Royal Wedding by Meg Cabot Page A

broken up with.
    â€œUm,” I said. “Sure.” I followed the trail of roses through the sand to where he was standing and took the champagne glass from him. “Thanks.”
    He smiled and clinked my glass with his and said, “Cheers,” and all of my insides (and some of my outsides) seemed to melt because I saw that the playfulness in his smile reached his eyes, and though the darkness there might have been as deep as the ocean beyond the reef—which was quite serious, because Mo Mo had warned us there were sharks there—he was finally welcoming me to dive in. In fact, he was grinning ear to ear.
    â€œOkay,” I said, lowering my glass. “What is going on?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” He lowered his glass, too. “Nothing’s going on.”
    â€œSomething is definitely going on. There are rose petals scattered on the beach and you’re smiling in a weird way.”
    â€œI’m merely enjoying a romantic meal with the woman I love. Is that so wrong?” He pulled a chair out for me, the one that had the best view of the sea and the sunset, which had turned the sky a dramatic pink and periwinkle blue.
    â€œIt’s weird,” I said, taking the seat. “I love you, but you’re acting very weird. You have a weird look in your eye. You’ve had it for a few weeks now. Don’t try to deny it. I thought you were having another kidney stone.”
    Michael handed me a napkin. “It’s a tragedy when a man can’t enjoy dinner with the woman he loves without being castigated by her as weird.”
    â€œI didn’t say you ’re weird, I said you’re acting weird.”
    â€œYou also said you thought I was having a kidney stone.”
    â€œWell,” I said, “you know how you get.”
    â€œApparently I do not, since I thought I was behaving in a perfectly normal manner.”
    â€œNo, you are clearly hiding something from me.”
    â€œI can assure it’s not a kidney stone.”
    â€œWell, then, what—?”
    That’s when something hard struck my lip—something that had been inside the champagne glass. At first I thought it was a strawberry—everyone loves cutting up strawberries and sticking them on the side of champagne glasses, which is simply annoying, as it takes up a lot of room where delicious champagne could be.
    But then, when I looked inside my glass, I saw that what was in it was not a strawberry, but something that glittered like metal. And stone. A large, glittering white stone on a platinum band.
    My heart stopped, and not from a myocardial infarction.
    There was no sound (since my heart was not beating) except the sound of the waves gently lapping up against the white shore and the occasional call of a far-off bird. We were the only human beings for miles around (I’m not including Lars and whoever else from the RGG security detail was stationed on the next island over, scanning the area for incoming boats and spy drones).
    It was only Michael, me, and the birds (and dolphins and millions of fish a few feet away).
    I looked from the ring up at Michael.
    â€œWhat is this?” I asked him, raising the glass.
    â€œI think it should be pretty obvious,” he said. “It’s an engagement ring. I thought you’d like it because the diamond’s laboratory-grown. I know we said we weren’t going to get married, but I’m tired of never seeing you anymore, and this seems like the most practical solution to the problem.”
    Then, before I knew what was happening, he’d dropped to one knee beside me in the sand, put his hands over mine, and looked up into my face.
    â€œI can take the ring back and get a natural diamond if you want,” he said, “but I thought you’d like this one since it’s conflict-free.”
    I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Had there ever been a more down-to-earth, more Michael Moscovitzy proposal