Page 153 of Gilt

Regardless, I have mad respect for anyone who will brave body paint in this humidity.

After we get our shot, Jameson reluctantly agrees to allow me to eat a hot dog from a cart.

“How can you be hungry?” he asks.

“I’m battling an increased appetite. I feel like I ran a marathon this morning.” Sex has to be good for the metabolism.

“Hopefully, that appetite doesn’t lead to food poisoning.” He ignores the dirty look the vendor shoots him from behind the cart.

As we meander through the twisting lanes of New York’s most famous green space, I can’t help becoming enchanted.

“I think I could be a New Yorker,” I announce.

“That’s a tall order,” Jameson warns me.

“You don’t think I could hack it? I grew up on the strip,” I remind him as I toss the hot dog wrapper in a nearby trash can.

“You grew up in Belle Mère,” he corrects me.

“And survived,” I point out.

“Then you could probably make it anywhere,” he agrees. Somehow we manage to miss the zoo. Instead, we happen upon a small pond surrounded by a low brick wall and a restaurant on one side. Little kids watch toy boats drift along its surface as their moms visit nearby.

“Most of New York is not this idyllic,” Jameson tells me, but it doesn’t matter.

Today of all days he can’t scar my perfect vision of the world.

We find a spot under a nearby tree. Before I can claim the empty bench, I realize Jameson isn’t beside me any longer. Whipping around to look for him, I find him the last place I’d expect.

“What are you doing down there?” I ask in a strangled voice. I can’t help hoping that he’s had a sudden onset of early arthritis to explain why he hasn’t dropped to the ground like a normal person. Because he’s not sitting on the grass. Instead, he is perched on one knee.

It takes a few seconds for me to process what’s happening. When I finally do, I’m left with a choice but not the one he’s given me. I opt to join him on the ground. Screw tradition. I need for us to be on an equal footing.

Dropping to my knees, I come face-to-face with the velvet box waiting in his palm.

“You don’t have to do this,” I whisper. “We’re going to make it through this.”

“That’s exactly why I’m asking.” Sincerity shines in his eyes. “Because we’re going to get through this, and we’ll get through whatever life throws at us next.”

“Jameson, I can’t—”

“Because you’re too young?” he guesses. “You don’t have to earn love. It’s not a rite of passage. My love is yours. My everything is yours. That’s not going to change.”

“How can you be certain?”

“Are you certain?” he asks, turning the tide against me.

I don’t hesitate. There’s nothing to consider, because I know my answer to that question. “Yes.”

“And I’m certain about this.” Jameson flips open the box, forcing me to face the crossroads we’ve come to. “Will you marry me?”

I don’t even have to think. My answer is already on my tongue. “Have you lost your mind?”

Jameson blinks. He wasn’t expecting that answer. To be fair, I’m not entirely certain I meant to say it. I clap a hand over my mouth before it can get me in more trouble.

“No, I haven’t lost my mind,” he says in a flat tone.

“Then why?” I ask. “Are you still worried about being forced to testify against me? Because I think we’ve cleared that problem up. The FBI isn’t—”