Disclaimer: I don't own CCS or the Shopaholic series.

Summary: (sequel to In the Shoes of a Shopaholic Shopaholic Sakura is back! And this time, she's armed with a gorgeous diamond ring… because Syaoran proposed to her! Sakura is thrilled – so many choices, from Chanel to Vera Wang… But soon, her marital bliss is overshadowed by the cons of marriage – and she's not sure if it really is fab being married.

Thanks for all those lovely reviews! XD Keep them coming!

Erm… should this fic be at least 20 chappies? Or is that too long?

Please read and review!

Oh. And I've got about 3 more ideas for another CCS fic... if you want a summary, PM meor review! XD

- Love, Waltz Alone

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Shopaholic Walks Down the Aisle

Chapter 2 – Shopaholic's Diamond

I'm slightly drowsy as I step out of the subway terminal, nearly tripping over my high heels as I make my way within the impossible crowd. I use all my might to not drop my Chanel purse or my numerous, bulging folders. Routinely, I head into a Starbucks and hastily order a tall latte with two sugars and a chocolate muffin. Within those two short minutes, my cell phone rings five times, each about some complaint or another about some invitation or press package some people didn't receive.

Tucking my folders under my arm and grabbing my order, I hastily make my way back into the crowded street, biting on my muffin to hold it in between my teeth. Resisting myself from swearing at some pervert who just touched my butt, I force my way towards a magazine stand.

"Good morning, Sakura!" a pleasant, balding man greets me from behind it. "The usual, I suppose?" I nod helplessly and adjust my stuff so I can reach inside my purse for my money. Seriously, I should receive an award for being able to juggle all this stuff without dropping it. I give him a usual $30 for my usual papers: USA Today, The New Yorker, New York Post, Vogue (British and American), Financial Times, New York Times and Star.

"Thanks," I say, and to my horror, my muffin falls to the dirty ground. Groaning, I take my magazines and squeeze into the moving crowd again. I like my muffin…

Each time my cell rings, I answer it and pretend to not have service or yell that I can't hear a thing… because there are only about a thousand New Yorkers talking loudly over one another on their phones around me.

Finally, I reach the tall, huge, grand, fancy building labeled "Li Enterprise." As I struggle towards the doors in my – um, very dressy shoes, - the nice security guy takes my stuff from my dying arms. "Thanks," I manage to breathe, pushing my hair back from my sweaty forehead. This is why being your boss's girlfriend comes in handy. They're all scared I might complain to Syaoran about them and get them fired. But Syaoran's not like that – he knows better. Although I'm sure if there was this really bitchy girl or a really horny guy, he'd sack them for me. I hope so.

I carefully take my entire collection of… things back, grin a thanks and walk in through the doors he's opened for me. I pass by the usual skinny bitches lounging by the lobby (having a breakfast consisting of water and more water), and stagger into the elevator. I nearly collapse down after I press the 20th floor button.

When I exit onto Syaoran and my personal floor, I dump all my stuff on the couches and sip on my coffee, beginning to wind down and relax.

"You're late," a low voice comes from behind me. I jump and turn, nearly screaming.

Bad idea.

I've spilled coffee all over Syaoran. Shit. Why do I always do that?

Syaoran blinks and stares at me blankly. I gape at him in horror. Slowly, he brings his coffee-strained face to my… well, chest, and to my horror, he wipes his face on my shirt. Oh my God! I protest loudly and pull away from him.

"That was a $100 Prada shirt!" I yell, running into the bathroom. He smirks and shrugs. "And this was a $300 Hanes shirt," he sighs. "May be I should just ban coffee in this room."

"At least it was cold," he wipes his face with a towel I throw at him from the bathroom. I grimace apologetically, "Sorry." He pushes a strand of hair from his eyes. "No, no, I'm just glad the shirt wasn't white, like last time," he throws the towel on the coffee table and comes to kiss me. I sigh.

"Take it off," I start unbuttoning his shirt. He raises his eyebrows. "Darling, I think 8 o' clock is a bit too early…" "Oh, shut up, you hypocrite!" I laugh, "I'm gonna wash your bloody Hanes shirt!"

"Oh, well, then, I musn't protest," he grins and strips out of his wet shirt, revealing his oh-always-drives-me-oh-so-insane chest.

"On second thought," I breathe, "I think it's not too early to pick up from where we left off last time…" I grin and lean against him. He smirks and bends down to kiss my forehead. He gazes into my eyes, and there's a moment of silence.

"Sakura," do you really want to wait five years?"

I blink. Then it registers into my head. Oh my God. He just had to ruin it… Is he serious? Or is he just playing with me – as usual? Oh God… May be he's going to… May be he's about to-

I nearly fall to the floor when there's a knock at the door. Syaoran looks as irritated as me when the door opens. I glare at that ill-dressed intern with a horrible fake tan. She immediately blushes, mutters an apology, leaves a floppy disk and scurries out.

