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“Wren—”
“I can’t believe my nose is all swollen and gross for the proposal.”
“For God’s sake, Wren!”
She cringes. “Sorry, my bad.” She makes a big show of zipping her lips and throwing away the key. I wait a few seconds, just to make sure that key stays lost.
When I’m satisfied I have her attention, I clear my throat. “Wren Turner,” I start, keeping it simple, “will you marry me?”
Her eyes glow with fresh tears. She smiles through them and nods fervently. “Yes,” she breathes as though she’s been holding her answer in for ages. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you.”
She falls into my arms and I pull her onto my lap. We kiss so long and so passionately that for a moment, I lose all sight of where we are. It isn’t until Wren breaks away breathlessly that I realize we’re still in this cursed fucking hospital.
I wipe away Wren’s happy tears and then slip the ring onto her finger. It’s a perfect fit. If Bee were here, she would call it kismet.
“Wow,” Wren breathes, staring at the ring on her finger. “It’s heavy.”
“Nothing but the best for my wife.”
“Future wife,” she clarifies. “For the moment, I’m your fiancée.”
“Not for long. I want to marry you immediately.”
Her jaw drops. “How soon is ‘immediately’?”
“Today if we can manage it. Tomorrow at the latest.”
“Dmitri! That… that’s too soon! We haven’t planned anything. We don’t have—shit, where are the flowers? We need flowers and a flower girl! And a dress, and music, and… and a license, too! Not to mention the fact that I’m, like, a hundred months pregnant!”
“I don’t care. I want you to be my wife and I’m not a patient man.”
“But—”
“We can have a big, lavish ceremony later. You can have it exactly the way you want. But right now, I just want to marry you.”
Her cheeks are rosy with excitement. Those green eyes are brighter than I’ve ever seen them. The emeralds on her ring are seething with jealousy, wishing that one day they could grow up to be that green.
“Well,” she breathes at last, “how can I say no to that?”
33
WREN
“Please don’t hate me.” I turn my most apologetic puppy-dog eyes on Syrah the moment she walks back into the room.
“Hate the bride? Impossible. What’s up?”
“I need to pee,” I admit. “Again.”
Syrah snorts and waves a hand in my face. “What is a maid of honor for if not to hike up the bride’s skirt so she can pee? C’mere, let’s git ‘er done.”
She grabs my hands and hauls me up to my feet. I’m already exhausted and we haven’t even left for City Hall yet. I waddle over to the bathroom with Syrah clutching me like I’m the Queen of England.
Ever since my little hospital stint, everyone’s been handling me with kid gloves. It’s sweet and annoying at the same time.
“You were right: I got dressed too early,” I lament.
Syrah grunts as she positions me in front of the toilet. “You were excited to try on the dress. No one understands that better than I do. And you look amazing in it.”
