The Secret Art of Forgiveness Read Free

there.’
    Frankie waved as the elevator doors started to swish closed. ‘Just levitate, sweetheart. Oh, wait… it looks as if you’re doing that already.’
    ***
    Viktor’s was one of those restaurants decorated in tasteful, soft, beige tones with crisp, white tablecloths, chandeliers the size of caves, and exuding calm and sophistication. Neither of which Emily felt as she made her way to the maître d’. ‘I have a table booked under the name of – oh, there he is.’
    He was standing by a table at the window, his hand raised in a wave. He was smiling.
    He’s smiling.
    â€˜Hey. Busy day, huh?’ He gave her cheek a kiss and pulled the chair out for her before the waiter had a chance. ‘Sit down. I have champagne on ice.’
    She glanced at the French fizz. ‘Are we celebrating something?’
    â€˜Among other things, your genius. Here, have a glass.’
    As she turned to give her coat to the waiter Brett poured. There was a little clink and then the lovely sound of bubbles popping. A lot like how her stomach felt. ‘Twice in one day – I could get too used to this. Thanks.’
    â€˜You’re going to have to get used to it if you’re the top performer.’ Brett winked. ‘So, how was the rest of your day?’
    â€˜Good, I think. Terry from Kids First seemed open to our ideas. He liked that we’d done charity work before. You know, we really could push that angle to other not-for-profits – our pro bono work really resonates. Anyway, we’re going through to the next round.’
    â€˜Excellent. And not a bad idea. We could discuss it in our next strategy meeting.’
    â€˜I really like that we have the opportunity to help those kinds of organisations.’ She took a sip, realising she was babbling on a little. Nerves. Which was strange, because there was nothing about Brett that made her nervous.
    Why are we here? She tried to telepathically question him because she didn’t want to second-guess the whole situation and look stupid if she’d got it so completely wrong, but he was just smiling at her and nodding as she carried on rambling, ‘And how was your day, Brett?’
    â€˜Just great. We had an epic shoot out at the High Line; it had just the right urban-grungy feel we were lookin’ – hey, you know what? Let’s not talk work.’ His eyes were glittering a dark navy and he had an anxious smile – the way she’d seen him when his mother had phoned about his father’s heart scare. That was so unlike Brett, the normally uber-confident ad VP. He held her glass back out to her. ‘You want to drink up a little? Ahem…’
    She glanced at her glass and noticed there was something in the bottom. ‘Oh. What’s this?’
    Not wanting to put her fingers down into the champagne she drained the glass, then tipped out a… ring. Her heart squeezed tight. ‘Oh, my God, that is so beautiful.’
    â€˜Tiffany. If you don’t like it, we can take it back.’
    â€˜No, no. I love it. It’s beautiful.’ A single solitaire in what she guessed was a platinum band. It caught the soft light and twinkled. And a lump formed in her throat. She didn’t want to presume… and couldn’t work out what the flutter in her chest was… because the excitement was still there, but the panic was too. ‘But…? What’s it –?’
    The next thing she knew he was at her side, lowering himself down onto one knee, and she was quite sure there was about to be an explosion in her chest as all the excitement and panic intensified until she could barely breathe.
    â€˜Emily, you know how I feel about you. You’re the other half of me. I just can’t imagine a life without you in it. And I don’t want to spend another moment away from you. Will you… will you, please, do me the honour of being my wife?’
    This is real.
    A