Chapter 11
Della picked up the ring and turned it over in her hand. Fully two carats, emerald cut, platinum setting. It was the most beautiful ring she had ever seen. It grew warm in her hand as she held it.
"I planned a much different proposal," Rodger continued. "I had flowers, but the maître de wouldn't let me take them to the table. I had to leave them behind the reservation desk with him and then forgot to get them when I left. I mentioned I didn't like that place, right? They didn't have champagne flutes, only those flat champagne glasses, so I couldn't put the ring in a glass for you to find. Then I remembered this place and how romantic it is because of all the candles, but I find out you've been here already this week, with that man you work for."
The ring became so warm it burned her fingers. She dropped it back onto the table. "Rodger, we've never discussed marriage. I – I can't believe you bought a ring."
"I've been thinking about it for a while. We have fun together. We should get married."
"We do have fun together. But how we have fun is not exactly a strong basis for a marriage."
"But I'm officially divorced now. Everyone knows we've been seeing each other, and I want to be married again."
Their relationship, while conducted quietly, had not exactly been illicit. Rodger's wife had full knowledge, and the only request she made was that their children not meet her until the divorce was final, when she would introduce the man who was her fiancé, the man for whom she had broken up the marriage.
"Just because you're officially divorced doesn't mean you have to jump immediately into another marriage." Rodger was quite handsome, intelligent in an in-the-moment kind of way, and could be a bit silly. He had minced no words in describing his attraction to her from the first moment they met, had in fact pursued her persistently for weeks. She had finally succumbed to his charm, primarily because it was nice to laugh and be showered with outrageously flattering compliments, to be touched intimately and feel like a woman. But not once in five months did she give consideration to marrying him. Especially not now, when she had found a challenging and thrilling purpose and was finally being recognized for her talents and not just for her looks.
"Della, I don't do well alone. I like being married. Besides, I want more kids. The boys need a little sister."
Della blanched. Marriage. Children. Had she ignored hints or even entire conversations? Why didn't she know he wanted to marry and have children with her? She pushed the ring across the checked tablecloth with one finger. "I think you should put this back in your pocket," she said quietly.
Rodger stared at her, a dumbfounded expression on his face. "Are you turning me down?"
"Yes, Rodger, I'm turning you down. I had no idea you thought we were headed toward marriage, especially not so soon after your divorce."
"How could you have no idea? We've been sleeping together for five months!"
"Shhhhh! Keep it down," she hissed. She didn't dare look around to see if anyone was listening. "A lot of people sleep together and don't get married."
Rodger slumped against the booth. "I don't."
Della was stunned. She was intimate with this man but didn't know him at all. "Rodger, I honestly had no idea. I – I'm very fond of you, but I don't want to marry you right now. I've only been in Los Angeles for a year and I just started my job a few weeks ago –"
"You're turning me down because of your job?" Rodger's voice rose incredulously. "You would rather work as a secretary than be my wife?
Della straightened her back. "It's not just my job," she said evenly. "It's a lot of things, beginning with the fact that not once since you threw that ring across the table have you said you love me."
"That goes without saying," he replied earnestly, suddenly leaning forward and covering her hands with his.
"No," she disagreed, "it doesn't."
"Good Lord, Della, don't you know actions speak louder than words?"
"When it comes to marriage proposals, words are everything, Rodger. You've given me nothing but tired masculine clichés."
Rodger tightened his grip on her hands. "I'm not a poetry reciting kind of man, for crying out loud."
"I'm not asking for a Shakespearean sonnet, Rodger. Just tell me you love me."
"All right then. I love you."
Her smile was slow and a trifle sad. "No, you don't."
Rodger threw his hands up in the air disgustedly. "What do you want from me?"
"I want you to take me home where we can continue this conversation in private."
Rodger scowled at her. "The plan was to take you home and celebrate our engagement."
"That's not going to happen tonight, Rodger. We have a lot to talk about, and as lovely as Luigi's is, I would feel more comfortable having our discussion in my apartment."
He gave a snort and pushed himself across the seat of the booth and jumped to his feet. "You sit tight. I need to visit the men's room. If you see that sneaky little waiter, get the drink check." He turned on his heel and hurriedly wove his way around tables toward the rear of the restaurant.
Della sighed and leaned against the back of the booth, thoroughly fatigued. Her ankle was still a bit swollen and the bump on her head was beginning to throb from the strain of the past couple of days. Rodger's proposal was an unexpected complication in her life, piling on top of her encounters with Miss Cavanaugh and the niggling fear that the estimable lady attorney might yet convince Mr. Mason to weigh anchor and follow her to Denver, leaving her without a job.
When Rodger didn't return after five minutes, she attempted to sit forward in order to flag down Gianni, but was stopped by a slight tug at her hair. She tried to move her head, but again felt the tug and realized that her hair must be caught somehow on the booth seat. Utterly exasperated at being in yet another little predicament and unable to move her head but a scant inch, she tried to reach back with her hands to free herself. As her fingers sought the tumbled curls Rodger had set free in the taxi, her hair was suddenly released from whatever had been restraining it, and she lurched forward, almost smashing face-first into the table top.
