“You’re not nervous?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No.”
“Not even a little?”
“No, why? Are you?”
I think about it.
“No,” I say.
I’m not anxious, panicked, or second-guessing any of it.
Almost like something has clicked into place. Like all the years apart and the challenges of our careers have led us to this point.
“Good.”
I lay back down on his shoulder.
“There is another thing I was thinking about.”
“What’s that?”
“In the last year of my fellowship, you know I started to brainstorm an idea to create a foundation. You know, just planning for the future.”
He strokes my back softly. “Yeah, I remember.”
“I’d like to create a sports program for underprivileged children. I want to give kids a safe place to play and explore different sports and activities.”
“Right, but what does that have to do with us right now?” he asks.
“Well, I plan to use money from my trust fund. But I can’t access the money until I’m thirty-five … or married for at least a year.” I look up at him.
He smiles. “So, we both get something we want then.”
“I guess so, but, Saint”—I rest my chin on my hands, looking at him—“that’s not why I agreed to marry you.”
“I didn’t think it was. I know you’re doing this for me.”
“And the kids. They need you.” I say.
“I need them just as much. I just never knew how much until now.”
I hate the pain losing his sister has caused him and the kids. But I also think it would have been worse if they didn’t have each other.
We lay quietly, wrapped up in each other.
I listen to his heartbeat, and am close to falling asleep, but then he says, “I’m glad it’s you.”
“You are?” I say against his skin.
“Yeah.”
I smile softly. “Me too.”
And that is it—because we both know what the other is saying.
No big declarations or dramatics.
