A Valentine Proposal

by Viv Royce

  Where is he?

  She pushed herself up on the balls of her feet to see better but didn’t detect the blond head she was looking for. Eleanor was talking to her mother, in a forced, animated manner with lots of hand gestures, and Mr. Brahms swiped on his phone. No trace of Mark.

  She checked the rest of the rows, the aisle—maybe he had gotten up to talk to someone he knew?—but she didn’t see him anywhere. That’s weird.

  Uncomfortable, she excused herself to Mrs. Kalter, the head librarian who had especially arranged for her to sit in front, and went into the lobby.

  Mark stood near the exit, holding his phone to his ear. His back was turned to her. Drawing closer, she caught a snippet. “No, I’m not dictating anything. I’m only asking whether…Tamela? Tamela?”

  The girlfriend? Fiancée even? Her heart hammered. Better find out about it now, before I tell him more things, before I start dreaming again about dancing with him.

  He lowered the phone and looked at it, sighing in frustration.

  “Bad news?” she asked. It was intrusive, but she couldn’t walk away, not without knowing who Tamela was. Why Mark had left mid-auction to talk to her. Him not dictating what? The wedding plans?

  The sooner you know it, the better, you idiot. You could guess he was taken and still you allowed yourself to…

  Don’t put it into words.

  Mark shook his head. “Nothing new, really.” He clenched the phone. “Just thinking I should warn someone who doesn’t want to be warned.” He looked up at her, tiredness pulling around his lips. “Right now, I want to throw this phone against the wall.”

  “Don’t. You’d be sorry when you’re picking up the pieces.” She stepped up closer. “Look, you don’t have to be here tonight. If there’s something you have to take care of, go after it.”

  He held her gaze. His eyes turned sad. “I would really want that. Get on a plane and go to her and tell her that she’s about to make a gigantic mistake. But she won’t listen anyway. She doesn’t believe me.” Tension and frustration underlined his voice.

  “She doesn’t believe me even after everything that happened.” He lowered his head and seemed to be talking to himself more than to her. “I wasn’t glad that it did, honestly not, but I thought at least it would open her eyes. It would make her see what was really happening. That was what she needed. Not me telling her. Seeing it for herself. A conclusion she could no longer deny. Escape, sugar coat. The endless row of excuses, how to twist anything around so it looked better.” His hand formed into a fist. “But if you really don’t want to see the truth, you can always find a way. I don’t believe…”

  He looked up, straight into Cleo’s eyes. “She’s actually going to do it. I told myself that she wouldn’t, couldn’t. But she is.”

  He turned away from her and paced the floor. “She is, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

  Cleo’s chest churned with an emotion she had never felt before. The need to go over, look him in the eye, and put her hand against his face and tell him it was going to be okay.

  But she didn’t even know what it was about!

  Mark halted and looked at her. A weary smile crept round his mouth. “Sorry about this. I made up an excuse to leave the room, and…then I decided I might as well call Tamela and ask her how she was doing. She told me last time we talked that she had a plan I didn’t think particularly smart, and…I hoped she had come to her senses. But no.”

  Cleo went over and stood in front of him. Her hand itched to touch his face, but she was afraid he might back away, shake her off. Because he was strong and independent and certainly didn’t need her sympathy.

  He said, “It’s not about a course or a job, Cleo. I could have accepted my sister doing whatever she wants with her life. But this is about her personal happiness, and…this guy hurt her before. He treated her like dirt. And she’s going back to him. I remember how bad she felt after the breakup. I can’t understand why she’s setting herself up for more heartache. I…I don’t want to see her so miserable again.”

  Cleo put her hand on his arm and squeezed. The muscles strained under her touch, every inch of him tight with anger over what was about to happen to his sister. Fighting the inevitable. “You’re a good guy.”

  “If I was such a good guy,” he spat, “I would have found a way to save her from him. Apparently after they split, she didn’t feel like we loved and supported her. Else she wouldn’t be going back to him now.”

  “It’s not that straightforward. Maybe she loves him.”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what’s worrying me. She’d swim the sea for him, and he’s sitting back laughing. You have no idea what a bastard he really is.” Mark’s jaw clenched. “He’s after nothing but money. And she can’t see it.”

  Cleo squeezed his arm again in silent sympathy. I’m here for you. Just talk to me.

  …

  The warmth of her touch seeped into his inner being, into the place where he was cold with rage about James’s insidiousness and Tamela falling for it all over again. Moments ago, he would have run into the night and kept running to get all that pent-up energy out of his system. Now a calm assurance swept through him. There’s nothing to run to. What you need is right here.

  “Great dress,” he said.

  She looked down as if she had to check what it looked like. “I wasn’t sure I really needed anything new.”

  “You bought it especially for tonight?”

  “Yes.” As their eyes met, something of a challenge flashed in hers. As if she was daring him somehow.

  He held that gaze with a challenge of his own. “All for the good cause, right?”

  “Right.” She pulled her hand away from his arm. “Speaking of a good cause, we should probably go back inside. They must have started the bidding again.”

