When a layer of orange coated the sky, I dug the ring that I’d pulled from the safe earlier out of my pocket. “Aria Saint-James?” “Yes, Brody Carmichael?” I grinned and turned her to face me. Then I dropped to a knee, the ring in hand. “Marry me.” “W-what?” She did a double take at the five-carat Harry Winston. “Will you marry me?” “Seriously? You just promised two hours ago not to buy me anything for a year.” “I said anything new. This isn’t new. I’ve had it for a week.” She blinked. “You have?” “Can we focus, please? I asked you a question.” “I kind of like seeing you on your knees.” I shook
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