‘You’re jewellery expert, all of a sudden?’
‘Yes I am,’ he says chirpily. ‘It was one of the things I researched on the internet from my hospital bed. I also learned all the flags of the world.’
‘Really?’
‘Absolutely. Go on. Test me. Slovakia.’
‘Bollocks to the flags of the world. Let’s discuss the jewellery situation.’
‘Okay.’ He focusses on the diamond again. ‘I’d say this was acquired from Tiffany’s Fifth Avenue flagship store. It must have cost a bomb. Very simple though. Very classy. Just like you.’
‘Simple?’
‘I don’t mean, you know, lacking up here.’ He taps the side of his head. ‘Although you are a bit slow sometimes …’
‘I think that’s enough of the insults, shit head,’ I cut in. ‘You’d better call the concierge and get the ring back to the maid.’
‘Maybe later. I quite like it. I wonder …’
He motions for my hand.
‘What?’
‘I’m sure she won’t mind if we just muck about with it for a bit. Try it on.’
Feigning nonchalance, I offer him my right hand. He shakes his head and points at my left hand. I offer him that instead. He tries the ring over my thumb, shakes his head and moves on to my index finger, middle finger, and finally my wedding finger.
‘Oh, would you look at that?’ He slips it on and taps the diamond. ‘Perfect fit.’
I pull back my hand and stare at the diamond.
‘What do you think?’ he asks.
‘It’s bloody lovely.’
‘Keep it on.’
‘But it’s the maid’s.’
‘She won’t miss it. I bet she’s got a drawer full of the things.’
Seemingly done with the ring situation, he goes back to his breakfast. I’d do the same, but it’s difficult to play along with a game when your heart’s racing at a million miles an hour. Instead, I admire the ring, watching as light flickers through the diamond.
‘So,’ I venture at last. ‘Does this actually mean we’re engaged?’
‘What?’
‘Engaged? That thing you do before marriage.’
‘Oh that.’ Putting down his knife and fork, he takes a swig of coffee. ‘I suppose so. Is that a problem?’
‘Not really. I just think I might have preferred to do this the traditional way. You know, the romantic way.’
‘Oh, are we thinking inside the box again?’
‘Probably.’
‘So, what’s the traditional way? The romantic way?’
For a split second, I wonder if he actually knows the traditional way for anything. After all, he’s hardly had the most conventional of upbringings. But then again, he’s no idiot. In another split second, I decide he’s stringing me along for the heck of it.
‘Well, first you have to propose, and then I have to say yes, and then you put the ring on my finger. And you need to do all of this on one knee.’
‘Mmm.’ He seems to think for a moment. ‘I did propose … more than once if I remember rightly.’
‘Fair enough,’ I mutter, recalling the fact that he did indeed propose, prompted by a mad outburst in front of a Chinese billionaire, on three different occasions. And each one of them is seared into my brain.
‘And you did say yes,’ he reminds me.
‘When?’
He sits back, distinctly smug.
‘When I was in hospital. I heard you.’
‘You did?’ I know exactly what he’s going on about. My gushing acceptance at his bedside. I thought he was asleep. Clearly not. ‘Are you sure you weren’t hallucinating?’
‘Absolutely.’ He points at my hand. ‘And now I’ve put the ring on your finger.’
‘But you weren’t on one knee.’
‘The one-knee thing. That’s important?’
‘Yes.’
‘Not two knees?’
I hold up a finger. ‘One.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘It’s just that I’m sure it’s more comfortable on two knees.’
‘Dan.’
‘Okay, okay.’ He holds out his hand, palm upwards. ‘Give me the maid’s ring.’
Obediently, I remove the ring from my finger and hand it to him. Pushing back his chair, he comes to my side of the table, smiling down at me all the time. And then he lowers himself onto one knee. It’s only slight, but I catch another wince.
‘Bloody hell,’ I gasp, remembering only too late that he’s still recovering. ‘Get back up again. Your leg.’
‘Sod the leg. I’m alright.’ He settles himself and holds up the ring.
I stare at it, and then I stare at him.
Bloody hell, it’s happening. He’s actually doing it. The man I love is right in front of me, and he’s on one knee, presenting me with a mega-expensive Tiffany engagement ring, and he’s about to say the words. For some reason, I want to clap and squeal and laugh like a maniac. But that might ruin the moment. Instead, I adjust my position and face him, doing my very best to seem all dignified
‘Now … Maya Scotton,’ he begins.
‘Yes, Daniel Foster?’
‘A few months ago, you walked into my life wearing a ridiculously short skirt.’
‘I did.’
‘Be quiet. You’ll ruin my train of thought.’
‘Sorry.’ A giggle escapes.
‘The first time I ever saw you, I only saw your backside and as you know, it gave me a massive hard-on. I’m pretty sure I fell in love with you right then.’ He arches an eyebrow. ‘Well, I fell in love with your backside, that’s for sure. And then I heard your voice – and yes, you were pretty rude to me …’
‘You were rude to me too.’
‘Oh yes. So I was. Be quiet.’
‘Sorry again.’
‘Where was I? Ah, yes. So, after I’d fallen in love with your backside, I then fell in love with your incredibly rude voice. And then your face, the first time I ever saw it.’ He coughs. ‘And your boobs. When you poured water down your incredibly tight blouse. Anyway, enough of this …’ He waves his hand, as if he’s trying
