‘You intend to marry him?’ He looked distraught. ‘Why in God’s name would you do that?’
‘Because I want a husband, and a home, and a family, and a pet dog, and cat, and everything else that goes with it. I want to love and be loved. I want someone special in my life.’
‘You … you don’t have to get married to have those things.’
‘Maybe not. But that’s what I want.’
‘I … I don’t know what to say.’
‘There’s nothing to say, is there? You don’t love me, do you? You’ve made that abundantly clear.’
‘What if I did? Love you, I mean.’
I looked him in the eye wondering what was happening.
‘But you don’t, do you?’
‘What if I did?’
‘But you don’t. Or are you saying that you think you might?
He glared at the roses again.
‘Do I have to buy two dozen red roses to show you that I do?’
My heart did a little leap.
‘No. You just have to tell me. You simply have to say the words.’
‘The words, I … love you?’
‘Yes. But without the inflection on the end. It needs to be a statement, not a question.’
He sucked in a breath and ran a hand through his hair.
‘I’ve been to see Dad. And also, Mum.’
‘Have you? That’s … nice.’
He rested his hands on the back of a chair and looked me in the eye.
‘You know my parents have been married and divorced more times and to more people than most people move home. Well, I didn’t want that. I didn’t want endless broken families, in my life. So I decided I’d never get married. No matter what. But Dad has often told me I was missing out on something that could be wonderful. Not that any of his, or Mum’s marriages, have been that, but Dad said at least they’ve both tried to find happiness. He told me today that I run from happiness. Do you think I do that?’
‘I think it’s possible that you do, yes.’
‘Hmm. Mum says I do too. Anyway, Dad said it was like someone having parents who are serial killers. He asked me if I thought that meant their child would automatically be a serial killer too? I had to agree that it didn’t. He told me that just because he and my mum aren’t good at relationships, it didn’t follow that I would be bad at them as well. Unless I thought I was. That was a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy. “You're your own man, Sam,” he said. “You can be whatever you want to be and do whatever you want to do.” He also told me that he’d never had feelings for any woman that were anything like the feelings I have for you, Lucy. And Mum has never felt that way aboutany man, so he said. I asked her about that afterwards, and she agreed with Dad. “Believe me, son,” she said, “if either of us had felt even half of what you say you feel for Lucy, we would have both run, not walked that person down the aisle. You’d be a fool to give up on a love like that just because of some irrational fear that it might not last or that you're not worthy.” And then she told me to stop being such a total jerk and to come and tell you how I felt. So here I am, Lucy. Except, I didn’t expect to have competition. And I only gave you one red rose. Not a whole bunch of the damn things.’
I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly, at first.
‘You don’t have competition, believe me. But … are you saying what I think you’re saying?’
He furrowed his brow. ‘If you think I’m telling you, in a rather long-winded and roundabout way, that I love you, then yes. I am. Is that what you think I said?’
I nodded. ‘Uh-huh.’
‘Okay then. At least we’re on the same page. Unless … you don’t love me, that is. But you do. Don’t you?’
I laughed at that.
