The excuses are reasonable, but I know her now. There’s a difference between her tired and her guarded. And for two weeks, she’s been guarded.
I’ve replayed every conversation, every moment, trying to find where I went wrong. Did I say something? Forget something? Push too hard or not hard enough?
Nothing. I come up empty every time.
So I do what I can. I show up. I bring her food. I text her good morning and call her every night before she falls asleep. I keep reaching for her, hoping she’ll eventually reach back the way she used to.
And I wait. Because whatever this is, she’ll tell me when she’s ready.
She has to.
The cushion-cut diamond engagement ring with smaller stones along the band in my pocket has been waiting for the right moment.
I’ve thought about proposing a dozen different ways. At Sunday dinner with my family, surrounded by everyone we loved. During our picnic in the park, when she’d fallen asleep against my shoulder. The night she let me win at video games, though she denies it to this day.
Each time, something stopped me. The moment wasn’t right. She wasn’t looking at me the way I needed her to look at me.
But as I watch Jasmine laugh with our friends on a Maldivian beach, I know I can’t wait anymore. The distance hasn’t entirely disappeared, but I can’t let fear stop me.
I love her. I want to build a life with her. And this is how I show her I’m all in, no matter what.
We’ve been here four days for Jessa and Jaxon’s wedding. Yesterday’s ceremony took place on a private sandbank, surrounded by nothing but crystal water and sky.
Tonight, we’re gathered around a long table on the beach with tiki torches flickering in the warm breeze. The food is incredible. The company is better.
Jessa and Jaxon sit at the head of the table, glowing with that disgustingly happy newlywed energy, unable to stop touching each other. Connor and Meesha are across from us, radiatingtheir own married bliss. Kamal holds court at his end, spinning some story that has everyone in stitches.
And Jasmine sits beside me, one hand resting on her thirty-two-week belly, more beautiful than I’ve ever seen her. Her pink dress catches the firelight, and the small pink flowers Meesha wove through her braids earlier gleam in the glow.
She is breathtaking. She is perfect. She is mine.
Almost mine.
“To Jessa and Jaxon,” Connor says, raising his glass. “May your marriage—”
“Include a very generous shoe allowance,” Meesha cuts in.
Everyone laughs. Glasses clink.
Jasmine leans into my side, and I wrap my arm around her shoulders.
“And to Jasmine,” Jessa adds, lifting her champagne. “For landing a TV deal for her series. Who says you can’t build an empire while building a human?”
“One’s significantly easier than the other,” Jasmine says.
“And yet you’re doing both beautifully,” Jessa replies.
More clinking. More laughter. The night is warm and easy, and I can feel the ring box pressing against my thigh.
“So, Jas,” Kamal says, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin, “if you ever need inspiration for your books, I’m available. I can be your muse anytime you wish.”
He’s fucking with me, but my jaw tightens with a prickle of irritation, anyway.
“I appreciate that, Kamal. But this little one’s,” Jasmine points at her stomach, “been keeping me plenty inspired.”
“And I got to help with that,” I say, squeezing her shoulder. “Best collaboration of my life.”
Jasmine glances up at me, and when she smiles, there’s something soft in her eyes. Then she looks away, and it’s gone.
