I shrug, taking her hand and leading her down a street on the lot we both know by heart. I don’t bother answering because I might give too much away.
“Whatever you’re up to,” she says, turning to walk backward a few steps and holding my gaze, “I’d rather be up to it with you than anywhere else in the world.”
“I feel the exact same.” I pull her back to my front, cross my arms at her waist, and we keep walking. “You were amazing tonight.”
“It was surreal.” She shakes her head, her soft hair brushing my chin with the motion. “It’s hard to believe any of this is real.”
Ironically, we’re strolling past facades, fake cities, manufactured mountains, elaborate microcosms created as homes for the fantasies we sell. Finally, the last few familiar steps take us where I’ve been wanting to be all night. We turn the corner, and Neevah stops abruptly, her fingers tightening on mine at her waist.
“The Savoy,” she breathes, looking up at me over her shoulder, surprise and delight on her face. “It’s still here.”
“Yeah, this set piece is too elaborate and too well-crafted to just tear down after one use.” I walk over to the wall and flip up more lights, illuminating the huge replica our production team built with such care and attention to detail—the marble stairs, mirrored walls, cut-glass chandeliers, bandstands, and the mahogany spring-loaded dance floor. If I close my eyes, I can see Neevah twirling, twisting in a rainbow sea of costumed dancers; hear Lucia’s strident voice slicing over music from a bygone era, demanding another take. Expecting no less than perfection.
“Galaxy spent a lot of money on this and will use it for something else,” I say. “Even if it’s slightly repurposed. For now, it’s still our Savoy.”
In the center of the ballroom floor, a small high table is set, covered in a white linen cloth. A silver bucket stuffed with ice cradles a bottle of champagne.
“A private celebration, huh?” Neevah kicks off her high heels and practically skips over to the table. “No glasses? We drinking straight from the bottle?”
I reach down to the floor, grabbing two champagne flutes from a small tote left there by a thoughtful person I’ll thank later. “Got the glasses right here.”
I follow more slowly, my pace deliberate to counter my heartbeat, which isracingunreasonably fast.
She lifts the bottle of champagne from the bucket to read the label. “And it’s the good stuff.”
“Only the best for you.” I take the champagne and pour it into the two glasses I hold by the stems. “Allow me.”
I flick a searching, alert glance from the bubbly liquid filling the flute to her face.
“A toast.” She holds the glass, her eyes dancing. “To Dessi.”
“Toyouand Dessi,” I amend, kissing the lips of our flutes together and lifting my glass to drink.
She goes to take her first sip, but pulls the glass away with a frown.
“What the—”
She peers down into the glass of golden liquid, and her eyes widen, flicking from the champagne to my face and back again.
“Is that…” She can’t seem to catch her breath, her chest lifting and falling in rapid inhales and exhales. “Canon, I… are you…”
I take the glass from her trembling hand and fish out the ring floating in the cold champagne. The flawless square diamond sparkles, capturing and releasing light from chandeliers overhead. I place the glasses on the table, watching and waiting for my heart to slow and my tongue to release the words I rehearsed like one of the actors I usually guide. Our breaths sound loud and ragged in the silence. If I pressed my hand to her heart, would it be stampeding like mine has been ever since we stepped onto thisset? I knew the reason I brought her here, the question I would ask, and that her answer would change our lives forever.
I do something I never thought I would, but for Neevah… anything. I drop to one knee and suspend the ring in the space between us, grasping it between two fingers. The makeup Takira so carefully applied, that has held all night, is marred with the tears streaking Neevah’s cheeks.
“Neevah, I’ve never wanted anything more than I want a life with you,” I say, swallowing the heat of my emotion. Nothing I’ve achieved, lost, won, compares to this moment with her.
“In the grand scheme of things,” I continue, struggling to steady my voice, “I know we haven’t been together that long, but if there’s one thing the last year has taught me, it’s that life is short. Nothing is promised.”
“Yes,” she shouts.
“And I want to—”
“I said yes, Canon!”
“Yes, what?” I frown.
“Yes, I’ll marry you.”
