Forty-Eight

Kian

Usually, women didn't miss a fucking thing. They could sniff out whenever the slightest thing was out of place. Or was that just when they're being paranoid or pissed off about something? I'll be damned if I know. There was enough time for me to nip to the kitchen, grab the champagne — no fancy glasses because I didn't think that far ahead — so I settled for highball glasses instead.

As I came back in the room and set the champagne and glasses down on the nightstand, Gia practically landed on the box before realizing it was there. I curled my fingers around my jaw in an observational pose. She was such a fucking mystery.

She picked up the box to inspect it. "What's this?" she asked.

"Open it and find out," I replied, finding her actions funny.

As soon as she saw what it contained, she squealed the apartment down like a screaming banshee, jumping on me and ambushing me with kisses.

"Oh my God, Kian, it's beautiful," she exclaimed before bursting into tears.

I froze like an idiot.