No. No way. They wouldn't.
B... E...
They absolutely would.
The full message blazes across the sky in letters fifty feet tall, each one glowing with soft pink light against the velvet darkness:
WILL YOU BE OUR FOREVER VALENTINE, ROSEMARIE?
I gawk.
There's no other word for it. I stand there on the beach with my mouth hanging open and my hands pressed to my cheeks and my heart threatening to beat right out of my chest, and I gawk at the sky like I've never seen words before in my entire life.
A sound escapes me--something between a squeal and a sob and a laugh, all mixed together into one completely undignified noise that I will absolutely deny making if anyone asks later.
I spin around, already knowing what I'll find but needing to see it anyway.
There, on the beach behind me, illuminated by the glow of fireworks and drone light, are my three Alphas.
And they're all on their knees.
Tank is in the center, his massive frame somehow looking humble and almost vulnerable in this position. His dark eyes are fixed on my face with an intensity that makes my knees weak, and in his hands--cupped carefully like he's holding the most precious thing in the world--is a ring.
Not just any ring.
THE ring.
It's the exact ring from my Pinterest boards--the one I've pinned a hundred times, the one on my "One Day Manifestation" board that I created when I was feeling hopefuland romantic and foolish. A delicate rose gold band with a cushion-cut pink diamond surrounded by smaller white diamonds, designed to look like a blooming flower. It's elegant and romantic and unique, and it's absolutely, one hundred percent the ring I wrote about on my Valentine's "To Do List" when I was being ridiculous and dreaming out loud.
"Wouldn't it be nice to be proposed to on Valentine's Day?" I'd written, not really believing it would ever happen.
It's not exactly Valentine's Day anymore--we're a few days past, technically, thanks to the whole kidnapping and recovery situation. But the fact that these men love me enough to make this happen anyway, to arrange a drone show on a private island, to track down the exact ring from my secret Pinterest board, to kneel in the sand and ask me to be theirs forever...
They know me. They actually know me. They paid attention to the little things, the silly things, the dreams I thought I was keeping to myself. And they made them real.
The proposal is perfect in a way I didn't know proposals could be. Private enough to respect my discomfort with crowds and public spectacles, but grand enough to feel celebrated--a display that anyone watching the sky from a distance can acknowledge without intruding on the intimate moment. They've given me privacy and proclamation at the same time, and I don't know how they managed to thread that needle so perfectly.
Julian clears his throat, his usual aristocratic composure slightly ruffled by what I assume is genuine nervousness. "Is she in shock?" he asks, directing the question at the others without taking his eyes off me. "Should we be concerned? She's not saying anything."
"Maybe it's just slow reaction time," Elias offers, a nervous grin playing at his lips. "She's been through a lot. Her processing speed might be compromised."
Tank rolls his eyes, somehow managing to look long-suffering even while kneeling in the sand holding an engagement ring. "Would you two shut up and stop ruining the moment? I'm trying to propose here."
"You're all ruining it," Julian mutters. "This is why we should have rehearsed."
"We did rehearse," Elias protests. "You just kept changing the script."
"Because the original script was boring--"
Sasha, apparently deciding that enough is enough, comes bounding back from his beach exploration and launches himself directly at my legs. His paws hit my thighs with enough force to jolt me out of my frozen state, and I stumble backward with a surprised yelp.
"Sasha!" Tank scolds, but there's no real heat in it.
The impact seems to knock something loose in my brain, because suddenly everything catches up to me all at once--the proposal, the ring, the drones still spelling out their message in the sky, the three men I love kneeling in the sand waiting for an answer.
"YES!"
The word explodes out of me with approximately zero dignity, accompanied by a squeal so high-pitched it probably registers on frequencies only dogs can hear. Sasha barks in solidarity.
