"This engagement. The one with my grandmother's ring."
"Yeah?"
"It's not fake anymore, okay? At least not for me. Never was, really, but?—"
I look up at him. "Not fake for me either."
"The wedding too?"
"Eventually. When we're ready. When it's ours and not?—"
"Not your sister's circus."
"Exactly."
"I'm going to marry you, Liz."
"And I'm going to let you."
===
EPILOGUE
DEAN
I've flown this route forty-seven times. Checked these instruments thousands of times before. Never once fumbled a switch or missed a step.
Today, my hands won't stop shaking.
My co-pilot, Ryan, notices immediately. "You good, Captain?"
"Fine." I read out the fuel gauge data, double-checking numbers I already verified. Did I check that? Pretty sure I did, but I check them again anyway.
The velvet box in my uniform pocket feels like it weighs ten pounds, even though it's maybe two ounces.
I've been planning this for three weeks. Made sure I was assigned this flight. Made sure Liz's seat assignment was 2A—best suite in first class, right side, front of cabin, maximum privacy. Made sure Ryan was my co-pilot because he won't give me shit about taking an extra ten minutes before we taxi.
Okay, Ryan will definitely give me shit, but he'll cover my ass.
The ring box presses against my ribs through my uniform jacket. New ring. Not Gram's ring—that one's on Liz's right hand now as a promise ring, a reminder of where we started.
This one's for her left hand. For forever.
"Fuel check complete. You've verified that three times now."
"I'm just being thorough."
"You're never this thorough." Ryan pauses, studying me. "What's going on?"
"Nothing. I just want a smooth flight."
"Uh-huh. Does this have anything to do with passenger 2A?"
"What? No. Why would?—"
Ryan smirks. "Because you personally requested this flight. And personally ensured seat 2A was assigned to Elizabeth Turner. And you've checked your pocket" —he counts on his fingers— "eighteen times in the last fifteen minutes."
"You're counting?"
