Chapter 271
Aria’s POV
Something flickered in his expression—surprise, quickly masked. "I... Mr. Kane should be the one to—"
"Marcus, please." I pushed myself up despite the dull throb in my head. "What's happening Saturday?"
He studied me for a long moment, clearly weighing his loyalty to Devon against whatever he saw in my face. Finally, he sighed.
"The wedding, Ms. Harper. Mr. Kane has been planning your wedding."
The room tilted. "What?"
"He's been in contact with planners since yesterday. The ceremony is scheduled for Saturday at the Plaza." Marcus's expression gentled at what must have been my shock. "You... didn't know?"
"He's getting married?" My voice came out strangled. "To who? When did he—"
"To you, Ms. Harper." Marcus looked genuinely bewildered now. "Mr. Kane has been quite specific about the arrangements. He said you'd agreed, after the ultrasound yesterday—" Understanding dawned on his face. "You didn't realize."
Good.
That single word in the ultrasound room. Not good, I'll handle it. Not good, we'll figure this out.
Good, I'll marry you.
"Oh my God." My hand flew to my mouth. "He actually meant—"
The door opened. Devon stood in the threshold, his gaze immediately finding mine. Whatever he saw in my expression made him go still.
"Marcus," he said quietly, never breaking eye contact with me. "Leave us."
Marcus departed swiftly. The door closed with a soft click that sounded deafening in the sudden silence.
Devon moved toward me with predatory grace, his eyes never leaving my face. "You talked to Marcus."
It wasn't a question. I nodded, not trusting my voice.
"And now you know." He stopped at the edge of the bed, close enough that I could see the tension in his jaw, the careful control in every line of his body. "About Saturday."
"You're planning our wedding." The words felt surreal on my tongue. "Without telling me."
"I told you in the ultrasound room." His voice was matter-of-fact, but his hands curled into fists at his sides. "You asked me to marry you. I said yes."
"You said 'good'!"
"Same thing."
"It's really not—"
"Aria." My name on his lips silenced me instantly. He leaned down, his hands bracing on either side of my hips, caging me in. "Let me be very clear. Saturday, you're going to become my wife. You're going to take my name. You're going to move into my home. And you're going to let me protect you and our child." His gray eyes held mine, intense and unwavering. "So I'm only going to ask this once. Do you have a problem with any of that?"
My heart hammered against my ribs. This wasn't how proposals were supposed to go. There should be romance. Flowers. A ring. Not a hospital room and an ultimatum delivered in that commanding tone that made my stomach flutter despite everything.
But then again, this was Devon Kane. He didn't do romance. He did possession. Control. And right now, looking into his eyes, I saw something else there too—something vulnerable beneath all that ruthless certainty.
He was afraid. Afraid I'd say no.
"So?" His voice dropped lower, rougher. "Do you want to marry me, Aria? Because if the answer is no, say it now. But understand—I'm not letting you go regardless. You're mine. The baby is mine. Marriage just makes it legal."
I should have been offended by his arrogance. Should have thrown his presumption back in his face.
Instead, I found myself asking, "What about your mother? Your family? They'll never accept—"
"I don't give a damn what they accept." He straightened, one hand moving to cup my face. "You think I'm going to let anyone—family, business partners, God himself—tell me I can't have you?" His thumb traced my cheekbone. "After everything, you should know me better than that."
"This is crazy," I whispered.
"Probably." His lips quirked in something that wasn't quite a smile. "So I'll ask one more time. Will you marry me on Saturday, Aria Harper?"
Every rational part of my brain screamed that this was insane. We barely knew each other. Our relationship was built on contracts and manipulation. He was controlling, possessive, sometimes cruel.
But he was also the man who'd bought me chocolate chip cookies because he remembered they made me happy. Who'd held my hand during the ultrasound. Who'd looked terrified when Marcus told him about the crash.
Who was looking at me right now like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
"Yes," I breathed.
The tension in his shoulders eased fractionally. "Good." He leaned down, his forehead resting against mine. "Now stop trying to run from me. It never works, and it pisses me off."
Despite everything—the crash, the fear, the absolute insanity of agreeing to marry a man in a hospital room—I felt my lips curve into a smile.
"You know this is the worst proposal in the history of proposals, right?"
"Probably." His breath ghosted across my lips. "But you said yes anyway."
"I did." My hand found his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat. "Devon, about the crash—"
"Already being handled." His hand covered mine, pressing it harder against his heart. "Whoever did this will regret it. I promise you that."
The certainty in his voice should have scared me. Instead, it made me feel safe for the first time since the impact.
"Okay," I whispered.
He pulled back enough to study my face, his expression softening in that rare way that still caught me off guard. "Get some rest. "
"Devon?" I caught his hand as he started to move away. "Thank you. For coming. For being here."
Something vulnerable flashed in his eyes. "Where else would I be?"
I watched Devon's hand linger on my cheek, his thumb brushing just below my bandaged temple with a tenderness that made my throat tight. The touch was brief—barely a heartbeat—but it carried the weight of everything he couldn't say in front of the hospital staff.
"Rest," he murmured, his gray eyes holding mine. "I'll handle everything."