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“I love you,” I tell her, and she gasps with surprise. I smile. “I’ve been waiting until today to say it. I wanted the first time to be special.”
“I love you too,” she says, “and itisspecial.”
Taking the ring box from my pocket, I feel my eyes stinging. It’s like all the coldness is finally catching up to me. The realization slams into me. I don’t have to be cold anymore. I don’t have to fight my emotions ever again, not with my woman.
“Samantha Fitzgerald,” I say, kneeling down and opening the ring box. The diamond is as full and bright as she is. “I love you so, so much. We’ve been through hell together. Now it’s time for our heaven. Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” she yells, as the tears start to fall. “Oh my… yes, Fletcher.Yes!”
I slide the ring onto her finger, smiling brightly and filled with love.
EPILOGUE
ONE MONTH LATER
Samantha
“I’m so proud of you, Samantha,” Professor Haywood says, smiling as she gestures around the college’s function room. My project was the highest rated in the class. Professor Haywood didn’t tell any of us beforehand, but she’d planned to host a gallery-style viewing for the top-performing student.
“Thank you,” I say, with those nerves still trying to cling to me. “I almost didn’t come tonight.”
Professor Haywood gasps. “What? Really?”
I look around the room full of people, my paintings on display. There are students, professors, friends, family. Mom and Lexi walk around arm-in-arm, with James at their side. Lexi says she and James are just friends, but I see how they look at each other.
“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “I know it seems silly since I’m an artist or want to be one—”
“Youarean artist,” Professor Haywood says. “Never doubt that.”
“I hate being put on display,” I go on, leaving out the fact that, for my man, I absolutelylovebeing put on display. “Fletcher talked me into coming.”
Whenever I mention my engagement to Fletcher, I expect a response similar to how Mom initially talked about it. Even if they don’t say anything, I look for signs—a tightening of the mouth or a flash of judgment. However, Professor Haywood, like most people, seems happy for me.
“You two are adorable together,” she says, “and if he got you here, he’s a winner in my book.”
Charles walks by, leaning on his walking cane. The doctor says he won’t need it for much longer, but there’s currently undue stress on his right side. He grins at me, tipping an imaginary hat.
I turn when I sense Fletcher behind me. I know how crazy that sounds, but I reallydosense him. He’s dressed stylishly in his shirt and jacket and sharp trousers. He’s even wearing a tie, making me want to tug on it and bring his lips to mine.
“Excuse me, Professor,” I say.
She grins. “I couldn’t keep you here if I tried.”
I walk across the function room and touch my fiancé’s hand. He turns, smiles, leans down, and gently kisses me on the forehead. “This is amazing—all of it. I’ve never seen anything like this before. The angles. The interpretations…”
“You sound like an art critic,” I tell him with a smile. “Follow me, okay? I’ve got a special piece just for you.”
“Here?” he asks. “I mean, I’m not complaining, but you should enjoy your big moment.”
“I’m not talking aboutthat, you savage. It’ll only take a couple of minutes.”
I lead him into the small room at the back, where I’ve set up the painting with lantern light shining on it. It shows me lying in a hospital bed, the sun beaming through the window, a handsome silver-haired man sitting at my side. There’s a baby in my arms.
“What’s this?” he whispers, stepping forward, staring almost awed at the piece.
“The future,” I whisper. “I did a test—”
He turns to me suddenly. “Say it.” He gasps. “Hell, my perfect painter. I need to hear it.”
