I met Jack a year ago when I spilled my iced latte all over his papers at a coffee shop. Instead of getting mad, he smiled and said, \u201cGuess this is fate telling me to take a break.\u201d He told me he worked in logistics for a small company. We ended up talking for hours, hit it off, and started dating.<\/p>\n
Jack always insisted we spend time at his tiny, worn-down studio \u2014 scuffed walls, mismatched furniture, and a heater that barely worked. He\u2019d light dollar-store candles, cook dinner on a single hot plate, and I swear, his ratty old couch was the comfiest thing ever. It wasn\u2019t about the space \u2014 it was about him.<\/p>\n
We hit our one-year anniversary, and Jack promised me a surprise. When I walked out of my building, I froze. Jack was leaning against this sleek, luxury car, holding a huge bouquet of red roses.<\/p>\n
\u201cHappy anniversary,\u201d he said, grinning as he handed me the flowers and kissed me.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhose car is this?\u201d I asked, completely stunned.<\/p>\n
His smile shifted, a little nervous now. \u201cIt\u2019s mine,\u201d he said, rubbing the back of his neck. \u201cI think\u2026 now\u2019s the time.\u201d<\/p>\n
That\u2019s when he dropped the bombshell. He was the heir to a multi-million-dollar family business. The shabby studio? A carefully planned test to see if I loved him for him \u2014 not his money.<\/p>\n
Then he got down on one knee, pulling out a velvet box. \u201cWill you marry me?\u201d<\/p>\n
Most people would say yes right away, but I had a secret too. I smiled, took the car keys out of his hand, and said, \u201cLet me drive. If what I show you doesn\u2019t scare you off, my answer will be yes.\u201d<\/p>\n
Jack looked confused but handed me the keys. \u201cOkay\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTrust me. You\u2019re not the only one with secrets.\u201d, I said with a grin.<\/p>\n
I drove us past the quiet suburbs, and straight toward a set of iron gates so tall they practically touched the sky.<\/p>\n
\u201cUh\u2026 where are we going?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRemember how I told you I grew up in a \u2018modest\u2019 house?\u201d I asked innocently.<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI may have stretched the definition of \u2018modest\u2019 just a tiny bit.\u201d<\/p>\n
I punched in a code, and the gates silently swung open, revealing a massive estate with pristine gardens, towering fountains, and even a freaking hedge maze.<\/p>\n
Jack turned to me, eyes wide. \u201cGiselle\u2026 what the hell?\u201d<\/p>\n
I parked, and turned to him with a grin. \u201cWelcome to my childhood home.\u201d<\/p>\n
He blinked. Then blinked again. \u201cYou\u2019re rich?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cVery.\u201d<\/p>\n
Jack\u2019s mouth opened, \u201cSo\u2026 you were testing ME while I was testing YOU?\u201d<\/p>\n
I nodded. \u201cLooks like it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWait,\u201d he said, a realization dawning on his face. \u201cAll those times you acted impressed by my hot plate cooking\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, that wasn\u2019t acting. I was genuinely amazed anyone could make edible food on that thing.\u201d<\/p>\n
Jack burst out laughing.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I met Jack a year ago when I spilled my iced latte all over his papers at a coffee shop. Instead of getting mad, he smiled and… <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":28651,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-28650","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-finance"],"yoast_head":"\n