I took her to one of the fanciest restaurants in the city, everyone’s heads turning when we walked in like fucking royalty. She held onto my arm, letting me guide her until we got up the stairs to a balcony seat, overlooking the rivers and the mountains.
I said I would be the best boyfriend she ever had and that’s exactly what I’m trying to do. To show her how in awe I am of everything she does. How I’m so incredibly proud of her. How every single thing she does lights me up inside.
As the sun starts to fade, I can’t stop looking at her. Her face is flushed like it always is whenever I’m around. She is practically glowing as she talks animatedly with her hands, while I watch her. She still drops her eyes after four seconds of uninterrupted eye contact, glancing to either the plate in front of us or to the scenery.
All I can think about is how full my heart feels to finally have her. How badly I’m in love with her smart, brilliant, and beautiful mind.
“Stop staring at me,” she mutters, pushing her hair behind her ear, showing off her silver earrings. “You’re making me nervous.”
“Angel, you’ve been making me nervous all my life. How do you think I feel?” I say back, chuckling. She shakes her head at me as she tries to hide her giddy smile.
“Can I ask you something?” she says as she picks at the garlic dough balls in the middle of the table. She shoves a piece in her mouth.
“Anything.”
She swallows. “What do you fear the most?”
“Getting all existential on me before the main course, sweetheart?”
She laughs a little. “I’m being serious. We have these great moments — moments where we argue, and you look right through me, and I don’t know…I feel like I want to know everything about you.”
“I’m scared of a lot of things, Angel,” I say truthfully. She leans back in her chair a little, listening to me intently. I want her to know everything about me.Everything. “Growing up, I was always anxious, always waiting for the other ball to drop. I thought that things would happen to me — bad things — if I didn’t do a certain thing. I always had to count to a specific number before falling asleep and if I didn’t, my brain would trick me into believing that I was going to get killed. And that was just at the beginning.” She leans forward now, reaching out to hold onto my hand. “Then when my mom left, I thoughtthatwas the other shoe. That it needed to happen to stop the compulsive thoughts, but it didn’t. I just got worse until one day I wouldn’t leave the car because it didn’t feel right. Something in me was telling me that if I left, something bad would happen. So, my dad finally took me to see a doctor and I got diagnosed with OCD and then a few months later, I realised I had anxiety.”
“Why do you think you were anxious all the time?” she asks quietly.
“I guess I just couldn’t believe the life I was living. It felt like I was trapped in someone else’s body. Nothing truly felt like it was mine. Everything felt so fleeting, like it could just disappear at any moment, and I was just constantly in anticipation, waiting for it to happen.”
She nods before dropping her gaze to the table again. “Do you still feel like that now? With me?”
I shake my head. “Not anymore. Not when I know I’ve got your back and you’ve got mine, no matter what.” She squeezes my hand again, rubbing her thumb against it and it makes me relax, feeling that much lighter. “What about you? What’s your biggest fear.”
“Being forgotten,” she replies instantly. “I know it’s stupid because there’s going to be a day where that last person who remembers you disappears, and you just become nothing. That’s what I don’t want to happen. I want my name to mean something when I’m gone.”
It feels like she’s speaking right into my soul. There’s always been that looming fear that no matter how hard I can try to make something of myself, to make myself seen, it’s not going to last forever. Day by day, people are forgetting you. Whether that be strangers or people you once knew. Then one day, there’s going to be that last person who remembers you and they’re going to go too. The worst part is, you’ll never know when it’s going to happen. It just will.
“It already does. You and your name mean so much to me. And it’s going to continue to mean so much to me until I can give you my last name,” I say easily. She narrows her eyes at me, sizing me up.
“First of all, what makes you think we’re going to get married? And second of all, what makes you think I want your last name?” she quizzes, sounding and looking genuinely taken aback. I know dropping the marriage hint is way too early, but I know what I want. There’s not going to be anyone else but her.She’s it for me.
“Because I know you. I understand you more than I understand myself, sometimes. We’re not just a one-time thing, anymore, Angel,” I say. Her lips part slightly, her brown eyes huge and wild. “But you’re right. You’d only take my last name to combine it with yours.”
She nods at that, her face breaking into a smile so beautiful it almost hurts. “Exactly. Because we’re equals.”
“Exactly,” I say back.
“Which means no more trying to save me when I’m a damsel in distress. Or buying me expensive thingsjust because.” She says the last two words with an eye roll, including sarcastic air quotes. “I’m perfectly capable of doing things on my own, Branson.”
“I know. I just-” I sigh, shaking my head a little. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make you happy, Scar.”
She snorts. “How many women have you said that to?”
“None.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Well, you should because I mean it.”
We spend the rest of the meal talking about everything and nothing. She tells me about her dreams about having her own clothing line for Voss and I tell her that I know she can do it.
