The Rothwell townhouse was exactly as intimidating as I'd expected—stone facade, wrought iron railings, the kind of quiet elegance that made me acutely aware of my truck parked on the street, my rough hands, and my lack of a college degree.
But I'd run into burning buildings. I'd faced down death more times than I could count. I could handle one intimidating father.
The housekeeper showed me to Charles Rothwell's study—a room lined with books and leather furniture, smelling of old money and expensive scotch. Ava's father was behind his desk, but he stood when I entered, his expression unreadable.
"Mr. Torres. This is unexpected."
"I know. I should have called first. But I wanted to do this in person."
"Do what, exactly?"
I took a breath. "I'm going to ask Ava to marry me. And I wanted to tell you first. Not to ask permission—she'd kill me if she thought I was treating her like property. But out ofrespect. Because you're her father, and I know things have been complicated between you, and I want you to know that my intentions are?—"
"Mr. Torres." Charles held up a hand. "Brian. Please. Sit down."
I sat. He sat across from me, studying my face with that sharp lawyer's gaze.
"You want to marry my daughter."
"Yes, sir."
"You understand that I had... different expectations for her. A different kind of life."
"I know."
"A surgeon. A professor. Someone from a family we knew, with a background we understood." He paused. "Not a firefighter from the Bronx like you."
I met his eyes.
He continued. "I spent years trying to make her into someone she didn't want to be. Pushed her away in the process. Lost her for fourteen years because I couldn't accept that my daughter had her own dreams, her own choices."
"She's an incredible woman."
"She is. And I almost missed it." He leaned back in his chair. "I'll be honest with you, Brian. When I first heard about you—a firefighter, her neighbor—I thought it was a phase. A rebellion against everything I'd tried to make her. I thought she'd come to her senses eventually."
I said nothing. Let him continue.
"Then I found out you ran into a burning building for her. No hesitation. No thought for yourself. Just... pure instinct." He shook his head. "I've spent my life around powerful men. Men with money, influence, connections. Not one of them would have done what you did."
"I'd do it again. Without thinking."
"I know you would. That's the point." He was quiet for a moment. "I would have chosen someone else for her. Someone easier to understand. Someone who fit the life I'd imagined." His eyes met mine. "But I'm not the one who gets to choose. She is. And she chose you."
"Sir—"
"I've seen how you take care of her. How you look at her. How she looks at you." He stood and extended his hand. "I don't think anyone else would have been a better match for my daughter. I mean that."
I stood. Shook his hand. "Thank you, sir."
"Charles."
"Thank you, Charles."
He nodded. "Welcome to the family, Brian. God help you."
The proposal was Zoe's idea.
"You can't just ask her at home," she said, sprawled across Shane and Maya's couch while I paced their living room. "That's boring. You need a moment. A setting. Something she'll remember."
