Chapter 87 Rose Paradise
Olivia: POV
I woke up to sunlight streaming through the curtains. Blake was still asleep beside me, his face relaxed and peaceful.
Last night's confession had changed something between us—the revelation that he'd never liked Sophia, that all these years I'd been holding onto a misunderstanding.
I reached out, carefully tracing the outline of his eyebrow, the straight line of his nose, the curve of his jaw.
"Are you memorizing my face?" His voice, rough with sleep, startled me. His eyes remained closed, but a small smile played at his lips.
"Just checking for drool," I teased, quickly withdrawing my hand.
He caught it mid-air, bringing my fingers to his lips. "Liar."
His eyes opened, blue and clear in the morning light. Something in his gaze made my stomach flip.
"We should get up," I said. "I have a meeting at ten."
Blake groaned. "Five more minutes?"
"You said that twenty minutes ago."
In the bathroom, we brushed our teeth together. Blake stood behind me, one arm wrapped around my waist, his chin resting on top of my head.
"Your shampoo smells nice," I said.
"Our shampoo," he corrected, pressing a kiss to my temple. "Everything in this house is ours now."
"You're getting toothpaste in my hair," I complained, though I made no move to pull away.
He rinsed his mouth. "Your hair smells like my shampoo now. I like it."
After showering, I found Blake in the kitchen, flipping French toast while bacon sizzled in another pan.
"This smells amazing," I said, sliding onto a barstool.
"Only the best for my wife and child." He placed a steaming mug of ginger tea in front of me. "For the nausea."
"You're dangerously close to becoming the perfect husband."
"Dangerously close?" He set a plate before me. "What's holding me back?"
"Your ego, for one thing," I teased, taking a bite. "Oh my God, this is incredible."
"My mom taught me the basics. The rest I picked up from cooking shows when I couldn't sleep." His eyes met mine. "You featured in a lot of those sleepless nights."
Heat rose to my cheeks.
"How are you feeling?" he asked. "Any nausea?"
"Not yet. The tea helps."
"I'm keeping a list of what works," he admitted. "Ginger tea, saltines, small frequent meals."
Something warm bloomed in my chest. "You're really taking this seriously."
"Of course I am." He placed his hand over mine. "Taking care of you is the most important thing in my life right now."
"I was thinking," Blake said as he collected our plates, "maybe we could go somewhere after work today."
"Where?"
"It's a surprise." His eyes twinkled. "Just trust me."
"The last time you surprised me, we ended up married."
He grinned. "I promise this surprise doesn't involve any legal documents."
Blake insisted on driving me to work. As we pulled up to the Radiance building, he kissed my cheek. "I'll pick you up at five."
Throughout the day, I found myself thinking about Blake's surprise. My mind kept wandering back to him—to the way he'd looked at me this morning, the warmth in his eyes.
My assistant, Jennifer, noticed during our afternoon meeting.
"Everything okay, Ms. Parker? You seem... different today."
"Different how?"
"Happier," she said simply.
At exactly five o'clock, my phone buzzed: [Outside when you're ready.]
I headed downstairs, where I found Blake leaning against his car in dark jeans and a navy button-down.
"Ready for your surprise?"
"Should I be nervous?"
"Probably," he admitted with a grin. "But in a good way."
We drove for about thirty minutes, leaving the city behind. The landscape shifted from concrete and glass to rolling hills and open fields.
"Are you taking me to the middle of nowhere to murder me?"
Blake laughed, taking my hand. "I promise you're safe with me. Always."
Eventually, we turned onto a familiar road. "Bloom Haven? Your surprise is at work?"
"Something like that." He parked near a side entrance. "Close your eyes."
I sighed but complied. "This better be good."
"Trust me." He helped me out, his hands settling on my shoulders to guide me forward.
"You're not going to let me walk into a wall, right?"
"Have a little faith," he murmured near my ear, sending shivers down my spine.
After what felt like an eternity—and one near-stumble that Blake caught me from—we stopped.
"Okay," he said softly. "Open your eyes."
I blinked them open and gasped.
Before me stretched a sea of pink roses—thousands of them, arranged around a central gazebo. The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over everything. The air was heavy with their sweet fragrance.
"Blake," I whispered.
He moved beside me, watching my reaction. "Do you like it?"
"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." Roses of every shade of pink created a living tapestry. "Did you do this?"
He nodded. "I've been working on it for months. I developed this variety specifically for this garden."
"But why?"
My mind raced back through the years—all those times I'd seen Blake working in gardens, studying horticulture, dedicating himself to flowers. I'd always thought it was just a hobby, a career choice. But now, standing here surrounded by thousands of roses he'd cultivated, I realized the truth.
It had all been for me.
Every single rose. Every hour of work. Every careful crossbreed and cultivation.
For me.
Blake took my hand, leading me toward the gazebo. "You once asked why I became so interested in gardens and flowers. The truth is, it all started because of something a little girl said to me many years ago."
My heart skipped a beat.
We reached the gazebo, and Blake turned to face me. "She told me she loved roses because they were beautiful but thorny, making them hard to get close to." His fingers brushed my cheek. "It reminded me of her—stunning but guarded, keeping people at arm's length."
My throat tightened as memories flooded back—a summer day when I was twelve, sitting in his family's garden. I'd been going through a difficult time, and I'd built walls around myself.
"You remembered that?"
"I remember everything about you, Olivia." Blake's gaze was intense. "That conversation was the beginning of my fascination with roses. I wanted to understand them, to learn how to handle them without getting hurt. Just like I wanted to understand you."
A tear slipped down my cheek, and he gently wiped it away.
He led me to the center of the gazebo, where a single perfect pink rose stood in a crystal vase. "This garden—I created it for you."
I stared at him, speechless, as he picked up the rose and held it out. "This variety doesn't have a name yet. I was thinking of calling them 'Olivia Roses.'"
Tears pricked at my eyes as I accepted the flower. "Blake, I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything yet." He took a deep breath, then lowered himself to one knee.
My free hand flew to my mouth.
"Olivia," Blake began, his voice steady despite the vulnerability in his eyes. "We've done everything backwards—got pregnant, got married, and only then started to really know each other. But I want to do this right."
He pulled out a small velvet box, opening it to reveal a stunning ring with pink diamonds that matched the roses perfectly.
"I've loved you since we were children, even when you didn't see me. Even when you chose someone else." His voice wavered. "And now that I finally have you in my life again, I want to do this properly."
My heart hammered as tears spilled freely down my cheeks.
"We already have the legal document," he continued with a small smile, "but I want more than that. I want you to choose me, not because of the baby or because it's convenient, but because you want to be with me."
He took my hand, his blue eyes shining. "Olivia Parker, will you marry me? For real this time?"