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I reached into my pocket, pulling out the heavy black box that’d been sitting there like a heavy weight all day. Mackenzie’s eyes widened, surprise and a hint of fear crossing her features. I forged ahead before she could speak. Even if the next word out of her mouth was “no”, I needed to tell her how I felt. I needed to lay it all out there.
Then I would respect whatever decision she made.
“Mackenzie…” I lifted one hand to brush a strand of hair back from her face. “My beautiful Macks. I should never have let you think I didn’t want you. I should’ve told you the truth the day we talked about signing our divorce papers. I should’ve made it clear to you that I sa
w our marriage as real…”
Her eyebrows shot up at that, and I chuckled.
“Well, maybe not in the way we went about it, but in how I feel about you. No one can fabricate that. I feel that in my heart, and I think you do, too. It’s in that painting down there for all of New York City to see. It’s in the way people admire how you’ve rendered me. And, if you’re willing to give me another go after I’ve been such a complete dumbass, what I want more than anything is to try out this marriage thing again—but for real, this time.”
23
Mackenzie
Afternoon sunlight beamed down as I stood outside the restaurant—a fancy little Italian place that had some of the best pasta the city could offer—a small purse slung over my shoulder, and a deep-thrumming cadence in my heart.
It had been a week since the exhibition. A week since Walker Prince strolled back into my life again, asking for one more thing from me. A week since I’d admitted to myself that I loved Walker Prince more than I’d ever love another man again—a week since I had come to find that Walker felt the same way about me.
* * *
My heart was in my throat. Breath was nonexistent in the moment that dragged out slowly as Walker dropped to one knee and declared that he wanted to marry me—for real. I thought my closure had come in the form of my art, and it had. But with closure came new beginnings.
Was this my new beginning?
Walker had come here of his own volition. It had nothing to do with inheritances, or money, or his obligations to his businesses. It was all Walker. It had my mind in a million places and the only thing I knew was that Walker Prince was on his knee in front of me, declaring his love for me as the New York City skyline glimmered behind him.
I smiled down at him, shock and happiness making butterflies flap wildly in my stomach. My mouth opened, a word hovering on the tip of my tongue. But I couldn’t quite say it.
Biting my lip, I cocked my head as an idea occurred to me. I knew what was missing.
My answer was cheeky, and perhaps a little mean, but Walker was Walker, and he knew me well enough by now to know he should’ve expected something like this.
“Excuse me, Mr. Prince,” I said with a wide smile. “But I think if you’re going to ask me to marry you, you should take me on a real date first at least—no?”
* * *
In retrospect, my request seemed entirely reasonable.
Because the truth was, we’d never gone on a real date during our ‘marriage’. Not one that wasn’t steeped in doubts and questions about what was real and what wasn’t.
Alex said I was keeping Walker on a string—not that my bestie actually minded; he was fully on board with the idea of me getting a proper date out of Walker—but there were some loose ends I wanted to tie up first. I wanted a fresh start if we were going to give this thing a go for real.
When I saw Walker strolling down the sidewalk toward me, I smiled and slipped my hand into his, but I didn’t lead him into the restaurant.
“Wait—don’t we have a lunch reservation?” He shot me a confused and slightly nervous glance, probably wondering what I had up my sleeve.
And he was right. We did have reservations—but they weren’t for this restaurant.
“It’s a surprise.” Grinning wickedly, I tugged on his hand.
We wove in and out of the throng of people walking up and down the streets of New York City. It was a beautiful day; it made me feel giddy. I kept Walker guessing, never giving away where we were going or what we were doing. Instead, I let him put the pieces together himself as he slowly recognized our surroundings. When he did, his grip on my hand tightened, his stride breaking.
“Wait—Mackenzie is this—”
There was an alley just near the high school Walker and I had gone to. Back in high school, graffiti—street art, whatever you wanted to call it, it was all basically the same thing—had been in high demand. Being the unrefined free spirit from the ‘wrong side of the tracks’, I had experimented with graffiti art here and there. It didn’t end up being my permanent medium, but it had been fun nonetheless.
One day, years ago, when Walker and I were still flirting with each other, he’d found me after school in the very alley where we now stood. I’d skipped last period and had been working on a huge piece. Time had gotten away from me. I hadn’t realized that class had let out and people were well on their way to going home.