  “Okay. But, uh…can I sit with you? I told Miss Brahms a little white lie that didn’t exactly make her happy so…”

  “A little white lie?”

  “She may have gotten the impression Tamela is my bride-to-be.”

  Amusement flashed in her eyes. “How could that happen?”

  Before he could reply, she said, “But we don’t want her to realize her mistake. Come with me.”

  She tapped his arm lightly, and it was like lightning trailed through his body. Her perfume led the way as he followed into the dim room where the bidding was in full swing. They reached the front row, and he sat down beside her. She showed him the list of items and enthused about an upcoming number, an edition of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice with an unusual cover. Mark didn’t catch all the details she shared about the cover design. The color of her eyes seemed to change as she talked. One moment they were blue, then gray, then a tinge of green. Maybe it was the cinema’s lighting or his imagination. But he didn’t want the moment to end. Ever.

  “Time for our second round of bidding,” the auctioneer announced. “And we have some very special items coming up.”

  Cleo sat up straight and tapped her foot on the floor, as if she couldn’t wait until it was her turn to scoop up the wanted article. The tension rubbed off on him, and he leaned forward, already working out a little plan.

  The auctioneer said, “And here we have one of the highlights of the night. Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice is one of the most well-known and beloved romance novels of all time. The story of two people who don’t want to fall in love with each other but seem destined to do so. This edition, dating back to the thirties, has a cover with entwined hands and a locket with a house engraved on it, probably representing iconic Pemberley. It’s in good condition, although the cover has some wear and tear, and the binding is loosening. The book must be handled with care. Bidding begins at twenty dollars. A steal.”

  Cleo raised her hand.

  Immediately, Mark raised his. A bit of competition would drive up the pri
ce, benefiting the library.

  “Twenty-one there.” The auctioneer nodded at him. “Do I hear twenty-five?”

  Cleo threw Mark a glance, as if to ask what he was doing bidding against her, but she already signaled that she was willing to raise the twenty-five.

  “Thirty?” the auctioneer suggested, and Mark nodded.

  Cleo glanced at him again. The little tilt of her chin fired his determination. This is between you and me.

  The auctioneer asked for thirty-five, and she raised her hand.

  Forty, forty-five, raised hands, nods.

  Cleo sat on the edge of her seat, her cheeks as red as her dress.

  Fire roared in Mark’s veins like when he was up against a competitor for a shop he wanted to add to the chain. This is mine.

  Of course he would give the book to her later, but he wanted to get it first. Whatever the cost.

  Fifty, fifty-five.

  He made a subtle movement with his finger along his ear. “Sixty it is for the gentleman,” the auctioneer enthused.

  The room was abuzz behind them, people whispering and even exclaiming as the bidding went on from seventy to eighty and then got to one hundred. For a book that might have a unique cover but wasn’t that rare. No limited edition, no message in it from a famous person, no signatures of any importance. And as the auctioneer had mentioned, it wasn’t in prime condition, either.

  Whatever. I’m not holding back now.

  Cleo rubbed her nose. “Hundred and ten,” the auctioneer exclaimed, pointing his gavel at her. “Do I hear hundred and twenty?”

  Mark raised his finger.

  Past one twenty, one forty, to one fifty. The auctioneer was running out of breath, and the crowd went wild.

  At last, at two hundred, Cleo relented with a sigh, keeping her hands down as the auctioneer looked at her, again and again. He counted one-two-three and then shouted, “For the gentleman in the front row.”

  Yesss! Two hundred bucks for the library’s summer program and I’ve got a present I can give to her, something she really wants to have.

  Cleo looked at him. Her eyes sparked, and she hissed, “Are you nuts?”

  “I bet the library will be happy.”

  “All for the library, huh? Supporting a good cause. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact I told you I wanted that book. You couldn’t tell by the way I was bidding on it?” She shoved a little away from him and sat with her legs crossed, all prim and proper, like a character from an Austen novel.

  Mark bit down hard to suppress his laughter.

  …

  Infuriating…

  How was it possible that one moment she sympathized with him—wanted to throw her arms around his neck and tell him it would be okay—and the next she wanted to strangle him for taking the book away, the one thing she wanted to bid on tonight?

  Pride, prejudice, how apt!

  With an effort, Cleo tried to steady her breathing. Her head was as light as after a good run when she had pushed herself to go a little faster and work a little harder. This had been a competition. Not with herself—for a better time on the clock, a happy feeling of making progress—but with Mark, the most intriguing man she had ever met. Maybe she had seen glimpses of him that others never saw, but he was an enigma. Someone who attracted her because he was different.

  Or was he?

  Had she forgotten what he wanted for the shop? How he wanted to impose rules on her and force changes that would destroy what she had built? His idea of making people pass the cash register so they would feel obliged to buy something was the worst.

  Was he so different from her father or the boss she had worked for after law school, both of whom had tried to turn her into someone she wasn’t…and would never be? Their rules, their idea of the ideal Cleo? But she wasn’t a dress-up dummy.

  Even if there was an attraction between Mark and her—something they couldn’t quite explain or control—what did it matter in the situation they were in? There were but two possible outcomes, and each was bad in its own way.

