As he gazed across the table at her, his throat tightened with pride. He’d never seen her look so beautiful or so sexy, but then his thoughts always seemed to take that direction. Her bare shoulders gleamed in the candlelight, and he wanted to lick the sprinkle of freckles on that graceful little nose. Her shiny swirl of hair reminded him of autumn leaves, and his fingers ached to rumple it. If he hadn’t been so wrapped up in his outdated, misdirected notions of what made up a trophy wife, he would have realized months ago the place she occupied in his life. But it had taken last weekend’s party to open his eyes. Annabelle made everybody happy, including him. With Annabelle, he remembered that life was about living, not just about work, and that laughter was as precious a commodity as cash.

He’d canceled a morning’s worth of appointments to pick out her engagement ring, only two and a half carats because her hands were small, and lugging three carats around all day might leave her too tired to take off her clothes at night. He’d planned exactly how he intended to propose to her, and this morning he’d put the first part of that plan in motion.

He’d hired the Northwestern University Marching Band.

He envisioned exactly how it would unfold. Right now, she was angry, so he had to make her forget that, up until a few weeks ago, he’d intended to marry Delaney Lightfield. He had a pretty good idea Annabelle loved him. The Dean Robillard scam proved that, didn’t it? And if he was wrong, he’d make her love him…starting tonight.

He’d kiss her breathless, carry her upstairs to that attic bedroom, turn Nana to the wall, and make love with her until they were both senseless. Afterward, he’d follow up with a boatload of flowers, some ultraromantic dates, and a slew of salacious phone calls. When he was absolutely certain he’d crumbled the last of her defenses, he’d invite her to a special dinner at Evanston’s top restaurant. After she’d been lulled by good food, champagne, and candlelight, he’d tell her he wanted to see her old college hangouts and suggest a walk around the Northwestern campus. Along the way, he’d pull her into one of those big arched doorways, kiss her, probably feel her up a little because, who was he kidding, there was no way he could kiss Annabelle without touching her. Finally, they’d reach the campus lakefront, and that’s where the Northwestern marching band would be waiting, playing something old-fashioned and romantic. He’d drop down on one knee, pull out the ring, and ask her to marry him.

He held on to the image, savored it, and then, with a pang of regret, let it go. There’d be no marching band, no proposal by the lakefront, not even a ring to seal the exact moment he asked her to marry him, since the one he’d chosen wouldn’t be ready until next week. He was abandoning his perfect plan because, after meeting the Granger family and seeing how much they meant to one another—how much Annabelle meant to them—he knew they had to be part of this.