"So?"
"I should put some clothes on." He grinned at the flash of fire in her gorgeous eyes. "And I'm done." Letting go of her hands, he hauled her into his arms and buried his face between her neck and shoulder and just breathed her in.
"The answer is yes. Bloody yes. I'm overcome and undone." His voice was thick with the myriad of emotions coursing through him. "I've wanted that since the first time I met you. And I have been keeping the ring to start badgering you again." He lifted his head and the look on his face stole her breath clean.
"I want it to be soon too, but my family--"
"Will want to help in the preparation and planning." Her smile faltered. "My mother--" She cleared her throat. "I'll tell her--"
He shook his head, hands framing her face. "There's no longer an 'I.' It's us. We'll tell her out of courtesy. If she wants to be part of it, then it's up to her. But I will be damned if she's going to spoil it for us."
She smiled, loving him more, if that was at all possible.
She reached up and brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead, her touch gentle and lingering. "We're in this together now, and I wouldn't have it any other way." Her voice was soft but steady, filled with conviction. "Whatever happens, we'll face it side by side."
She smiled a little unsteadily. "I came up here, determined to hold the mad inside me for as long as I could. Told myself that it was deserving and it was, but then the anger seemed to melt down the drain."
"Darling, you're the best thing that ever happened to me. You and these babies inside me. It's strange I never thought any ofthis was what I wanted until you came along." She moved in and laid her forehead on his and simply breathed. "Thank God."
He held her for a minute more, hands stroking her back.
"We need the rest of the wine." Easing her away from him, he rose. Taking one last look at her, he went first to the bathroom to grab the almost full bottle of wine before going into his office.
Taking the small key from a hook near his desk, he opened the drawer and took out the black velvet box. She was going to be surprised and delighted he hoped. It was not a traditional ring, but one that had been in his family for generations.
Nestled inside the velvet was a ring unlike any other, its pale sapphire gleaming with understated elegance, surrounded by a delicate halo of tiny diamonds. Oscar paused for just a moment, running his thumb over the intricate setting, thinking of the generations before them who had worn it and cherished its significance. He took a deep, steadying breath, feeling the weight of history as well as hope, and returned to her side, the box held reverently in his hands.
"It's an heirloom. But if you want something else, we can--"
"Gimme." She held out her left hand.
"All right." Flipping the tiny clasp open, he took it out, eyes never leaving her face as he watched for her reaction. "It's old--"
"It's exquisite and so me. Put it on baby."
He slid it on slowly. It was a perfect fit. Lifting her hand, he brushed his lips over the ring, his eyes bright. "Thank you," he whispered hoarsely. "For the best of my life."
Chapter 12
She could not believe that after saying yes, everything was so easy. It all settled into place as if she had been engaged for a long time. The ring shone on her finger, and she could not stop staring at it. She had removed the ones she used to wear on her left fingers, leaving only the one he had given her.
The call to his family had ended up with his mother and sister in tears and his father expressing his profound joy.
She could not help but feel a pang of sadness that the only family she had, her mother, would rain on her parade. She could not let it ruin her joy, she decided.
And they had decided to go to the hospital together.
"We both need closure," Oscar told Margo quietly. "And there's no way in hell am I going to let her face that monster alone."
"He's slowly fading away. The operation stopped the bleeding, but the infection had set in too deep. He's dying. He has also confessed to killing his mother."
"Christ!" Oscar exclaimed, shaking his head.
"I'm not one to feel sorry for the perpetrator, but the woman did a number on him. He wrote it all down in his diaries."
"He had diaries. Go figure."
"Sometimes it helps to document your feelings."
