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“What do you mean?”
“It hurt like hell to watch and I won’t stand by and do nothing ever again,” I grumble, “But I put up with it because I know I’m the only one you want and you needed to realize that. It doesn’t matter how many of these wankers you smile at or dance with to jab at me, it’s me that you love.”
“I do love you,” she admits, saying it for the first time in months. A powerful shiver rolls through my body in response. “But I don’t even know who you are.”
I frown. “How so?”
“Why don’t you tell me who Tristan Noble is? Who is the man behind the lie?” she asks. “Is he anything like the man I fell in love with?”
“I’m the exact same person, Nera. The only difference is a last name I don’t even want.” I thread my fingers with hers and squeeze her palm. “I really was born on August 8th, it’s a week to the day before we met. That makes me a Leo.”
“To be honest, I’m not sure I’m someone who believes in all that zodiac stuff but then I look at the defining characteristics of Leos and I think they’re pretty fucking spot on.” I continue, “I’m a son and a brother and a boyfriend and, one day, a husband. I’m a chef in training, a hater of oysters who will never be convinced they’re anything other than disgusting, and a habitual over-drinker who’s been sober for four months.”
“I’m an appreciator of beautiful things and, unfortunately, usually very expensive things. I’m reckless and I can be selfish and I have less than zero impulse control. I’m hot-headed and passionate, and I take care of the people I feel the need to protect. In summation, I’m an incredibly average guy because I like beer, sports, and a good night out at the pub, and, really, the only extraordinary thing about me is you. That, somehow, some way, with all the people in the world to choose from, you found me, you picked me, youloveme. That you’re mine. That’s it. Everything that’s worth knowing about me beyond what I just listed is that I love you. Very, very much.” I bring her hand up to my mouth and place a warm kiss on her skin. “Did I say anything that you didn’t already know about me?”
“I didn’t know you were sober,” she breathes, softly.
I squeeze her hand again and her eyes come up to meet mine. We’re both leaning incrementally closer, like something is pulling us together. I’m only inches from her mouth; I can hear the rasped breaths that fall from her lips.
“You’re good for me, baby.” I hook her finger with mine. “You make me want to be better.”
“Tell me your plan,” she asks, an urgent undertone to her voice now. “The one you wanted to tell me about months ago. I think I’d like to hear it now.”
“Oh, yeah?” I ask, a slow grin pulling at my lips.
“Yeah.”
“You know why I left the reception before it was over?” She shakes her head. “I had an appointment at the bank this morning. They approved my loan application.” Nera’s eyes widen in surprise. “When I finished my program last month, I grabbed dinner with Luca. Well, not “grabbed”, he put me to the test again, the wanker,” I say, chuckling at the memory. “Turns out it was well worth it, because after that when I suggested that we go into business together and open up a restaurant, it didn’t take very much convincing before he agreed. Yeah, I’m opening up my own place,” I say, nodding at the expression on her face.
I look down at my phone, searching for the photos of the renders we approved a couple of weeks ago. Once I’ve found them, I take a breath and look at her. I’ve waited months to tell her about this, ever since I made the decision on the flight to go confront my father. I did the culinary program to help legitimize my loan application, so I could show the bank both that I have actual training and a real commitment to being a chef. The anticipation wraps around my lungs and squeezes, restricting the airflow.
I turn the phone towards her, showing her mockups of the interior and exterior we had commissioned.
“It’s going to be calledNera. I thought you’d want to see the design we’re going with.”
She brings a hand up to her mouth, a sheen of water filling her eyes as she reaches for the phone with trembling fingers. Her whole body shakes as she wordlessly swipes through the different pictures, taking in the proposed decor. It’s created entirely from the graphics she drew in those posters she gave me. It’s her name and her soul.
It’s her.
“You’ve been my biggest champion, my constant source of confidence, and my muse from the beginning. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Oh, my God, Tristan…” she manages to choke out, full on crying now. “Is this real?”
My thumb gently wipes one of the tears from her cheek.
“Yes. I’m broke, in debt, and currently living in my car. I have nothing to offer you except the promise of a happy life, a determination to succeed, and a guarantee that I’ll always take care of you. The plan is so clear in my mind, baby. First, you’re going to win that gold medal. You are, there’s no doubt in my mind. Then we’re going to find an actual home for that medal, somewhere we can hang it and all your past and future achievements – allourachievements, together – framed on a wall in a house where we both live.”
“After that, I’m taking you back to London so you can meet my mum and sister. I think you’ll like Tess, she’s just as strong and feisty as you are. More importantly, they’ll meet you and see why I fell in love with you. They’ll love you as much as I do. From there, well,” I say, nudging her chin and wiping more tears from her cheeks. “I’d marry you the very next day if I thought you’d let me. I know you won’t so I plan on asking you every single day until you say yes. I see us traveling the world, eating Italian pasta and Thai street food. Jumping off a boat into Halong Bay and climbing the Acatenango volcano.”
“I see us beinghappy. Happy and together for the rest of our lives. It’s a simple plan.” I drop my forehead against hers and whisper, “What do you say?”
Nera reaches across the console, cups the back of my neck and pulls my mouth down to meet hers. Our lips crash together in a savage, frenzied kiss. Our hands claw at each other, reaching for clothes, hair, skin, anything and everything.
I pull back an inch to drag in a desperate gulp of air.
“Is that a yes?” I question between frantic, ragged breaths.
“Yes,” she replies feverishly.
