Slowly, I ease the blindfold off and stand back, watching her reaction as she comes face-to-face with the stained glass.
The stained glass image of us.
Her blonde hair and my dark, her blue eyes and my green, her head on my chest and my arms around her.
“Holy—Kane!” Her voice breaks. “Kane.”
“Yeah?” I barely breathe.
“What? How?When?” She turns to face me, eyes glistening with tears. “Oh my God, did you do this?”
“Took five years off my life,” I admit. “A lot of late nights. Months working with the best back in New York until I felt like I could do it justice.”
“Youmadethis? Are you freaking serious?”
I nod firmly.
“Leonidas Blackthorn wouldn’t have settled for anything less in your grandma’s old studio, would he?”
Her bottom lip quivers.
Slowly, shakingly, she nods, and then she wheels back around to the glass.
It’s not as intricate as the greats, no.
Not the sort of rustic beauty you’d find in a church—that’s not us. It’s vivid and bright and the colors are a little chunky.
Still, it’s a statement piece, as she’d like to say.
Just like Sophie’s shoes.
It’s mine. It’s ours.
It’s fucking everything.
I slaved over each inch of glass down to the last detail.
“I thought you’d want it replaced one day, and this seemed fitting.”
“It’s us,” she whispers reverently.
“Us.”
“God, Kane. Have I told you I love you?” She almost charges into my arms, and I catch her, holding her softness against me. “Because I love you. Iloveyou.”
“I haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.”
“What good part?” She looks around the empty space. “What, are you going to carve our names into a tree? Write them in the sky? Bury us alive together?”
“Sometimes, I worry about you.”
“I’m serious, Kane. What moreisthere?”
“This.” I kiss her, then step back.
Without hesitation, I drop to one knee, reaching in my back pocket for the little box I spent hours picking out.
Hattie helped me, and I know it caused the girl physical pain not to be able to blab it to Margot five seconds later.
