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When we come to a stop, anxiety rockets through me. Fear of rejection. When I called Georgina’s father, Marco, to ask for his blessing two days ago, he gave it to me. Thankfully. But he also gave me a piece of unsolicited advice: “If I were you,” he said, “I’d bring up the general topic of marriage with Georgina before popping the question. From what she told me at her college graduation party, she’s not going to marry anyone before age thirty.”
“Yeah, well, that was before she fell in love with me,” I replied confidently. And from that moment on, I completely disregarded the man’s stupid advice and went about my business, buying Georgina’s four-million-dollar ring and planning the perfect proposal in Sardinia. I mean, please. Why would I ask Georgina’s permission to ask her to marry me, when my favorite thing in the world is blindsiding her with surprises that provoke jiggling happy dances?
But now that I’m here, and the actual moment is upon me, I’m suddenly feeling a whole lot less confident. Was Marco right? Should I have broached this topic with Georgina, the same way she broached the topic of having a baby with me? Is that what normal people do? I don’t think Georgina will turn me down. But, then again, I never thought, not in a million years, the FBI would raid my house that fateful morning and drag my father away in handcuffs.
“Are you okay?” she says, disregarding my request to remain silent. And when I look into her concerned hazel eyes, what I see there chases away my anxiety. She loves me. Totally and completely. The same way I love her. For crying out loud, she promised me forever, with letters inked permanently onto her ring finger. Which, I have to believe, whether she realized it or not, was her way of subconsciously asking me to put a ring on it.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I take her hands. “I was planning to say this to you in Sardinia in three days. But, now that I’ve decided to say it here, instead, I realize this is actually the perfect place. Because it’s where I finally understood what it means to let down my guard all the way, and let someone in, without holding back.” I take a deep breath and exhale a long, controlled breath. “Georgie, you’re the great love of my life. My queen. I’ll never want anyone but you.”
She bites her full lower lip and whispers, “I love you, too.”
“I called your father a couple days ago and asked for his blessing to ask you to marry me.”
Her eyes widen like saucers as her mouth hangs open.
“And he gave it to me. Which means, I can now do this.” With another deep breath, I pull the closed ring box out of my pocket and kneel before her. I look up at her, smiling. “Georgina Ricci, I’ll marry you tomorrow, if that’s what you want. I’ll marry you in a year, or ten. Just, please, say yes to me today. Be my fiancée. And whenever you’re ready, be my wife. Say yes.” I open the ring box, revealing the fifteen-carat, Princess-cut, pink diamond I picked out for her, with CeeCee’s help. And Georgina screams like I just poked her with a very large needle in her ass.
Laughing at her reaction, I choke out, “Georgina Marie Ricci, will you please marry me?”
Tearfully, she shrieks out her reply. The very thing I told her to say the first time I laid eyes on her at the panel discussion. “Yes, yes, yes!”
A shockwave of euphoria floods me. Quaking, smiling, swallowing down tears, I slip the rock onto Georgina’s shaking finger, lurch up, and take my fiancée into my arms. As I kiss her, joy of a kind and magnitude I didn’t know exists washes over me. I feel like I’m on top of the world. Or, perhaps, in the Garden of Eden. Because, surely, this moment, this place, and not any white sand beach in Sardinia, is paradise.
Finally, Georgina breaks free of our embrace to gift me with the best happy dance of her happy-dancing career. When she’s done, I scoop her up and swing her around, making her squeal and giggle. I put her down and grab her hand and we both stare in awe at the ring on her hand.
“It’s so big,” she whispers. “I swear I would have been happy with something so much smaller.”
I scoff. “Did you not understand the question? I asked you to marry me. Not go to prom. Go big or go home, baby. You know that.”
“Honestly, I’m going to be scared to wear it, unless you’re with me. I can’t go to the gym wearing a ring like this. Or to the grocery store. This is for, like, the Academy Awards!”
