“There is one new article I decided to wear though. It’s a type of underwear that doesn’t cover one’s butt cheeks. The back goes straight between them.”
He whips his face to me so fast, he nearly drops his rifle. “You’re wearing them? Right now?”
“I am, and I will never wear them again. Extremely uncomfortable. Do not recommend. If you want to tear them off me with your teeth, I’m more than happy to oblige.”
“You sexy, wicked beast,” he says. He licks his lips as if tempted to take me up on my offer then and there, but he begrudgingly returns his attention to his target. He hits five more, but my vine has outgrown his by several inches. Just another foot and it will reach the top.
“Hey Daph,” he says.
“Hmm?” I refuse to look at him. Refuse to take my eyes off my target. Just a few more?—
“Will you marry me?”
My next shot misses, and I blink a few times to process what Monty just said. I hazard the briefest glance, prepared to look away just as quickly, but that’s when he gets down on one knee beside my stool. My stomach flips, and I know this is just a ruse, but…
But that’s not what the ring in his hand says.
My breath catches as he stares up at me with a crooked smile, his dimples on full display.
“Daphne Heartcleaver,” he says, his voice carrying over the tinny music and shots fired, all the way to my heart. “My feral love with the prettiest sharp teeth, the cutest pine marten face, and the meanest growl if awoken before six in the morning. You’ve taught me so much about myself that I never wanted to face. You saw a side of me I tried to hide from everyone. You pulled me out of darkness and loved me for the mangled, broken, hastily-stitched-back-together being I am. I spent my whole life looking for evidence that love was real. That it could last without hurting. That it could stay without changing or leaving.
“But it does hurt, in the best kind of way. And when it changes, it shifts into something new and different. I can’t stop it from leaving, and I don’t need to. I can only give it my heart and cherish it while it’s mine. Will you be mine, Daffy Dear, forever and always? Or until the day you get so sick of me you decide to bite out my throat?” He says the last part with a wink.
I realize now I can either win or set down my rifle and accept the ring.
Tears glaze my eyes, and I know I couldn’t hit my next targets even if I wanted to. Besides, the most important target is before me now, resting on one knee.
I set down my rifle and return to sitting on my stool. Sniffling, I nod and hold out my hand. “Yes,” I manage to croak out. “Yes, I’ll marry you, asshole.”
He slides the ring onto my finger, a rose gold chrysanthemum on a yellow gold band, then rises halfway to press his lips to mine.
“Hooray!” comes Araminta’s voice, followed by the tickle of something fluttering against my cheek. Monty and I break away to discover the spray of glittery black confetti, tossed from Ari’s palms.
I swat it away, but it still lands everywhere, in my hair, down the front of my dress. “You told Ari about this?”
“Of course I didn’t,” Monty says. “You think she can keep a secret?”
“Then why does she have confetti?” When Monty only shrugs in answer, I face Araminta.
“Why wouldn’t I have confetti?” is her only reply.
The tinny music turns to a celebratory tune as the first contestant grows their vine to the roof of the stall. “We both lost,” I say without regret.
Monty arches a brow. “Did we?”
I return to face him. My love. My friend. And now my fiancé. “No, not at all.”
The next morning,we make our way to the train station, our weekend of frivolity behind us. None of us are well rested considering Monty and I celebrated our engagement with a marathon of orgasms. Predictably, my thong underpants lasted no more than a minute once we were alone. Meanwhile, Araminta stayed out drinking until dawn with some new friends she made—fast-talking squirrels and chipmunks. Very much her people.
She’s paying for it now, taking up an entire bench to herself in our coach and moaning about every bump in the road. I’m snuggled up against Monty, his arm around my shoulders. Despite our lack of sleep, I feel refreshed. Invigorated.
And a touch nervous too.
Because Monty isn’t the only one who planned a surprise this weekend. I haven’t a clue how mine will go.
Our coach arrives at the station, and we buy our return tickets before heading for the platform. As a hub between the line that leads south to Jasper and another that joins routes to the northern courts, it’s a busy station, despite its modest size. It consists of a single brick building with an ivy-coated awning to protect waiting passengers from the elements. On the nearest side of the building is the platform that leads home to Jasper. On the far side is the one that connects the northern line.
With my arm linked through Monty’s, I guide him to the other side.