Syaoran sighs. The moment had passes. He drops a kiss on my neck and heads into his office. "A shirtless CEO," he shakes his head, "Just turns you on, doesn't it?" He winks and disappears behind the door. I smile, heading into the bathroom with his shirt. "It does," I mumble to myself.

I bet he was about to make a joke about the whole five-year-issue. If he was serious, he would have continued. And he would have said it in a more proper place. Yeah. Let's just forget about it. I mean, we've only been together for a year… which is pretty long, but Eriol and Tomoyo have known each other for so much more than that. Just don't think about it. Yeah.

I put the thought away and take my phone, dialing Giorgio Armani's studio. A cold, dreary voice answers. I switch onto my professional, business-like tone.

"Yes, this is Mr. Li's office. Could you send over a shirt for his as soon as possible?" The woman mutters a "It'll be right there," and hangs up.

See, Syaoran has all these connections which is really useful. Like once, he brought me to a Marc Jacobs studio and I got a free, chic jacket! Way cool.

If we marry and have a kid, we could always get freebies!

This is just a saying… I'm not really thinking about marriage.

I head into the bathroom and fill the marble sink with water, looking around the dim room with boredom. I rinse the coffee stain and watch it come out little by little. Then the phone starts to ring, and I rush out the fastest I could and answer expertly, "Good morning, Mr. Li's office."

I scavenge around my messy desk – it's organized but disoriented, you know? – around all the pot-its, notepads, labels, files and discs before deciding to use the memo pad on my computer. "So you're available next week at 10 AM? Oh, I see. 90 percent sure. Hmm? Oh, now it's 95? Alright. That's great. I'll let him know straight away, thank you." I hang up and email the message to Syaoran (he's probably checking emails anyway) and hurry back to the bathroom.

Exhaling deeply, I manage to get the stain out and empty the sink. But before I can squeeze the water out, the phone rings again.

Muttering a few curses, I run back – nearly tripping and breaking off my heels – and answer as flawlessly as before. "Good morning, Mr. Li's office." I roll my eyes as some old woman drags on about something about something about some press package she got from somewhere. "I assure you, all of our packages have been proofread – yes, by English-speakers," I frown.

To my relief, the line 2 button flashes, and I quietly press it, leaving the lady to mumble on obliviously. "Hello, Mr. Li's office," I say more pleasantly. There's a pause. "This is an automatic message concerning Mr. Syaoran Li's purchase at…" I groan. "The specified item will be delivered-" Alright, new couch delivered, I scribble on to a fresh post it and stick it on my screen. I flick back to Line 1.

"-I think that if this were to happen, it would benefit all of the PR companies even further-"

Oh God. This old hag's still mumbling the same thing!

Line 2's still going, and line 3 begins to flick. I press it.

"Good morning, Mr. Li's office."

"Yes, hello. This is a representative from Union Bank."

Line 2 goes off then blinks again.

"Yes, please hold," I say irritably and switch to line 1. She's still going.

"Yes, Mr. Li's office," I say to Line 2. "Hello, this is the Chanel studios." My eyebrows arch up in interest. Finally. Something human. "Mr. Li ordered a specific item for today, and it's ready. Is he going to pick it up himself, or does he want it delivered?" I frown. Syaoran and Chanel? Uhh… Probably a gift for some chick for a business partner. Hopefully me.

"I'll put you to his line. Please hold." I connect him to Syaoran's phone. "Syaoran! Pick up the phone!" I yell, covering the receiver. I almost instantly hear his professional, emotionless business voice on my phone. "Yes, Syaoran Li here." I quietly hang up and smile. I feel like we're married when we do that. Not that I'm saying anything.

I switch to line 1. "Do you understand what I'm trying to say?" "Totally," I breathe, "I'll let him in on it when it's possible. Have a good day." I hang up again and turn to line 3. "Sorry for the wait. Union Bank?"

"Yes, we'd like to inform Mr. Li that a new check book is available for him, and if he needs it today, we'd be happy to mail it over." I cover the receiver and shout, "Do you need a checkbook?"

"Yes!" he yells back.

"Yes, that would be lovely, thanks."

Relieved, I hang up and head back into the washroom. I squeeze the water out of the shirt and hang it on the towel rack.

You think this looks tough?

I've done seven calls simultaneously. See? I'm a genius.

More phone calls, more interns, and some guys trying to hook up with me. But by 5 o' clock, I'm more relaxed, reading an article in the New Yorker about Syaoran being the "most successful, young genius." Yet again.

