Six Months Later
I don’t know why Alex left the ring in the breadbox for so long.
Perhaps he knew I’d been trying it on in stolen moments when I knew he was in the shower or out with his mom. Or maybe he just did it to drive me crazy.
Either way, I enjoyed it.
How could I not? There was something terribly romantic about having a secret engagement ring. Not only did thinking about it during the day make me smile, but the strong feelings I had for Alex only seemed to intensify every time I tried it on.
Still, I was grateful that he’d been wise enough to grant me that time. Time to breathe, to form a vision for my future. Time to mull over whether he was truly what I wanted—who I wanted.
Then again, trying the ring on was probably only fun because my heart already knew the answer to that question.
Of course he was the one.
But by the one, I don’t mean I viewed him as a hidden needle in a haystack or a particularly outstanding sea creature. By the one, I mean the one who finally made love make sense for me. The one who finally made love a worthwhile pursuit for me.
It was a fickle thing though, love.
I realized in those first few months of officially dating Alex that no matter how much it unsettled me, love would never be the kind of thing I could see or touch or hear. It would only ever be a feeling, and I’d have to trust myself—and him—to know whether it was really there.
But he made it easy. Almost too easy.
Sometimes I actually found myself feeling guilty that I was so happy, that I was so loved. Of all the people on Earth, why should I be so lucky? But I decided it was okay to feel that way. Because it was that feeling—that gratitude—that would ensure I never took what we had for granted.
Anyway, one morning I woke up and the ring was missing. And not just the ring, but the whole box. Vanished. As if it had never been there in the first place. Naturally, I didn’t mention it. What would I even say? Where’s the lucky ring I wear when I make toast?
Of course, Alex didn’t say anything about it either. He just went about his business as usual.
A few torturously long days later, the morning of the much-anticipated summer party arrived. I was speed-drinking a coffee when Alex came downstairs in a white suit, his summer tan popping against the light blue shirt he’d paired with it.
“Where did you get that suit?”
“Do you like it?” he asked, doing a little spin on the hardwood floor.
“You look like a movie star. How fancy is the yacht you booked?”
He smiled, and I swear his teeth glinted in the light coming through the back windows. “I’ll give you a hint.”
I raised my brows.
“The party is going to start with an array of amuse-bouches, and it’s going to end with gateau.”
I couldn’t help but smile as gateau had become our code word for sex ever since the night we made up. “Gateau, huh?”
He walked over and pulled me close. “Maybe the best gateau you’ve ever had.”
“Those are bold words after last night.”
“When have you ever known me to make promises I can’t keep?”
I leaned my hips against his swelling hard-on, wishing we’d shared this moment before I spent forty-five minutes on my hair and makeup. “We don’t have time for that now.”
“The boat won’t leave without us,” he said, dragging his lips along the edge of my ear. “You’re the guest of honor.”
“I am not,” I said, leaning back to point at him. “Do not drag me into your spotlight Mr. White Suit.”
“You are, though. If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t be having a summer party, we wouldn’t be opening three new locations next month, and we certainly wouldn’t have scored corporate sponsorship with YoBuddha.”
“If you want that gateau,” I said seriously. “Please make today about the rest of the team.”
He stuck his lower lip out in a feigned pout.
“Seriously, I don’t want credit for any of it.”
“Whether you want the credit or not has nothing to do with whether you deserve it.”
“I’m being serious, Alex.”
“I can tell,” he said, mocking my expression.
It was my turn to pout. “Don’t make fun of me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, checking me out. “There is absolutely nothing funny about you in that dress.”
I scrunched my face and looked down at my bank-breaking navy and white striped cocktail dress. I really shouldn’t have treated myself to it, but the way the boat neck dipped below my collarbones made it too flattering to pass up. Besides, Alex had been planning this party for months, and I knew how much it meant to him. “Is it too much?”
He squinted. “You’re asking the guy in the white suit?”
“Good point.”
“Oh shit, I forgot my cufflinks,” he said, glancing at the clock. “I’ll be right down.”
“It’ll be faster if you let me help you,” I called after him.
“By the way, I forgot to mention I invited your dad to the party,” he said before taking the stairs two at time.
“Really?” My voice bounced up the high walls to the landing outside our bedroom, which overlooked the downstairs living area.
“I figured my mom always comes, so…”
“That was nice of you.” I set my mug in the sink. “I’m sure he’s never been on a yacht.”
“I figured,” he said, coming down the stairs so fast the tails of his jacket floated up behind him.
I put my hand out in anticipation of his cufflinks, but he set the ring in my palm instead. My lips fell apart, and I looked at him.
He dropped to his knee. “Gemma.”
My throat closed up.
“I know you’ve been having fun trying the ring on every morning while you make your coffee.”
I pressed my lips together.
“But I want you to start wearing it all the time. So everybody knows you’re mine.”
My heart swelled.
He reached for my hand, his eyes full of a sincerity that made me feel like I might float away if he weren’t holding on to me. “Do you remember the last boat ride we took together?”
I smiled. “Of course.”
“We talked about regret,” he said. “Or rather, fear of regret.”
“I remember.”
“My point is, if that boat sinks today, I want to go down as your husband.”
I laughed. “I think that sounded more romantic in your head.”
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” he said. “I’m afraid I’ll never be able to explain how much I love you, how happy you make me, how much I want every part of you with every part of me.”
I watched as he took the ring and turned my hand over in his.
“But if you agree to marry me, at least I’ll have your permission to try.”
He stared up at me, the ring I’d tried on so many times poised at the end of my finger. “Every day for as long as I live.”
“And you’re saying this offer comes with gateau?”
He smiled. “All the gateau you can eat.”
“Can I tell you something?”
“Can you give me an answer first?” he asked. “I really shouldn’t be kneeling in my white suit.”
I rolled my eyes and pulled him to his feet.
Worry hardened his face.
“I already did,” I said, my eyes watering. “I already said yes to you a thousand times.”
He shook his head like he didn’t quite understand.
“Every time I tried that ring on, I said yes to you with all my heart.”
His expression lifted.
“You just didn’t hear me ’cause you were in the shower.”
A handsome smile split his face as he slid the ring down my finger.
“It’s always been you,” I said, squeezing his strong hands. “And even if you hadn’t asked, it always would’ve been.”
“I know the feeling,” he said, kissing me hard before dipping me in the kitchen, right between the sink and the silverware drawer like I hoped he would a million more times.
“You’ve always understood how I felt,” I said when he set me back up. “That’s why we’re so good together.”
He dropped his forehead against mine and hugged me close. “Oh Gemma,” he said. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”