“How . . . what . . . there’s no point, though,” she argues. “If they see the marriage record, they’ll see the date! They’ll know either way.”
“Emily Hess says they’ll forge the certificate, so no one will know. It’ll be weird, I know, but we lucked out with the cancer, that you’ve been off social media for a few years, so—shit.”
Her eyes are burning into me again, and I realize what I’ve just said.
“Yeah, the cancer was really lucky. I’m really thankful for the cancer. I did it for you, really. For your public relations.”
I wince. I told her to fight back. This is what I wanted her to do. I just didn’t think at the time that I would be saying anything this dumb. “I didn’t mean that, I swear. Emily said it, and it just, it just came out. I’m sorry. And I do want to marry you.”
“I don’t want to marry you.”
No.
Impossible.
Not happening.
She knocks the wind out of me better than any defensive end could. I don’t have anything prepared for this. We have to get married. That’s it. It shouldn’t have been this way, but this was it. This was always going to be the finale. We were going to get through this blackmailing nightmare, and then we were going to get married and buy a house and have another baby and raise a family together.
We were going to live happily ever after. We just had to get there.
I want to touch her. I should touch her. She’s mine. She had my child and invited me into her bed and curled up against me at night. She bent herself to me. Every time I pushed and pushed and pushed again, she bent to me, and I got all in my head that if I didn’t make her push back, I was going to lose her.
I’m going to lose her.
“Please?” I try. The voice that comes out of me isn’t mine. “Please marry me?”
“I’m angry with you right now,” she says quietly, but there’s nothing weak about her tone. Not angry, either. Thoughtful. Reasonable. Monday evening is quiet at Camden Square, but there are people around. Some of them recognize me, but I was here so often last year that no one comes up to us. They see I’m with my lady. And no one wants to talk to me when I’m stretching my legs out in front of me and the brace on my ankle is there for everyone to see.
If anyone makes a scene, it’s going to be me. It should be Tilly, but it never will be.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her again, hoping she hears how much I mean it as I tell myself I can’t regret bringing out her backbone. I cave to my instincts and put my arm around her waist, bringing her in, taking her warmth. “I didn’t want it to happen this way. You know that, right? If I had any choice in the matter, it wouldn’t have happened like this. Like I said, I was looking at this ring. I picked out this ring. I wanted you to have this ring, and I was . . . mmm, I was scared I was going to get it wrong, so I waited, but this was the ring I thought you’d like. Do you like it?”
She holds it up between us, so we can both see it. And it does look good on her. In my mind, it’s a ring she’ll be happy to wear for the rest of her life.
Except she doesn’t. I just don’t know if it’s the ring itself or me.
“I do like it, actually.”
Oh, right. If she likes it, I’m the problem. So that didn’t help any.
No, it did. I’m glad she likes it.
“Please tell me I didn’t ruin everything, Tilly. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I love you.”
“I know.”
She’s never said it back to me. It’s not something I think too much about, but I wish this were the moment, just for my own peace of mind.
“I need to think about this.”
I don’t know how much time we have. I don’t know if her consent is even necessary or if the document’s just going to be forged, no signatures required. I don’t want her to get even more upset, though, so I nod. “I can work with that.”
“I’m going to stay with Joss and Gabe tonight. You should stay at the Jug House.”
“Are you kicking me out of the apartment?” I taste bile in my throat.
“Emerson called me the other day. He was hoping he could get me for a week or so in California. The show he’s producing is having issues with their costumers. I said no since you’re in the middle of the season and I didn’t want to throw more at you, but . . .”