Syaoran comes out wearing a new, crisp white shirt as he comes over to my disorganized desk, peering over my head to see the clustered computer screen. ""Couch delivered today,"" he reads and takes off a post-it. "About time. And what's this?" he shuffles though a few memo pads. ""Hotel opening next week. Lots of celebs and freebies,"" He smirks. ""Exclamation mark, exclamation mark…" I'm guessing you want to go."

I stretch my arms and nod. "Of course! Freebies, Syaoran!" "And putting up with old people talking about the soundproof walls, special beds and room service?" he raises his eyebrows skeptically. I shrug and turn the computer off.

"So, is the date still on tonight?" I grin, turning to face him. He nods and brings me to my feet. "I don't have anything; no meetings, no contracts, nothing," he kisses me. "Just the dinner and you."

I organize a few files before remembering something. "Can I drive your car?"

He looks dumbstruck. "Excuse me?"

"You said I could! You promised when you blew me off on that lunch!"

"I had a meeting with five banks!"

"Yeah, and you didn't bring me anything from Australia!"

He raises his hands, defeated. "Fine… Dinner's set at 7, and it's 5 now… I think we'll get there in time." I slap his arm. "Shut up! I don't drive that slow…"

Which is true. When I'm driving go-carts.

We head to the parking lot after changing into our dinner outfits – Syaoran with a sexy black shirt and pants with a white tie, and me with a classy black Vera Wang with a low back and layered skirt. I get into Syaoran's cool black Porsche excitedly, adjusting the seats, the mirrors and my hair.

Syaoran mouths, "Oh my God," before buckling me up then himself.

He eyes my chic Gucci heels. "Are you sure you'll be able to drive in those?"

"And why not?"

"You could break them."

I consider it for a moment, then I reach down and remove my shoes. I ignore Syaoran's bewildered look and shove them into his hands. I wordlessly start the engine. Oh, I love that sound. I open my window.

"Drive carefully," he sighs, "I'm only twenty-five.

"Ha-ha. Very funny." With that I step on the pedal, and the car unexpectedly starts to move really fast. Really, really fast.

Syaoran buries his face in his hand and I remain calm, slowing down a bit as we head out of the building. They say New York's streets are dangerous, but you know, people can be wrong.

What the hell? Oh my God.

The light didn't even turn green and that Mercedes just zoomed right past me. Not cool at all.

Syaoran takes out his cell phone as we pass the intersection at 17th and Broadway, past the yellow cabs and loading trucks. Without warning, I pick up speed again, and his cell almost flies out of his hands. My bare foot jams on the brakes and we come to a deafening halt. Shit. Syaoran gapes at me in disbelief.

"Close your fucking window before someone shoots you!"

Immediately I hear the angry honking and cursing… I never knew you can use the word "fuck" so many times in a sentence…

"Fuckin' move, you fuckin' bitch!" a gruffy old man hollers at me. This is like, the cleanest version I can hear. Syaoran immediately comes to my defense. "You can fuck this!" he yells, giving the man a clear view of his finger.

I instantly start driving again as I choke with laughter. It's a rare sight to see, Syaorna Li giving people swear words and a finger.

Syaoran grins before reaching into his pocket and taking out a lighter and cigarette. I nearly scream. "Syaoran!" "I think I deserve a bit of a slack after that little stunt," he mumbles through the smoke. "Besides, it may be my last."

I reach across for the lighter and throw it out the window. Yet another series of swear words. Parade galore.

"Sakura!"

"Syaoran!"

There's a moment of silence before we both laugh and drive on. At one point my cell phone rings, but it's illegal to talk and drive at the same time…. And the last thing I want is some NYPD chasing me across the city.

And we make it. In one piece.

We arrive at the posh restaurant eight blocks away from Le Cirque hotel. In one piece.

"Hats off to you, Sakura," Syaoran grins and kisses me. "I told you I could drive," I say proudly before handing him back his keys. "And so you did," he takes my shoulder and leads me into the restaurant.

"Good evening, Mr. Li, Ms. Kinomoto. Please follow me to your tables," a young waiter bows and starts to walk. We pass by the rich people, a few girls sporting diamonds all over, some with really bad eyebrow waxing, and some who gave me the Manhattan Onceover (although I think they had nothing to sneer about).

And I swear I just saw Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner! Ooh! And Reese Witherspoon and her husband Ryan!

We come to a table by the window with gold, shimmering curtains and a gorgeous aquarium. A single rose and candle is at the middle of the table, and the waiter pulls the chair up for me. Syaoran gazes at me across the table with a smile and begins to turn off his secondary mobile alerters – his Blackberry, pager, a second cell phone…

I glance up at the ceiling with the glamorous chandelier and beautifully painted clouds and flowers.

The beaming waiter returns to fill our champagne glasses with the golden liquid. " Champagne?" I ask, puzzled. "Not wine? Is there a celebration or something?" Syaoran grins. "You drove my car without wrecking it, or killing one of us," he raises his glass. I can't help resist smirking (I swear, it's addictive when you're with this guy), and I meet it with mine before quietly sipping it.

