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“No, because you were right about everything. I didn’t really want to marry her, and something better did come along.”
Steph shrieks beside me, and I catch the way she’s holding her hands in front of her face like she’s trying not to shout. I make eye contact with every person standing behind Will. My God, why is his entire family here?
“Will?”
“This time, this time, Khloe, I’m not going down without a fight. When I said I didn’t deserve this, what I meant is I don’t deserve you. Not after the way I treated you. But if you let me spend a lifetime making it up to you, I will.”
He pulls something from his suit pocket and drops to one knee.
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
“I love you, Khloe. I think I fell for you the minute you boarded Granddad’s plane all flustered and beautiful, and...your independent, wild self. Will you marry me? Will you make me the happiest man in the world?”
Our gazes meet and hold, and my mind races with everything that’s happened—how much I’ve changed, how much my wants have changed.
“It’s not what I want anymore,” I blurt out, and the room grows so quiet I can hear the clock behind the counter tick.
He swallows so hard it echoes in the room. “Khloe, I’m sorry about everything. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you. I’m sorry I jumped to the wrong—”
“The article,” I say, and drop the paper. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“I might have sent it to a buddy of mine, but he wouldn’t have printed it if it wasn’t great, Khloe. You did this on your own merit. Isn’t that what you always wanted?”
“No, you don’t understand.”
“Make me understand.”
I drop to my knees. “What you’ve done, exposing the private side of yourself for me, that’s just about the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me, but it wasn’t necessary.”
Confusion fills his features, and the muscles in his neck are so tight I’m sure they’re going to snap. “Isn’t it your dream to write for the New Yorker?”
I shrug. “Used to be, but things have changed.”
As his eyes roam my face, so lost and vulnerable, the love I feel for him bubbles to the surface. “Do you remember telling me that when I left Saint Thomas I’d know what I wanted and what I loved?”
My eyes drop to his pulse hammering against his neck. “What do you want?” he asks.
“My dream used to be to write for the New Yorker, but now I want to be with the children in Saint Thomas.” His eyes light up. “I want to go back. I want to help, to be a productive member of the Saint Thomas community.” I shrug. “And you know what, if I want to write the odd article for the New Yorker I can do that, too. Maybe I can even write the book I’ve always wanted to write.”
“Bevey and the kids will be happy to hear that.”
I cup his face, and my heart crashes against my chest. “You also told me I’d know what I love.”
“What do you love, Khloe?”
“I love you, Will Carson, and the answer is yes.”
Cheers erupt behind us as a huge smile tugs at his mouth and lights up his eyes. He lets loose a breath. “You know you had me scared there for a moment.”
I grin at him. “And maybe for a moment you deserved it.”
“You might be right.” He takes the ring from the box and slides it onto my finger. I examine the huge rock for a second and lift my gaze to his.
“I love you,” I whisper.
“I love you, too,” he says, giving me a kiss so full of warmth and adoration that my heart overflows with all the things I feel for this man. “I’m so happy you decided to take the job in Saint Thomas.”
“I realize you can’t always be there with me.” I cast a quick look at James. “You need to be close to family.”
