Unbroken bond

Chapter 6; How NOT to propose.

*RYAN'S POV*

I have closed billion-dollar deals.

I have fired CEOs without blinking.

I have given a speech in front of 5,000 people and not thrown up.

But buying a ring for Ariana? I almost passed out in the jewelry store.

The jeweler showed me a diamond the size of a small planet. "Mr. Ryden, this is 5 carats, flawless,—"

"Perfect," I said, sweating. "Wrap it up. Put it in a box. Put that box in another box. And give me oxygen."

Because I was going to propose. Tonight. At our favorite rooftop restaurant. Cheesy? Yes. Classic? Also yes. Perfect for Team Cheesy Billionaire.

Plan: Dinner, sunset, I get on one knee, she cries, everyone claps, we live happily ever after.

Reality? Disaster.

*ATTEMPT #1: The Restaurant*

Sunset is perfect. Violinist playing. Ariana looks stunning.

I signal the waiter — this is the cue to bring the cake with the ring inside.

Waiter brings cake. Ariana takes a bite.

Chews.

Chews more.

"Ryan," she whispers, "Why is there something hard in my cake?"

My soul leaves my body. "DON'T SWALLOW! DON'T SWALLOW! THAT'S A 100K DIAMOND!"

She spits the ring onto the plate. The whole restaurant stares.

"I almost ate our future!" she yells.

"I panicked!" I yell back. "It looked romantic in the movies!"

We got kicked out for screaming about diamonds in cake.

*ATTEMPT #2: The Penthouse*

Okay, new plan. Home. Cozy. Fairy lights. I can do cozy.

I lit 100 candles in the penthouse. It looked like a fire hazard, but romantic.

Ariana walks in. "Ryan, why does it smell like Bath & Body Works exploded?"

"Romance!" I say, getting on one knee.

She sneezes. Ten times. She's allergic to scented candles.

"Are you proposing or trying to kill me with lavender?!" she shouts, sneezing and laughing.

Attempt #2: Failed. And now my penthouse smells like a spa for a week.

*ATTEMPT #3: The Office*

Fine. Keep it simple. She comes to my office every day. I'll do it there.

She walks in, on my lap again — her usual.

"Baby," I say, very serious, very cheesy, pulling out the little box, "Ariana—"

My office door bursts open. It's Maya from reception, my mother Brittany, my father Eddie, and two investors from Tokyo who I forgot I had a meeting with.

Everyone freezes. I'm on one knee. Ring box open. Ariana on my lap looking like a deer in headlights.

Brittany gasps. "OH MY GOD!"

Eddie says, "Son, wrong meeting. This one is about Q3 revenue."

One investor starts clapping, thinking it's a show.

Ariana whispers, "Ryan, get up, this is so embarrassing!"

I whisper back, "But I'm already down here! My knee hurts!"

Attempt #3: Failed. And now Tokyo thinks I'm proposing to my company.

*That Night — The Real One*

We are back home. No candles. No cake. No investors. Just us on the couch, in pajamas, eating cereal at midnight because we missed dinner after getting kicked out of the restaurant.

She's laughing at me. "You are the worst proposer in billionaire history."

"I know," I groan, head in her lap. "I wanted it to be perfect. Like movie perfect."

She plays with my hair. "Ryan, look at me."

I look up.

"Do you know what perfect is?" she says softly.

"What?"

"Perfect is you being so nervous you put a diamond in a cake. Perfect is you lighting 100 candles even though you know I sneeze. Perfect is you getting on your knee in front of Japanese investors. That's perfect, you idiot."

I sit up.

"So... if I asked you right now, no ring box, no violin, just me, smelling like cereal, with a ring that you already spit out once..."

She giggles, tears in her eyes.

I take her hands. No more plans. Just words.

"Ariana, my love, my designer, my thief who stole my hoodies and my heart... will you be my wife? Will you let me be cheesy for the rest of our lives? Will you let me build you that closet you want and also build a life with you?"

She doesn't answer for three seconds. Three longest seconds of my billionaire life.

Then she screams, "YES! YES, YOU CHEESY i***t, YES!"

And she kisses me, cereal milk everywhere, ring falling on the floor, both of us laughing like kids.

I finally got it on her finger. It fits. Of course it fits. I measured her finger while she was sleeping like a creep.

She holds her hand up. "It's huge, Ryan!"

"I know, I overcompensate because I'm bad at proposing!"

"I love it," she whispers, crying and laughing. "I love you, you cheesy, terrible, perfect billionaire."

And I kiss my fiancée. My future Mrs. Cheesy Billionaire.

In our pajamas. On our couch. With cereal.

The most perfect, unperfect proposal ever.