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I BIT MY bit lip as I looked around the office.
A kaleidoscope of butterflies beat their wings inside my stomach, and my grip on the ivory clamshell box tightened. I couldn't believe I was really here; in Buckinghamshire at last. It had been a long day of travel (well, mostly it had been a long day of waiting at the office, bloody bureaucrats) preceded by an even longer stretch of planning and preparing for this proclamation. But I was finally here, and I had the anxiety to prove it.
Of course, I had plenty of legitimate reasons to be nervous. I had just left the city I'd grown up in — not to mention my friends and family — to pursue someone against all odds.
The choice was precipitated by Harper's persuasion not to be alone, to go do something that'll make me feel alive and let the worries dissipate. It was a dream, an extremely far fetched dream, to be back in Raleigh's arms, and I was desperate to prove myself worthy of it — that magic that I felt at my homecoming ball.
It was only supposed to be a one-time thing, one dance, not a fleeting moment that spanned nearly the entire night and bled into the next day, but I was immeasurably grateful for everything Raleigh had done for me, made me feel. Desirable, beautiful again. In one perfect night, he showed me what it was to live again.
None of that was why I was nervous, however.
It was the truth of the matter that romantic gestures lose their grandeur when they can't make someone want you back. Could Raleigh Night, CFO of his very own company, want me?
I mulled over this for a time, as I was seated in the foyer and glanced up when a bronze-skinned woman beckoned me over to the front desk.
Her sleek, dark hair was cut into a slanted bob that served to accentuate her high cheekbones and flawless complexion. She didn't wear much makeup, but that suited her, the gentle highlighter and pale lipstick softening angles that could look severe on a different woman.
A genuine smile spread across her face as I moved toward her, and I felt a flash of self consciousness. I tugged the hem of my plaid slip dress down and pulling the cloak around me tighter.
My gaze lit on the secretary, every inch of me feeling frigid. "Hi," I breathed.
Her gaze remained a portrait of professionalism but I glimpsed a flicker of confusion as her gaze darted at the box in my hands.
"Before you say anything," I told her, "I promise there's a method to my madness."
"A bloody good one, I hope," she answered, looked at the box thoughtfully, something like appreciation mingled with curiosity. "Are you here to see someone in particular or wish to book an appointment?"
