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I nod. “It's a Corot. Quite a lovely one.”
He appraises it with his eyes, scowling.
“I suppose this is the good stuff, eh? What makes it good?”
“Well, it's a pretty typical French composition. There’s a foreground, and there is a far horizon. Then there's sort of a zigzag path that your eye can take so that you can always get to the horizon. It's like hope. Like, there’s always a path forward, figuratively,” I finish thinking how Madame Brevelle would be so proud of my explanation.
“A path forward… is like hope?”
“Yes…” I say slowly. Something is definitely going on here. Why is he acting like he doesn't know anything about art history? And why are all these people casually meandering into this gallery?
I turned to him curiously, but take a half step back when he drops to one knee in front of me. His eyes search mine as his hand dives into his front pocket and withdraws a small black box.
I can hardly believe what I'm seeing, but he opens the box and presents to me. The diamond glitters vivaciously inside it, seeming to send out sparks in all the colors of the rainbow.
“King!” I exclaim. “What is this… Are you—”
“Jordan Burke,” he starts formally, his voice loud and sure in the room. I feel everyone else sort of pressing closer, and I know that they’re listening to every word.
“You came into my life almost by happenstance. I was drawn to you, and I didn't know why,” he continues.
I smile, knowing that he worked on this. It's a speech, carefully crafted so only I will understand its true meaning. I feel my cheeks get hot as I think of all the effort he's put into this.
“You've changed me. You've made me want to change myself. I can only hope that one day I'll really be the man you deserve.”
I hear a collective murmur of approval and my heart flutters with joy.
“I would be so honored, Jordan Burke, if you would agree to be my wife. To spend your forever with me. Will you?”
There's only one answer I can give. The answer is yes, a million times yes. But I can't talk. I'm laughing and nodding and crying, tugging on his hand because I want him to kiss me.
“Yes!” I finally manage to say a moment before his mouth finds mine. He kisses me passionately, holding my lips between his, taking my breath away.
“She said yes!”
“Congratulations!”
“Bonne chance!”
“Congratulations to Jordan Burke and Raleigh King!”
Raleigh.
That’s his name, of course. I only realize now that I got so used to calling him “King” or “R” that the issue of his name fell by the wayside.
Raleigh. Jordan and Raleigh.
We can't get to the Town Car again fast enough. He tugs my hand as gently as he can but we’re both on a mission to get away from the crowd and back to the privacy of the chauffeured car.
The driver holds the door open and then closes it firmly behind us as we fling our bodies into the warm, welcoming space.
My dress slips effortlessly from my shoulders. I push R back onto the seat and sit astride him as he shoves his trousers down past his knees. I wait, for just a moment, wanting to savor this moment before the inevitable.
“Yes,” I say again, more gently this time. I brace my elbows on his shoulders and tangled my fingers in his hair, searching his eyes to find that spark of connection between us.
He smiles, his cheeks crinkling handsomely as he gazes up at me.
“You're going to make me the happiest man in the world, you know.”
