My life was so out of my control then—I was a victim, a leaf blown on the wind. That night had changed me in more ways than I could ever name. One thing that it taught me was to seize control of my life—to be the driver instead of the driven.

As I sat at my desk staring blankly out the window at the tea-colored water lapping up on the shore of the tiny beach, I ran a hand through my hair. My mind wandered to this situation with Emilia. Be the driver, not the driven…

My thoughts were interrupted by a sound at the doorway. I turned to see Emilia standing there watching me with wide, questioning eyes. Our gazes held for a long, tense moment and I was suddenly reminded of that instant, last spring, when I’d first laid eyes on her in that hotel conference room.

I’d had no idea what to expect—I’d formed a lot of preconceived notions about her and had even seen photos from the auction, knew that she was a lovely woman. But something so powerful hit me the moment I entered the room. It was more than just her physical beauty and presence. Yes, I found her mesmerizingly beautiful. But it was more than that. It was the presence of something else there between us, something electric, almost alive. A connection I’d never felt before that was immediate and more than a little intimidating.

I’d almost wavered in my decision to go “full asshole” for that meeting in order to scare her out of the auction plan altogether. But I’d managed to pull it off despite the fact that I’d fought myself the entire time. Part of me just wanted to lose myself in those mysterious golden brown eyes.

And since that moment, that thing had only grown, mutated into this pull that locked me into her orbit. I was frozen, forever facing her like the Moon, unable to turn away, even for one second, from the stunning beauty that was the Earth. In those moments when I allowed myself to just feel, I felt as helpless as that poor hunk of rock forever entrapped by her, that luscious blue planet at the center of my entire existence.

“Hey,” she said after a long moment, sending me a tremulous smile.

“Good morning,” I said in a flat voice.

“You hungry? I can make pancakes.”

Chef had the week off and had prepared a bunch of meals ahead of time, but Emilia liked to make something now and then. “I think I’m just in the mood for some cold cereal.” That’s about how I felt—wet, cold, soggy, flat.

She frowned. “Okay. Can we talk over breakfast then?”

I closed my notebook computer, stood and followed her out, sending her a half shrug. “Sure.”

Despite having proposed pancakes, Emilia only nibbled on the piece of toast she’d prepared for herself, watching me as I shoveled in my Cheerios as fast as I could. She did, however, manage to down more than her fair share of coffee. She was on her second big cup when I sucked down the last of the milk in my bowl and sat back with a satisfied belch.

She made a face at me. “Gross.”

I got up and moved to the sink to rinse out the bowl and she followed me. She seemed determined to corner me this morning and I didn’t feel much like being cornered. “We need to have that talk.”

I turned to her, putting my hands on the counter behind me, leaning back. “What do you want to talk about?”

She took a deep breath, exasperated. “Last night.”

“Okay. What do you want to say?”

“I want to know why you asked me to marry you.”

My jaw tightened. “I thought I explained myself adequately last night.”

She blew out a weary sigh. “I don’t want to start a fight, but that’s not what I think.”

“So I’m lying to you?”

She frowned and looked down. “You’re not telling the entire truth. It’s kind of your MO.”

I stiffened. She referred, of course, to my delay in telling her that we already knew each other through our online personas. When we’d met in person, she’d thought that we were total strangers to each other. But we weren’t, and throughout the next month I had let her believe otherwise until I’d finally confessed that we’d been online friends for over a year. She still hadn’t quite let it go. Apparently, she hadn’t forgiven me for it, either.

“I don’t know what to say to that. I told you I loved you and I wanted to start planning our future—”

“One week after I got an acceptance letter to a school you don’t want me to attend.”

I let out a long breath, folded my arms in front of my chest. “If you’re going to doubt everything that comes out of my mouth, then why should we even talk about this?”