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“Before you go,” Isaac said, taking hold of her arms and guiding them around and back in front of him, “there is one other thing I wish to say. A few minutes ago, you said I was free now to marry whomever I desired.” He dropped to one knee. “So I’ll ask you again, am I? Because I know exactly who I wish to stand by until I grow old. I love you so desperately and so completely that I would give up everything to be with you.”
“You love me?”
“An utterly ridiculous amount.” He drew in a breath, speaking with as much conviction as he could imbue into his voice. “Alice Nightingale Allen, will you marry me?”
She put a hand to her mouth, staring down at him for several seconds...several suddenly uncertain, heavy seconds. Her eyes were large, and all he wanted, all he would ever want, was to know he could look into her lovely face every morning and kiss her soundly every night.
“Yes,” she whispered, her voice so soft he wasn’t sure at first if he’d heard her correctly. Then her smile reappeared. “Yes, oh please, yes.”
Isaac stood, and she veritably threw herself at him. Not that he minded. He would have kissed her if she hadn’t kissed him first.
They stayed that way for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms. Completely themselves. And completely happy.
