“Think it has to do with sex?” I asked, glancing up at Hudson.
“Definitely. Come on. There are still more guests and potential investors to suck up to.”
As the party wound down, though, my attention fell on Hudson’s behavior—the way he kept checking his watch, the slight nervousness in his smile, the way he seemed to be waiting for something. It wasn’t like him to be anxious at professional events; if anything, these kinds of gatherings were where he was most in his element.
“Is everything okay?” I asked as we thanked the last departing guests. “You seem... twitchy.”
“Twitchy?” He raised an eyebrow, his expression a bit too innocent. “I’m not twitchy.”
“You’ve checked your watch seven times in the last twenty minutes. Either you’re developing a nervous tic or you’ve got somewhere else to be.” I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. “Please tell me you didn’t schedule a late-night meeting with investors. I’m wearing heels that were designed by someone who clearly hates women, and my feet are staging another full-scale rebellion.”
“No meetings,” he assured me, his hand finding the small of my back again. “I just want everything to be perfect.”
“Perfect for what? The party’s over. The app launched. All that’s left is for me to take off these torture devices disguised as shoes and eat something larger than a thimble.”
Instead of answering, he nodded to the event staff, who had been in the process of cleaning up. To my surprise, they quietly gathered their things and filed out, leaving us alone on the rooftop.
“Did you just dismiss the cleaning crew?” I asked, bewildered. “Because I’m pretty sure that’s not in our venue contract. Also slightly dictatorial. And I really don’t want to clean in four-inch heels.”
“They’ll be back,” he said, taking my hand and leading me toward the edge of the rooftop where the city lights spread out before us. “I just wanted a few minutes alone with you first.”
The night air had cooled, and a gentle breeze ruffled my hair as Hudson pulled me into his arms. The sounds of the city drifted up from below—distant sirens, the honking of taxis, the perpetual hum that was uniquely New York. Above us, actual stars competed with the city lights, creating a perfect ceiling to our private moment.
“Dance with me,” Hudson said softly.
“There’s no music,” I pointed out, though I was already settling into his arms, my body swaying with his as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“We don’t need music.”
We moved together in silence for a few moments; the city provided its own soundtrack, my head resting against his chest where the steady beat of his heart thumped against my ear. Despite my aching feet and empty stomach, there was nowhere else I’d rather be.
“This app launch wasn’t the only thing I wanted to celebrate tonight,” Hudson said after a while, his voice a low rumble.
I tilted my head back to look up at him. “What else is there?”
“I was thinking about us. About how far we’ve come.”
“From me wanting to strangle you with your own tie to slow dancing on a rooftop?” I smiled. “I’d call that progress.”
“Definite progress.” His expression grew more serious, his eyes holding mine and making my pulse quicken. “Mari, the past six months have been the most challenging, rewarding, transformative time of my life. Building the app, rebuilding trust between us, discovering who we are together without all the baggage we both carried...”
Something in his tone made my heart race. “Hudson...”
“Let me finish, please.” He took a deep breath, his hands tightening at my waist. “When I sold my business and changed my name, it wasn’t just about distancing myself from the Gable legacy. It was about becoming someone new. Someone better. Someone worthy of standing beside you as a true partner. I chose ‘Jones’ because it was simple, unremarkable, a blank slate. But I’ve been thinking lately that there might be a better name out there for me.”
Before I could ask what he meant, he slowly lowered himself to one knee under the New York City stars. My breath caught in my throat as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.
“Hudson,” I whispered, my usual flood of words suddenly nowhere to be found.
“Mari Landry,” he began, his voice steady, “you are the most frustrating, brilliant, passionate, infuriating, beautiful person I’ve ever known.”
“You forgot ‘foul-mouthed, feisty, with an excellent taste in takeout food,’” I managed, my voice unusually high-pitched as I stared at the box in his hand.
“Yes, all those things and more,” he added with a smile. “You challenge me every day to be better, to be more authentic, to care less about appearances and more about what’s real. And nothing in my life has ever felt more real than loving you.”
He opened the box, revealing a stunning sapphire ring surrounded by smaller diamonds in a vintage-inspired setting that reminded me of starlight.
“I’m not asking because I think we need a piece of paper to validate what we have,” he continued. “I’m asking because I want to build a life with you. Messiness, arguments, and all. Mari Landry, will you marry me?”
