“There is one more thing,” I say.
Her eyes sharpen. “That sentence has never ended well.”
“It will.”
“That is not comforting either.”
I stand and cross to the chair where my coat lies folded. Inside the inner pocket is a little velvet box I have carried for weeks without admitting why.
I bring it back to the bed.
Maya goes very still.
“Stefano.”
“I bought this before Boston.”
Her gaze drops to the box.
“I didn't know whether I would use it. I thought perhaps I would wait until I had earned the right to ask.” I open it.
The ring catches the low light.
Not excessive. Not delicate. A dark stone set in platinum, surrounded by small diamonds that flash like teeth.
Maya stares at it.
“You were going to propose before you killed Leon?”
“I was going to propose before I went to Boston.”
“That is not better.”
“No,” I say. “It is honest.”
Her mouth opens, then closes again.
I kneel beside the bed.
This is not something I have ever done for anyone.
The position does not feel humiliating.
It feels correct.
“Maya Reeves,” I say, “I do not know how to offer you a perfect life. I do not know how to become harmless, and I will not insult you by pretending I can.” Her eyes fill with unshed tears while I continue. “But I know I want every version of my future that has you in it. I want to wake up beside you. I want to argue with you in the kitchen. I want to raise this child with you and learn how to be a father without becoming the man who raised me.”
Her hand covers her mouth.
“I want you to choose me with your eyes open,” I say. “Not because I bought you. Not because I protected you. Not because you are afraid to leave.”
“Because I love you. Because you are the only thing I have ever wanted badly enough to change for.”
I hold out the ring.
“Marry me.”
For several seconds, she says nothing.