"Shall we order?" he opens his menu and sighs contently. I nod, suddenly realizing how hungry I am.

The meal seems to go on forever…

There was this amazing calamari as appetizers… And in between the expensive steak and salad, Syaoran's cell phone rang. I protested, but he merely said, "I'm just doing what every other New Yorker does," and answered it. Turns out it was his sister, and he didn't need to answer it at all.

And then my cell phone rang, but being the more polite one I turned it off.

Now it's dessert time. Although I'm stuffed to the max, I can't not have dessert. I mean, it's a posh restaurant. But I can't really reach the menu without looking like a lazy lump of fat lard in front of all these gossipy girls and celebrities, so I let Syaoran choose for me.

He orders two chocolate feulliantines (whatever the hell that is, it's chocolate, and it's good) and disappears to the bathroom. Hmph. I bet he wants to check on the scores of that World Cup match – there are bloody TVs in there. I know these things… because once, just once, I went in to the washroom and spent about thirty minutes in there because a fashion show I couldn't miss was on… There were couches, too! And Syaoran thought I fainted or dies or something, so he came into the women's bathroom (despite the protests)… I still remember his blank look. I never did anything like that. Haha… Yeah…

He reappears after about two minutes, though (guys are quicker), and grins at me before loosening his tie. I wave my champagne glass at him and lean forward – careful not to make my stomach fold.

"You know that call from Chanel this morning?" I stare at him, and I watch his eyebrows arch. "What'd you order?" He takes a moment to gulp his champagne and looks up at the waiter who comes with the chocolate things.

He looks at the dessert before gazing at me. "Well, I actually picked it out myself," he smiles, "And let me tell you, it's a work of art." I glare at him. "Is it for Paris Hilton?" I can't resist asking.

Last time, he sent her a gorgeous, simply gorgeous silver Dior watch without even consulting me! For another bloody hotel opening. Hasn't she got enough rooms to sleep in already?

He laughs. "No," he puts the fork in his mouth. "You should try this. It's really good." I roll my eyes and wordlessly obey. Hey… It's actually really, really good… Well, it's probably worth a fortune, although it's as small as my silver hoop earring back at home.

Syaoran absentmindedly holds my free hand on top of the table, his thumb lazily tracing patterns on my wrist. He's staring at my cake, not even looking at his.

Man, this is like a scene out of a movie… A romantic dinner at a posh restaurant, a hot sexy guy, chocolate cake, and… a ring?

My eyes widen as my fork comes in contact with a silvery thing in my… hollow dessert. It's as if… it was put there on purpose… Puzzled, I reach inside the gap and take it out.

Oh my God.

No way. Yes way. Holy crap.

It's round… it's silver… it's gorgeous… there's a diamond… It's Chanel.

I look up at Syaoran, who has an unreadable, tender expression as he stands up and comes in front of me. I can't stop gaping at him. I can't shut my jaw, I can't move my hands. I look like a fucking statue.

Oh my God. OH MY GOD. Why is he kneeling? Why is he kneeling down on one knee? Oh my God.

He takes my hand in his and gazes at me with such love in his eyes it makes me want to cry.

"Sakura," he finally says, his eyes fixed onto mine. "You said you wanted to wait until marrying… but I figured… well, I hoped it was just… one of your moments," he gives me a nervous grin.

Chickens will fly. Syaoran Li's grinning nervously.

I make a weird gesture with my head (I don't even know what the hell it's supposed to be), unable to speak or look away. There's a moment of silence in which I feel the entire restaurant watching us. Oh man, Reese Witherspoon and Ben Affleck are watching this…

"Sakura Kinomoto," Syaoran finally calls my name again. "Will you marry me?"

Oh my God. He said it. The m-word. In a proper sentence. The words seem so… heavenly… so otherworldly. My heart pounds feverishly and my eyes are blurry. He wants to marry me. Nothing else matters anymore… This is it. This is our moment.

To my horror, I hear myself sob out loud and I feel my own tears streaming down my cheeks as I squeeze his hands tight. "Yes!" I nearly scream out.

Syaoran smiles that charming smile of his and places the ring on my finger. It's perfect. It's absolutely perfect.

There's a roar of cheer and applause as Syaoran brings me to my feet and kisses me passionately.

I don't believe it.

I'm engaged.

-


Chapter 2 – Shopaholic's Diamond - End

And he scores! (woots) Finally… lol…

Whew… Syaoran's such a romantist… (sighs)

I've got a reviewer saying that this story started off too much like the Shopaholic series, but that was sort of the point… lol… from here on, it's going to be – er, - more me? Lol… you know what I mean. (no they don't.)

Loved it? Hated it? Please drop me a review! XD