  He was going to buy her shop for the chain, and everything would have to change, making her hate him for what he had done to the Rook and to her.

  Or he wasn’t going to buy it and then she’d lose it, lose her job, her home, the life she had built here in Wood Creek. She’d have to start over somewhere else. When she really thought of that scenario—leaving her cozy apartment and the pleasant time in the shop—restocking, reading, serving customers whose tastes she had come to know so she could surprise them with her suggestions, which were spot-on—she wanted to beg him to please let her keep it.

  But if it all had to change, would it even be the same? Could she feel the happiness she had felt before? Or would she dry out like she had during her stint as lawyer? Turning into someone who did things on autopilot, who delivered good work, but without any heart?

  Besides, begging wasn’t her thing. She’d have to convince Mark, with evidence, that it was a safe bet.

  A safe bet? Me?

  She almost laughed.

  Mark leaned over, his aftershave washing around her. “Mad?” he asked in a whisper.

  “Not at all. You won fair and square. Although I don’t see what you want to do with that book. I don’t assume you’ll ever read it.”

  “I could give it away.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. Had he bid on it for her? As a present?

  “To the library, maybe,” he mused.

  Oh yes, of course, the library. A prize piece to put on display. A special treat on top of the money raised tonight. His gift to the community, to win people over and pave the way for the arrival of the Stephens brand in town.

  “How thoughtful,” she said, unable to keep a tinge of spitefulness from her voice.

  Mark’s grin was infuriating. Not only had he gotten what he wanted, but he had also riled her into betraying her frustration about his win. Cleo wanted to slap herself because she hadn’t acted like she couldn’t care less. Or pretended I actually provoked him into bidding on it so the amount would go up.

  But it was too late for a smart retort. Another item had gone up, and they fell silent, watching the bidding around them. People were obviously willing to put down a lot more than they normally would for these objects, to support the library and Wood Creek as a whole. These were the people she belonged with. This was her place. But she hadn’t been born here. She’d merely moved to work at the bookshop, and if that job ended, they’d expect her to leave again.

  Her parents would certainly expect it. If only they had no idea that her boss was planning to retire. But as she had asked them for money, to keep the shop up and running, they knew and were anxiously awaiting the outcome.

  “That shop has never been our idea of a future for you,” Dad had said.

  Our idea. Like that mattered most. Not what she wanted or dreamed of. But their idea.

  She jerked to full alertness as applause rang out around her. The auction had come to an end, and people were rising to their feet, clapping for the auctioneer and the volunteers who had put the entire night together.

  Mrs. Kalter grabbed her arm and enthused, “I talked to a businessman during the break who wants to give all of his employees a special gift for his company’s fiftieth anniversary. He wants to give them vouchers for a book to be purchased at Rook. He has more than two hundred people working for him.”

  Cleo blinked. “Two hundred sales?”

  “Yes, he wants to make it a fifteen-dollar voucher.” Mrs. Kalter squeezed her. “I’m so happy for you. You did so much for the library. You really deserve to get some extra business in return.”

  Cleo looked at Mark. His grin betrayed he had heard every word. Glasses of prosecco were handed around, and he lifted his to toast her. “To a successful night. For everyone.”

  Oh, yes. She pouted at
him. “You bagged the book I wanted.”

  “Fair and square,” he said with a wink. “Will you not toast with me?”

  “Okay then.” She touched her glass to his.

  He held her gaze. “To the future,” he said. “To…our future?”

  Her breathing grew shallow as she was pulled into the flickering intensity of his ice blue eyes. Our future? What does he mean? Us, together?

  Of course not. He meant the shop, becoming part of the Stephens chain, of working together, a cooperation in a strictly professional sense. She forced her trembling lips to smile. “To the future.”

  She put the glass to her mouth. The liquid was cold on her tongue, and even before it hit her stomach, the bubbles turned her head all fuzzy. That can’t be. I’ve only had one sip.

  Eleanor Brahms popped up by her side and put a hand on her arm. “Can I talk to you for a moment?” Without waiting for Cleo’s reply, she tightened her grip and drew her aside. In a whisper, she said, “That guy is leading you on. Flirting with you while he’s engaged to be married. He got a call from his fiancée. He left the room quickly so you wouldn’t notice. I would hate for you to fall for his charms only to discover he isn’t single after all.” She looked at Cleo with her sharp eyes. “I assume you thought he was single?”

  The implication she might not care whether a man was free or taken made Cleo’s blood boil. The nerve to come up to me and say it out loud. She tried to maintain a neutral expression. “I know who he was on the phone with,” she said. No lie in that. “Mr. Stephens is here to assess the shop for possible inclusion in the Stephens chain.”

  “Puh.” Eleanor underlined the scoffing sound with a disgusted facial expression. “To evaluate the value of the shop for his chain, he’d have to go to the bank to look at your financial situation, not hang out here in a tuxedo and gape at you.”

  If it makes Eleanor this jealous, there has to be something between us, right? Her heart made a little jump. “Mr. Stephens is an honored guest at this charity auction. I thought it made sense to—”