Chapter 149
LEVI
“You’ve been so very naughty, Isabella—and I intend to make you pay for it.” My voice dipped lower as I bent to her ear, my breath grazing her skin. “The moment this event is over, I’ll rip this dress from your body.”
I straightened, my face blank. Her gaze shot up to mine—startled, wide, shimmering with defiance and heat—before darting to my mouth. Slowly, deliberately, she drew her tongue over her lips, careful not to disturb the glossy curve of her lipstick. The gesture only stoked the fire already burning in me.
“And I would have you on your knees for me the whole night,” I added.
The corner of her mouth twitched—caught between delight and anticipation, an unmistakable hunger flickering in her eyes, her lips parting as though a secret was about to escape.
But before she could speak, I spun her around.
She had burned down my control in the car, pushed me to the edge—and now it was time to return the favor.
The orchestra shifted into a slow, lilting blues, and I caught both her hands—one held forward, one drawn back—as we found our stance. Then we moved. Her body answered mine with effortless rhythm, as though the music itself had reached inside her, tugging invisible strings, guiding her every step to match mine.
Isabella was a terrific dancer, and I wasn’t so bad myself. It was easy for us to fall into the mood.
A turn. A step. A pause—her breath hitched, shallow and sharp. Another turn, sharper this time, her body twisting beneath my lead. Once. Twice. The air thickened with the rhythm of it, the floor whispering under her feet. Then—suddenly—I released her.
She collapsed into me, weight spilling into my arms, her body folding as if she had been waiting for the fall all along. My hands caught her waist, firm, lifting her back to her full height as her chest rose against mine.
For a heartbeat, we stayed locked together. Then I moved back, deliberate, my palms loosening their hold.
Space stretched between us, the air thickening, every pair of eyes in the restaurant fixed on her as the orchestra’s swell reached a trembling height.
Isabella seemed to sense what was about to happen—her chest rising sharply, lips parted, the whole room holding its breath.
That’s when I pulled the small black box from my pocket.
The lid snapped open with a soft click. The diamond inside didn’t just catch the chandelier’s glow—it devoured it, swallowing the light and spitting it back as fire. Not merely large—monstrous, perfect—it gleamed with the kind of precision jewelers whispered about in envy.
A flawless, twenty-four-carat, D-color diamond sat at the center, so pure it looked like lightning frozen in stone. A three-million-dollar ring—and worth every cent. Each facet fractured the light into a thousand rainbows that danced across the polished floor. Encircling it, a halo of rare pink diamonds glowed with soft fire, while slender emerald accents whispered wealth without a word. The band itself—hand-forged platinum, polished to a mirror sheen—glittered with a row of micro-pavé stones so delicate they made the central diamond appear even more impossible.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Even the orchestra faltered for a fraction of a beat, strings trembling like nerves exposed.
I stepped closer, the velvet box steady in my palm, my heart thundering loud enough I prayed the crowd couldn’t hear it. This was all for show, so why the hell did it feel so real?
Slowly, deliberately, I lowered myself onto one knee.
“Isabella,” I breathed, her name carrying through the silence like the first note of a requiem. My gaze locked with hers, refusing to falter, until everything else—the whispers, the watching eyes, the noise of the world—melted into nothing.
“I am yours—body, mind, and soul. Every part of me belongs to you, and I want the world to know it. I want forever with you. I want your laughter, your fire, your love—all of you, always.”
I opened the box, the diamond catching the light like a secret flame.
“My sweet… girl,” my voice broke with emotion, “will you marry me?”
I extended my hand. She hesitated, but only for a single breath, her pulse visible at the hollow of her throat. Then—deliberately, inevitably—she gave me her hand.
I slid the ring onto her finger. Perfect fit. Of course it was.
The room erupted—cheers, applause, champagne flutes clinking. Caroline’s hands flew to her mouth; Matt nearly spilled his drink; cameras flashed like lightning storms in every corner.
I drew Isabella against me—not kissing her, not yet—but close enough that only she could hear what came next.
“Smile for them, Isabella,” I murmured against her ear. “And let them believe it’s real.”
Her back stiffened against my chest, but her face—oh, her face. She turned it toward the crowd, radiant, dazzling, the kind of smile that could make strangers swear they’d just witnessed love in its truest form.
She gave me that smile then—perfect. Brilliant.
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