When I turned to take her hand, emotional speech cued in my brain, but Pip did Pip shit instead.
“Are you asking me to marry you without saying marry?”
I lifted a brow. “I said make you a Mercer. Context clues, Pip.”
A watery laugh broke out of her. “You are the worst proposal speaker alive.”
“I was recently ventilated.”
“That is not an excuse for poor sentence structure.”
“It absolutely is.”
She looked at the marble again, then at her mother’s ring, then at me.
Her eyes were red. Her cheeks wet. Her mouth trembling around the kind of smile I knew I would spend the rest of my life trying to earn.
I looked at Ryan, who stepped forward and handed me the ring I had bought her with him and Charm watching like two highly emotional jewel thieves. It was in no way comparable to the one her dad had just asked me to give her.
That was okay.
Both could matter.
Both did matter.
“Bliss,” I said, my voice rough as I held both rings in my hand. “I love you. I love everything about you, and you are every reason for the breath I fought for. I live for us being us and for the utter insanity you bring into a room just by being you. I want more than to marry you, Pip. I want to be your husband and do husband shit with you.”
Her face crumpled again. “Husband shit?”
“Yeah.” I nodded, dead serious. “Like Home Depot on a Saturday afternoon so I can buy a barbecue and save your family from your dad’s cooking.”
Everyone but Daniel laughed, including Pip, who nodded through tears and said, “Yes, but we call it legacy so we don’t hurt his feelings.”
“Exactly.” I kissed her lips softly. “I want Target trips after so you can buy more throw pillows we don’t need because they are aesthetically necessary for your happiness.”
“Because they are, Cade.” She cried harder. “They really are.”
“I know, Pip.” I pulled her closer, careful of every scarred part of me and completely careless with my heart. “I want to build you a more stable and functional platform for your Nevers so you aren’t using an old cupboard door and hot glue.”
Her mouth trembled.
“And I want to watch you scour the internet for every marble you can find because the life I will build for you is going to require an obscene amount of Nevers to honor your mom with.”
“Stop,” she cried.
But I refused, tugging her impossibly closer.
“I want to give you babies and name them something as unique and beautiful as Bliss. Reverie or Mercy, maybe, because a mini version of you would require both, Pip.”
Her mouth trembled. “Mercy?”
“Yeah.” I brushed my thumb over her cheek. “Because I’d need it if she came out anything like you.”
A broken laugh slipped out of her.
“And I’d call them Pipsqueak,” I added. “They’d love it.”
“They would hate it.”
