I stare at my daughter. At the six-year-old who just blew up the romantic proposal I've been planning for three weeks.
Julianna makes a sound. I can't tell if it's a laugh or a sob.
"The math doesn't work," I repeat.
"No." Lily is firm. "You have a ring. You have a Julianna. You're supposed to put the ring on the Julianna. That's how it works. I watched it on TV."
"She has a point." Julianna's voice is thick. She's definitely crying now. But she's smiling too. "The math is pretty straightforward."
I look at her. At the tears on her face. At the belly that holds our child. At the woman who built empires and burned them down and walked through fire to save my daughter.
"I had a plan." My voice comes out rough. "Dinner. Candles. Something that wasn't a couch in front of a cartoon with our six-year-old as the master of ceremonies."
"But?"
"But apparently the math doesn't work."
I get off the couch. Go to the bedroom. Find the sock drawer, the box, the ring I've been carrying in my head for three weeks.
When I come back, Lily is bouncing on the cushions.
"Is he getting it? Is he getting the ring? Theodore, he's getting the ring."
I kneel in front of the couch. In front of Julianna. Her hand finds my face. Cups my cheek, her thumb brushing across my jaw.
"I was going to do this differently." I hold out the ring. Simple. Elegant. The kind of architecture she'd appreciate. "But my daughter apparently has no patience for dramatic timing."
"I have excellent patience," Lily protests. "I waited three whole weeks."
"You taught her she wasn't broken." I ignore Lily, keep my eyes on Julianna. "You took a bullet for her. You died saving me. You're carrying our child." My jaw works. "I've spent my whole life not needing anyone. Not letting anyone in. And then you walked into my life with your spreadsheets and your guilt and your ridiculous compulsion to fix everything, and?—"
"Colt."
"And I need you. I need you in a way I've never needed anyone. So I'm asking." I hold her gaze. "Will you marry me?"
"Say yes." Lily leans in, whispering loudly. "Theodore says you should say yes."
Julianna laughs. The sound is wet, broken, beautiful.
"Yes."
"Yeah?"
"Yes." She's crying freely now. "Yes, I'll marry you."
Lily explodes off the couch.
"SHE SAID YES. I TOLD YOU THE MATH WOULD WORK!" She's dancing around the living room; Theodore clutched in her arms. "We're going to be arealfamily. With a ringanda babyandsneaky numbers."
I slide the ring onto Julianna's finger. It fits perfectly. Like it was always meant to be there.
"I love you."
"I love you too." Her voice is a low, steady vow. No calculation. No containment. Just the truth.
Lily crashes back onto the couch between us, Theodore raised triumphantly over her head.
"I'm going to be the best big sisterandthe best flower girl. I already made a list." She looks at Julianna's belly, then at me, then back at the belly. "Can the baby be in the wedding? It's going to be there anyway. Inside Julianna. It should count."
