After dessert, he placed a small velvet box between us.
My stomach dropped.
“Russell…”
He raised a hand.
“Before you say anything, let me finish.”
I waited.
He opened the box.
Inside was a beautiful ring.
“I know what this looks like,” he said.
“What does it look like?”
“Like an older man trying to purchase the affection of a younger woman.”
I looked down.
Because part of me had thought exactly that.
Russell’s voice softened.
“I’m thirty years older than you. I’m not foolish enough to pretend that doesn’t matter.”
He took a breath.
“I’m also not asking you to pretend you’re desperately in love with me.”
I stared at him.
“Then what are you asking?”
“To let me take care of you.”
His eyes stayed on mine.
“To let me give you some peace.”
There was no poetry in the proposal.
No declaration that destiny had brought us together.
