Chapter 19 #2
“I didn’t have time to write anything down,” he says, slightly breathless from his dash through the terminal. He lifts his piece of cardboard. “I barely had time to grab this, but if I’d had time to write a deck of posters to hold up outside your door, this is what they would say.”
I blink faster, my hand flying to cover my lips as I realize what this is.
Dear God, it’s a Love Actually and Bridget Jones hybrid romantic gesture, and my heart will officially never be the same.
Never.
Not even if I live to be a hundred and ten.
“Emily Darling, I’m not sure why you’re leaving, but you shouldn’t,” he begins, his blue-gray eyes pleading his case.
“You should stay because I know we can work through anything, as long as we put our heads together. And you should stay, because…I adore you. Have adored you from the moment you crashed through that nativity play and into my life.”
I suck in a breath, fighting tears.
“I love how quick you were to call me out for being a shite,” he continues. “And how equally quick you were to forgive. I loved dancing with you in that pub and kissing you in the snow, and every second I’ve been lucky enough to spend with you since.”
The crowd presses closer.
Security gives up trying to intervene.
“Ain’t no Mountain” swells higher, lifting us all up on its wings…
“I love your passion for lists and your passion for passion and the way you only laugh at my jokes when they’re actually funny.
” His voice breaks a little as he continues, “I love your smile and your kindness and your bravery in the face of the British tabloids, my grandmother, and small boys, who are alarmingly fast on skates.”
I let out a liquid laugh as a tear slips down my cheek.
Oliver’s eyes fill with the same hope and fear swirling inside me as he adds, “I just love you, Em. I know the timing is all off, and you’ll probably think I’m crazy, but I do.
I love you.” He shrugs, attempting to play it cool, “And if you think about it, Bridget and Darcy didn’t spend that much time together before they started throwing the L word around, and they worked out just fine. ”
“No, they didn’t,” a woman calls out from somewhere in the crowd. “In one of the later movies, Darcy actually—”
She’s instantly hushed by other members of the crowd, several of whom hiss something about spoilers.
I would normally be right there with them.
It is a fact, universally acknowledged, that women who enjoy making lists as much as I do, do not like spoilers.
But I do like this man.
I love him, in fact, and it’s high time I showed him I’m half as brave as he is. So, I reach into my briefcase and pull out my emergency Sharpie, the fat one I can use to write big enough to be seen at the back of a boardroom, if necessary.
Then, I reach out, taking the cardboard from Oliver’s slightly trembling hand.
I love that he’s trembling, and I love that every cell in my body knows he’s right—we can get through this, together—and I love that for once in my life there’s no doubt about what I should do next.
I simply scrawl what’s in my heart on the cardboard and turn it, holding it up for everyone to see—I Love You, Too. Love IS all around.
The crowd goes wild.
The line applauds, the guards applaud, the lover in charge of the sound system shouts, “Congratulations,” through the speakers before starting our victory song all over again. People are hugging and kissing and crying, and for once it feels like there’s nothing ugly left in the world.
There’s just this amazing man in his underwear, who pulls me closer, kissing me with devastating sweetness as he murmurs, “Thank God.”
A few minutes later, after Edward appears with pants for Oliver, congratulations for both of us, and an offer to drive us home, we head for the exit, arm-in-arm.
Oliver explains what happened with his grandmother, and I instantly feel like a complete asshole.
“No, I’m the worst,” I insist when Oliver refuses to accept my apology. “I mean, yes, they said ‘Featherswallow’ not Lady Plimpton, but—”
“Exactly,” he cuts in. “I don’t know why people always lump Grandmother in with my father’s side of the family. It is literally impossible for her to have birthed him. She was only eleven years old when he was born, to my paternal grandmother. Who has been dead for quite some time.”
“Still,” I insist. “I should have known you would never do something like that.”
“How?” he asks, making me blink in surprise. “Those people said the wrong name, Em. Naturally, you were upset and confused. And I mean, yes, we’ve come a long way in a short amount of time, but we’re still strangers in a lot of ways.”
“You don’t feel like a stranger,” I murmur, huddling closer to him in the backseat as Edward pretends that he can’t hear us.
“You don’t either,” he assures me softly. “I’m just saying that I understand why you felt betrayed. And I can’t promise we won’t have misunderstandings in the future. But from now on, just…talk to me before you head for the airport?”
I nod fast. “Yes. I promise. I should have talked to you this time, I was just scared.” I lean in, bringing my lips closer to his. “But I’m not scared anymore.”
“I soothed your fears by dashing through the airport in my underwear?”
I grin. “You did. You’re a genius romantic of the highest order.”
“Only with you, darling Darling,” he murmurs. “Only with you.”
Then, he kisses me, and it’s the best make-up kiss I’ve ever had.
I’m so happy, not even the terrible picture of me mid-sob posted by the first gossip site to report the story can bring me down.
And later that night, when Oliver pulls me aside at the holiday party for a panty-melting “girlfriend proposal” on the roof, with all the dazzling lights of London sparkling around us, I don’t hesitate to say “yes.”
I say “hell, yes,” kiss him senseless, and spend the rest of the night dancing with the man of my dreams.
We have the best Christmas Eve dinner at his brother’s and the best Christmas Day luncheon with the Featherswallow clan.
His grandmother apologizes profusely for her overreach—all while assuring me that James assured her that I was by far the best planner for the job and shouldn’t hesitate to sign the contract.
Then, Oliver carries the hideous speedbump he bought his mother to the attic, and we head home to watch movies in our pajamas on the most magical night of the year.
And when Oliver gets me out of my pajamas, that’s as magical as ever, too.
It’s the best Christmas of my life, followed by the best New Year’s, followed by a madcap spring in which Oliver moves to New York for a few months, and then Maya and I both sell everything, pull up stakes, and move to London.
We do!
We move to London, where we learn to work and play in equally reasonable amounts.
I move in with Oliver, we adopt Princess Fluffy Nugget, the sweetest, best girl in the whole world, and only end up embarrassed in the tabloids a handful of times before Oliver proposes.
By the time he gets down on one knee on a warm June night, in a field full of wildflowers by the sea, with his mother’s ring and his family’s enthusiastic blessing, there’s no doubt in my mind that this is where I belong.
Where I will always belong, with my fake British boyfriend turned real British Husband and a hot mess happily ever after of our very own.