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“Will you marry me?”
His voice catches on the last word, as though he’s finding it as difficult as I am to contain his emotions. It’s like he’s going to burst into tears, but he bites them back, staring up at me.
“Yes,” I whisper.
It’s like part of me still wonders if this is truly happening. But then it hits me fully, truly, and I raise my voice.
“Yes, yes, yes!”
He lets out a whooping noise as he fumbles for the ring, dropping the box and darting his hand out for mine. I giggle as he slides the ring on.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to change my mind.”
He grins and launches himself to his feet, curling his sturdy arms around me and pulling me in close. “I’m not taking any chances.”
The ring feels so right on my finger, the pressure and temperature of the metal telling me this is the perfect way to end our story.
But no, that isn’t right.
Our story is only beginning.
“I love you,” I gush, as he brings his lips down to mine.
“I love you too, fiancé.”
Our kiss is like a meteor hammering into the earth, smashing down and reverberating through us, as we sink deeper, closer, more intimately – as we melt into each other and everything drifts away, all the concerns and worries from the first chapter of our life.
As our lips mirror each other’s movements, as our hands roam freely over each other, the love expands inside of us, between us, until we’re both bursting with it.
And I know, without a single shred of doubt, that we’re going to be together forever.
As husband and wife.
“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he says frantically, in between stolen heartfelt kisses.
Epilogue
Four Months Later
Ryker
I guide the car through the city, a smile on my face, a wide unbridled happy-to-be alive smile. As I drive, I try to remember how it felt to be so filled with loneliness, so filled with the idea that I’d never find someone who made life worth living.
More than worth living.
But I can’t.
I’ve found somebody who turns every day into an adventure.
Whether she’s disappearing into her art studio in the city – the day my fiancé agreed to quit her cleaning job and focus on her artwork was one of the happiest of my life – or surprising me in bed with a sassy outburst of hungry kisses and touches, I’ll never stop being fascinated by my woman.
We’ve spent the last four months establishing our new lives, Rosie spending more and more time at the studio, honing her craft. She’s started reaching out to gallery owners, even if I can tell how nervous it makes her. But she’s forging her path, not letting her nervousness hold her back.
And I couldn’t be happier.
I’ve decided to focus my attention on my East Coast gyms, the charity, and being with my woman. There’s no greater feeling than standing in front of a bunch of kids who were never given a fair chance, who were told – by society, by their surroundings – they’d slip into a life of drugs and crime and nobody would give a damn.
But I give a damn. My loyal and hardworking employees give a damn.
As I pull up at a red light, I chuckle to myself.
Did I really just think there’s no better feeling than that?
Maybe it’s selfish of me, but I can’t say that’s true. Because being with my woman is the greatest feeling there is. Nothing beats it. Nothing can even attempt to compete.
It’s the little moments sometimes, the way she’ll turn to me when we’re watching a movie, a question in her eye, Want a soda? It’s the intimacy and the closeness of everyday life, waking up to her singing in the shower, or catching a glimpse of her as she drinks her morning coffee on the balcony, framed in the morning sunlight.
“I’m the luckiest man in the world,” I whispered yesterday morning, as I stared at her, hardly believing this perfect, young, kind, funny, nervous, confident, humane person was mine, all mine. Forever.
The red light changes and I guide the car deeper into the city, toward Rosie’s studio. She sounded irate when she called me, her voice on edge, and for a crazy second, I thought Zane had returned.
But Zane’s serving seventeen years for that shit he pulled, as well as a litany of other crimes he committed before the kidnapping.
So – when I put that crazy idea to the back of my mind – another crazy idea struck me.
I’ve been trying to avoid letting myself think about the P-word, but if there’s an elephant in the room where our new sparkling life is concerned, it’s definitely pregnancy.
We both want it so badly. We both ache for it.
And we’ve been trying, downloading ovulation apps, and consuming each other with even more fervor than we already do anyway. We’ve shared dark and defeated looks when she gets her period each month… where all I can do is sweep her into my arms, and whisper that it’s okay, we’ve got time.
