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“Will you marry me?” he asks, holding up the ring.
“Yes,” I whisper. “I’ll marry you.”
A beautiful smile spreads across his face. “Give me your hand,” he murmurs.
Shaking a little, I hold it out.
“Your left hand,” he says.
I swap. He takes it and gently slides the ring onto my fourth finger.
I stare at my hand.
“Do you like it?” he asks. He looks hopeful. He’s really concerned I’m going to say no.
“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” I whisper, turning it a little so it catches the light from the living room. It glitters like a star, reminding me that it’s Christmas Eve.
I look up into the sky. He moves behind me and puts his arms around me. “We’ll have to leave out a mince pie and a glass of milk for Santa when the boys are here,” he says.
“And a carrot for Rudolph?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, Saxon.” I turn in his arms and lift mine around his neck. “I love you.”
“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.” He kisses me.
“Merry Christmas.” And I kiss him back, while everyone inside cheers.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Saxon
After a great Christmas Day that involves lots of food, drink, numerous toasts, and several bouts of tears from my fiancée as she gets overwhelmed with hugs and presents, we call in at Island Bay to pack our bags, then catch an Uber to the airport.
Catie’s never flown before. When her mother died and she was sent to live with her father, he refused to pay for a plane flight for her, and she had to travel overnight for the twenty-four hour trip by coach all the way up to Auckland.
I’m glad that her first experience of flight is on a private jet rather than cattle class on an ordinary plane, as I know the crush of people, the close-together seats, and the frantic process of going through security and boarding would have freaked her out. Instead, we walk hand-in-hand through the quiet gate reserved for charter flights and out onto the tarmac, and she only seems excited as we board the plane.
Immi, the flight attendant, is always excellent but now she comes into her own as she fusses around Catie, bringing her a blanket for her legs, a cushion for her back, makes her a special chocolate milk shake because she’s started having a craving for them, and brings her tiny sandwiches and cakes with a couple of peppermint creams for the journey.
It’s only an hour flight, but Catie has the time of her life, her eyes widening as the plane takes off, and looking out of the window and pointing out all the sights, like the snow-covered top of Mount Taranaki as it peeks through the clouds.
From time to time, she looks at her hand, tilting it from side to side so the diamond in her ring catches the light and sparkles. I smile. For a moment, when I proposed, I thought she was going to turn me down. The fact that she overcame her fear enough to say yes gives me great hope for our relationship.
I know she’s nervous about going back to Auckland, but I’ve promised her we won’t stay long. I want her to meet Huxley and the others properly, and also to introduce her to Titus, who’s back for a visit with his girl, Heidi. And then we’re hiring a car and driving up the coast, via the Bay of Islands and Doubtless Bay, all the way up to Cape Reinga, and then back down Ninety Mile Beach to Auckland, staying in a variety of hotels along the way. It’s going to be a lot for her to deal with, but she’s been coping well since we moved in together. She feels safe and secure now, I think, and that’s enabling her to relax more and more.
When we land, we catch an Uber to the hotel. I’ve booked us into Queen’s, the same room we stayed in when we first met, which she thinks is really funny. It’s the day after Christmas Day—Boxing Day in New Zealand—and also the height of summer, so the place is busy with visitors and tourists. We have a rest for a while, and order a late lunch to our room, which she also loves doing. Then we have sex, because her libido only seems to be rising as she goes through her pregnancy, and she seems determined to wear me out.
It’s a tough job, but somebody’s got to do it.
We head out to meet the others around seven. Huxley and Elizabeth have bought themselves a house on Herne Bay Beach, and they’re holding an informal party there for friends and family. When we turn up, the large drive is full of cars, and Catie slides her hand into mine as we walk in. But she’s smiling, and looking gorgeous in her maternity jeans and the top that Mum bought her with ‘Twin Mama’ on it.
They have a huge front garden with a path down to the beach. Everyone’s hanging out there, and they all cheer as we walk through the gate. Huxley, in the process of cooking burgers and sausages on the barbecue in a display of domestic bliss, comes over to greet us.
“Saxon.” He pulls me into a bearhug, then turns to Catie and smiles. “Hey, Catie. Nice to see you again.”
“Cool apron,” she says. It reads, ‘I like my butt rubbed and my pork pulled.’
