“So what’s the plan for tomorrow?” he asks.
“Ugh, we have that thing at the Ekersteins’ in the evening. It’ll be a crapshoot, but we have to be there.”
Joey hates people like the Ekersteins, but we need them. They’re high profile and they were among the first of the uber powerful families to jump onto the bandwagon and start seriously giving away millions of dollars with me. My plan for Anarchy 2.0 depends on people like them. I brace myself for the chorus of complaints. I don’t have to wait long.
“Whaaat? The Ekersteins? They’re the worst. Are you serious? Did you RSVP for both of us?” I don’t even answer that. If I’m going, he’s going. He should know that by now. “Come on Damon, you know I hate these things.” I watch his face. He has a very specific look written all over it. I know what it means. I clench my teeth and wait for him to say it. “I don’t like hanging out with those people. They’re your people, not my people. I don’t belong there, you know that.”
Heat rushes to my face. I’m furious that he’d bring this up today of all days. I jump to my feet, ready for battle. We must have had this fight a hundred times. A hundred times or more. I thought we were over it. It’s been a few months since he brought it up. I thought he’d finally started to understand thatheis my people and I’mhis. I belong where he goes, and he fucking belongs where I go, too.
“I’ve had enough of this crap,” I yell. “I can’t take it. I can’t have this fight one more time. I’m done with this bullshit.” I’m speaking a little faster than I’m thinking, and that’s never a good thing. “You’remy people.I’myour fucking people. We belong together. Why can’t you get that through your thick skull? You know what, I’m not doing this again. We’re getting married. That’s all there is to it. Let’s just get married, okay? Let’s get married and be done with it. Let’s get fucking marriedwithouta fucking pre-nup so you can own half of everything that’s mine. Let’s do that and see if youfinallyfeel like this is your place. Let’s do that and see if you ever dare to mention not belonging in my world again.
His face breaks into a very sheepish grin. “I was having a go, Damon. I was only kidding. It’s been such a perfect day, I thought we needed some strife to balance things out.”
“You were kidding?”
He nods. “I know I belong where you are.”
I look at him long and hard and speak the truth as it comes to me. “I wasn’t. Kidding, I mean. I wasn’t kidding.”
His face is blank. He looks incredulous. “D-did you just propose?”
If I allowed myself to admit I’ve thought of such a thing, I’d have to say I thought he’d be the one to do it, but there’s no way I’m backing down now. I raise my chin defiantly. “Yes. Romantic, huh?”
“That’s the single most fucked up proposal I’ve ever heard of.” His mouth creeps up at the corners. “But I’m into it.” His smile starts to take on a life of its own. It starts out as a glimmer. Just a hint of what’s to come, then it spreads across his face like wildfire. “I’m not taking your name,” he warns, with a forefinger pointed at me sternly. “You can fucking forget that. There’s no way I’m taking your…”
“I’m not giving you my name, you fool. I wouldn’t dream of it. I’mtakingyours.” His eyes flash and then glisten as the words sink in. He takes a couple of steps towards me. He hooks his fingers behind my neck and leans down close to my face.
“Demon St John,” he says a couple of times, testing it, tasting it, swirling the words round in his mouth. “I like how it sounds.”
“I think I could deal with being Sainted. If you really think about it, it was bound to happen in this lifetime or the next one.”
“Hold that thought,” he says, before dashing upstairs.
I stand in our brand, spanking new living room and wonder what the hell’s going on. Admittedly, it was my first proposal, but I don’t love how unpolished it was. When he returns, he has a small black box in his hand and a strange, nervous look on his face. My heart starts to pound. I feel like I can’t swallow. I look around to make sure he’s not joking. He hands me the box and says, “You can return it if you don’t like it. I don’t mind. Told the jeweler to expect it, so he won’t mind either.”
I start tearing up.
He knows me so well.
I open the box and see a large ring inside it. Oxidized platinum and black diamonds. It’s skilled, intricate work. The shield-cut diamonds are set overlapping each other, designed to look like feathers. I stand there dumbly, unable to think of a thing to say as he slides the ring onto my finger. It fits perfectly. I hold my hand out. It’s stunning. It’s unusual. It’s unusually stunning. It’s the most unusually stunning thing I’ve ever worn. Ornate. Over-the-top. It looks like the wings of a raven circling my finger. Protecting me. Keeping me safe. Announcing loudly to anyone who glances in my direction; I’m his.
“Holy shit,” I say as tears start to roll down my cheeks. “You had a ring?”
“Yeah, I picked it up a few weeks back. Been carrying it around in my pocket, waiting for you to say something sweet but, well,” his eyes light up the way they only do when he’s teasing, “we both know how that goes.”
*
“So,” I say, rolling over to face him in bed once we’ve cleaned our teeth and done our skincare regime. “I’m thinking Peonies and Patchouli.”
“Huh?”
“The theme for the wedding, silly. I’m thinking the Museum of Natural History, obviously. We’ll have to get them to move one or two things around, but with the right motivation, that shouldn’t be a problem. We’ll need plenty of space for the guests, and for the peonies, of course. I’m thinking peonies on every surface, and I don’t just mean the tables and the walls. That’s been done to death. I want them hanging from the ceiling too. I want that entire place dripping in blooms. I want to have to hand out antihistamines to our guests on arrival. I want to use every peony available on the east coast. I want to create a peony supply chain crisis for every other New York wedding for the entire month of June. And as for guests, I’m thinking we keep it intimate.” I see his face start to relax in relief. I try not to smile, as I go in for the kill. “I don’t think we’ll be able to get away with anything less than eight hundred people. Even that will be a push, but I think it’s something to work towards, you know?”
His eyes are wide with terror. “Uh, but, but I was thinking something small. Um, just us. Just us, your mom, Lace, and the girls.”
“Oooh, something small.” I make a yikes face. “Okay, okay. We can do whatever you want. It’s your day, too. Just let me think. Let me reorganize my thoughts for a second. Hmm. Okay, got it. How about Tropical Island Nuptials? Yes, yes, I think it could work. I’m thinking the Maldives. I’m thinking all white. Head-to-toe white. White for you. White for me. I’m thinking bare feet. I’m thinking matching white linen pants and loose, flowy white shirts unbuttoned halfway down our chests. I’m thinking wind chimes and Buddhist blessings. Oh, God, yes! I can see it now. I can see you and me in matching flower crowns. Peony crowns, of course.”
He looks very, very frightened. I didn’t think today could get any better after the proposal, but boy, was I wrong.
