had done when I was a little boy. “Remember, Olivier:
l’amour fait les plus grandes douceurs et les plus sensibles infortunes de la vie.
”

I chuckled and patted her hands. “Love brings both the greatest delicacies and the most sensitive misfortunes in life. Wise old saying, Onna. Is that from experience?”

She tutted and shook a dainty finger at me. “I told you not to call me that! Onna…you make me sound so old.” Then she kissed the top of my head. “I worry about you.”

“You shouldn’t. There is a fine, young woman who’s taking great care of me these days.” I patted her hands again, and held them in my own, making her look me straight in the eye so that she could understand the seriousness of what I was about to say. “I’m not coming back to live here again and take over. I’m doing well on my own. You should quit hoping.”

“We’ll see, Olivier, we shall see.” Martina never liked not getting her way.

I worried about her and how the pitfalls of her age had started to show more and more these past years. She’d been expressing her desire to have me back in Bordeaux a lot lately, and I’d agonized over it. If all I would come back to were this vineyard and Martina, I’d have done it years ago. But my family had as much drama as an American soap opera, and more complications as well. I realized that one day soon, Veronica would ask more about my family here in France.

I’d only shared the fundamentals, those that couldn’t hurt us.

Veronica might be a levelheaded, patient, and understanding woman, but my family was beyond reproachful. My intentions were, and had always been, to be with her as long as I possibly could. Exposing her to my family would be detrimental to that plan.

No, no way in hell would she ever come here and meet them, not even Martina, the only trustworthy person in my family.

* * *

V
eronica had left
a lamp on in the living room, illuminating a good portion of her apartment when I came in. I wished she would listen and let me get her a dog, something vicious-looking that could rip through flesh. Or she could move in with me sooner rather than later.

Tired from my travels, I groaned. I slipped the box out of my jacket pocket and lifted the lid. The three-point-five karat, off-white rock glimmered even in the sparse light. I would have to have it cleaned before presenting it to her so she could appreciate the filigree designs on the band. It was beautiful. It was delicate. It was one of a kind, much like Veronica,
amour de ma vie
. Love of my life. And once she said ‘yes’, I could have our initials engraved inside the band, right beside Martina’s and Philippe’s.

I didn’t take a lot of stock on family traditions. Veronica would more than appreciate the simple yet elegant designs of the ring. But since it came from Martina, it meant more to me. It was my family’s ring.
My
ring on Veronica. Her wearing it would solidify our relationship. It would mean she’d be mine for as long as she’d have me. And I intended to have her in my life forever.

I returned the ring to the box and left it in my coat pocket. Veronica wasn’t the type to go snooping around. It would be safe in there, and the surprise would be kept.

I had a lot of planning to do. How could one propose to the most romantic, most thoughtful and loving woman in the world? If I had been another person, I would have hired her to come up with a plan with me. I laughed at myself. That would be something to tell our children: “I tricked your mother to helping me plan my proposal for her.” It would require a lot of thought every step of the way. It needed to be perfect, a gesture so grand she couldn’t say no.

I padded to the bedroom. After undressing, I crawled into bed and felt her stir, aware of my presence. It was a connection we shared. Circling my arms around her, I brought her closer to me, and she moved into the curve I’d created with my body, where she fit perfectly. Where she belonged.

Burying my nose in her curls, her scent ignited my nerves. Her chest rose and fell, and her heart beat steadily, such a contrast to the faster beating of mine. I should let her sleep.

Veronica muttered my name. I missed her. Every minute I’d been away from her had been spent thinking about her. Of her body against mine. Of the different sensations that only she could make me feel. The passion. The fire. The undeniable love.

Her fingers tangled with mine, and our joined hands pressed against her chest. She lifted one leg and wrapped it around mine underneath the sheets, bringing me even closer to her. I was feverish, keenly aflame. I breathed her in once more, kissing the delicate skin behind her ear, and felt the electricity surge, flowing from me to her and her to me.

“Welcome back home,” she whispered in the dark.

Home. The word had taken a different meaning, a different form ever since she had told me she loved me. Home had always been nothing but a physical location for me in the past. With her, home was where I left my heart. And my heart belonged to her.

Without her, I was lost.

In that moment, as I kissed the pulse on her neck, her hands bringing me closer, I knew without a doubt that I had made the right decision of asking Martina for the ring. All I had to do was come up with the perfect proposal and when Veronica agreed, I would forevermore be the luckiest man on earth. I would forevermore be home. And I would forevermore be loved.