A long beat of silence hangs in the air. “Doesn’t look like you planned to mail it, now did you?”
Tristan fiddles with the paper with those fingers, those perfect, manly fingers that know just how to touch me. “No. They didn’t have envelopes at Heathrow Terminal Five. I opted for hand delivery.”
My heart skips a beat.Heathrow Terminal Five, where all this started. “I see.”
He takes a few more steps and closes the gap between us, forcing me to look up at him. “Here. Read it, please.”
I’m too scared to unwrap my arms from my body. This grip I have on myself is the only thing keeping me standing. “No… Since you’re here,youread it.”
“Don’t let me mess this up, Lexi. I don’t plan to ever do this again.”
“Go break a leg then.” If he wants to apologize for everything that happened, I won’t stop him, but I was the fool to rush in.
“Okay, this is the rough draft,” he says softly. “I don’t think I can do more than a rough draft…with my handwriting and all.”
“Good thing you’re reading it,” I tell him as I gauge the unruly pen scribbles that lean askew on the page. “I don’t want to misread here.”
“Yep.” He clears his throat. “Dear Lexi.”
“An auspicious start,” I tease, nodding encouragement.
He smiles, his gaze shy, and I want to hug him so hard, it almost consumes me. “Okay, shush now. Otherwise I’m going to chicken out.”
“Okay. Please don’t chicken out.” I suck in my lip and dig my nails into my ribs, trying to stay calm. Something is up, and Tristan has flown all this way. That says something, doesn’t it?
“Dear Lexi, Growing up I didn’t have the best example of relationships, of love or how any of this works,” he reads. “Flying here from Ne’emba, I had a lot of time to dig through everything going on in my mind, and I’ve realized that—that I’m scared.” He pauses. “I’m scared that I’m going to turn out like my dad: flippant, dismissive, and emotionally unavailable. I’m scared that eventually I’ll hurt you.” He takes a deep breath. “The last thing I want to do is hurt anybody, least of all you.” He meets my gaze, and his eyes are shining with tears. “And then I realized I was already hurting you, like I hurt you five years ago, by not being truthful with you in the moments where the truth matters the most.” He lowers the page but keeps talking, even as his voice breaks. “And this isn’t the man I want to be. When I told youyouweren’t ready, I was only lying to protect myself.Iwasn’t ready. And by not being truthful, I’m more like him than I ever care to be. So here’s the truth. The feelings I’ve always had for you have changed. They’ve evolved so much that I can no longer deny that I’m in love with you, that Iloveyou, that I love you so much it hurts when I’m not with you. All I can think about is you. I need you with me. I need you to be happy and cared for, for me to be happy.” He swallows hard and wipes roughly at his face. “To be one hundred percent clear,” he says as he tilts my chin up with a fingertip, “you’re the only person I want to be with, for better or worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health. I want to promise to love and cherish you, forever.”
Tears run down my cheeks, and I close my eyes as his thumb brushes them away.
Tristan has written a love letter—tome.
“So you see, angel, when at Heathrow I bought this ring and said I was the last man to ever put a ring on a woman’s finger, what I should have said is this: This beautiful hand, this perfect finger is theonlyfinger I ever want to put a ring on.” He turns his hand palm up, and there rests the airport Tiffany. “Can we try again, and this time make it real?”
I’m sobbing now, wondering how I can cry so much when I’m sad, and cry just as much when I’m happy.
“Say something, Lexi,” he whispers. “Anything.”
My throat is too tight. My heart is beating too fast as I sniff and look at the ring. “I missed it.”
He lifts my hand to his mouth, kisses the heel of my palm, and slips the engagement ring back on. It slides on without a hitch. In this moment, it’s as if the whole world rights, and there can never be any more wrong.
Tristan doesn’t let go of my hand, and I squeeze his fingers. “I know the people who were supposed to love you the most also hurt you the most, Tris, but you don’t have to make it so hard for the rest of us to love you.”
“Yes.” His expression tells me I’ve basically summed it all up. “Please, Lexi. I don’t know how else?—”
“I love you, Tristan Martinelli. Always have.” I fling my arms around his neck, sending his letter flying, and as if he senses everything I need, he cups my butt and lifts me so I can wrap my legs around his hips. “I missed you so much. What took you so long?”
His chest heaves and shudders against mine, and we draw in shaky, emotional breaths as we cling to each other. I bury my face in the warmth of his neck, inhaling his scent, still thinking I’ve slipped into a heavenly dream.
“Ne’emba Island is very far away,” he informs me.
I laugh. “It is.”
He walks us to the sofa, and I slide down, but as soon as he sits, he pulls me to his lap to straddle him. “And then I thought you went to Miami, so I made a little detour and got yelled at by Evan, who probably still wants my blood.”
“Oh hell.”
“Hell indeed,” he whispers as he pulls me closer. Our lips aren’t even an inch apart. “But this…this is heaven.” He kisses me softly, and I sink into him—the warmth of his embrace, of his heart and soul. He pulls away and brushes his thumb over my lips. “What say you, my angel?” His gaze searches mine. “Please say yes.”
