“Damien?” Her voice is barely a whisper. “What are you doing?”
“You’re a smart girl, Snowflake. Can’t you guess?” Before she answers, I take her hands, still cool under my touch. “Marry me.”
She stares, shock and a cautious smile in her expression. “It’s too soon. With everything you have going on with the company… and the police have only just stopped…” Her voice becomes firm. “Now isn’t the right time.”
“I don’t want to wait.” I take out the jewellery box, snapping it open so she can see the ring. It’s a pink diamond, in the same subtle colouring as her cheeks. “The wedding doesn’t need to be right away, but I don’t want another day to pass without my ring on your finger.”
“Caveman.”
“Like you didn’t know that already.”
I sink back on my heels as she takes the box from my hands, holding it at different angles so the gemstone sparkles.
“Not yet.” She snaps the box closed but doesn’t yet pass it back. “It’s too much.”
“Okay.” I shift tactics. This is now a negotiation. “How about we get engaged now, but hold off on the marriage for another year?”
“I’ll still be at uni.”
“Yeah, but I’m not sure why that’s a deal breaker. What’re you doing there?”
“Studying until I’m exhausted, is what.” She laughs, shaking her head. “How about we wait five years? You still might grow sick of me.”
“Three years. That gives you time to finish your degree, plus six months of planning if you want a fancy wedding.”
Her nose wrinkles.
“We can’t leave it longer than that.” My tone turns deadly serious. “It mightn’t matter as much to you, but in three years we’ll be at peak physical attractiveness. Don’t you want our wedding album to put everyone else’s to shame?”
Ophelia bursts out laughing, still squeezing the ring box in her hand. “Three years?”
It’s still framed as a question, but all I hear is acquiescence.
“Done.” I shake her hand before she changes her mind and slip the ring onto her finger.
She twists it until the stone is centred. “It’s sized perfectly.”
“Because I measured your finger with a piece of string while you were sleeping.”
While she laughs, I lean in to kiss her. Her lips are soft and she responds with a hunger that surprises me, her hands clutching my lapels.
The kiss deepens, becoming more than the sealing of a deal. It’s a promise. A contract. I break away only long enough to collect her in my arms and deposit her in the back seat. My foot hooks the door shut, the world outside irrelevant.
“So, being a husband is what you want to do with your life?”
“Yeah. A househusband. Cooking, feeding you, buying your clothes… looking after the children.”
She snorts out a soft laugh. “And how many children do we have?”
“I thought one to start…”
I draw my fingers up her thigh, raising the hem of her sensible black dress, her skin quivering under my hands. Thisisn’t about sex, it’s about possession. Her claim on me just as deep as mine.
She arches against me, her breath hot on my neck, and the death and the cold and the fake solemnity of the graveside ritual are gone, replaced by the heat of her body.
My centre is calm and still and sure.
This is exactly where I’m meant to be.
