"I expect an invitation to the wedding," he says, without turning around.
Then he's gone.
The door clicks shut. The room is quiet.
"He said wedding," she says.
"He did."
"We haven't talked about—"
"I know." I let go of her hand. She blinks. I see the flicker of confusion cross her face, and then I drop to one knee in front of the chair.
Her mouth opens. Nothing comes out.
I take her hand again. Her fingers are trembling. Mine aren't. For the first time in months, mine are completely still.
"I don't have a ring," I say. "I have one. It's in the safe. I've had it since January. But it's in the safe because I was waiting for the right moment, and this isn't the moment I planned."
"You've had a ring since January?"
"Since January."
"That's when we met."
"I'm aware."
"Iosif Dubovich, you've had an engagement ring in your safe for five months and you didn't—"
"I was waiting," I say. "I told you. I wasn't going to rush you."
She stares at me. Then she laughs. It's the laugh from the library, the first real one she gave me, bright and raw and full, and it fills the room the same way it filled the library that night.
"You absolute—" She shakes her head. "Ask me."
"Marry me."
"That's not a question."
"It's not meant to be."
She looks at me. I look at her. She's in my shirt with no ring and messy hair and bare feet on the floor of my office, and she's carrying my child, and she is the most extraordinary thing that has ever happened to me.
"Okay," she says as she breaks into a massive grin.
One word. The same word she's given me from the start. In the corridor. In the office. In the kitchen. In the library. In this office. Every single time, that word. Small and clear and certain.
I pull her out of the chair and into me. She wraps around me the way she always wraps around me, legs and arms and all of her. Her face presses into my neck. I feel her breathing. Fast. Unsteady. Happy.
"I need to get the ring," I say against her hair.
"Later."
"It's a good ring."
"I’m sure it is, but I need something else from you right now." She pulls back. Looks at me. Drops her mouth to mine with a kiss that tells me exactly what she wants. “I’m super horny,” she murmurs, wriggling against me.
I carry her out of the office and through the hallway and past the kitchen where Pavlina looks up from whatever she's doing and sees Mia in my arms, and the look on my face, and Pavlina smiles in a way that says she already knows.
