Chapter 8 Oliver
Chapter eight
Oliver
It’s New Year’s Eve, and the house is a glittering, chaotic wonderland.
Mom has outdone herself. There’s fresh garlands in every doorway, a twelve-foot tree in the great room dripping with crystal ornaments, champagne flowing like water, and a string quartet playing in the corner while cousins I haven’t seen in years try to outdo each other with increasingly ridiculous toasts.
I don’t see any of it.
I only see her.
Savannah stands by the fireplace in a dark-green velvet dress that hugs the new softness of her breasts and skims over the gentle curve of her belly.
Her hair is loose, falling in waves down her back, and the firelight turns the tiny gold snowflake earrings I gave her this morning into sparks of light every time she moves.
She’s laughing at something Ellie is saying, one hand resting low on her stomach without thinking, and the sight of it hits me so hard I have to lean against the wall for a second to stay upright.
I’ve carried the ring for four days.
Four days of keeping it in the inside pocket of whatever jacket I’m wearing, checking it every hour like I’m afraid it will vanish. Four days of waiting for the perfect moment that never quite felt perfect enough.
Tonight has to be it.
The clock is creeping toward midnight. Outside, snow is falling again (soft, steady, the kind that makes the world feel brand-new). Inside, the countdown is about to start.
I cross the room, ignoring the cousins trying to pull me into selfies, the aunt asking about my “bachelor status,” the uncle who wants to talk stock options. I have tunnel vision and her name is Savannah Banks.
She sees me coming. Her smile falters, then widens, and she excuses herself from Ellie mid-sentence.
“Hi,” she says when I reach her, soft and shy, like we haven’t spent every night this week tangled in my sheets.
“Hi.” I slide my hand into hers, thumb brushing over the place where my ring is going to live in about five minutes. “Dance with me.”
There’s no dance floor, just a wide stretch of rug in front of the tree, but I pull her into my arms anyway. The quartet has switched to a slow, aching version of “Auld Lang Syne,” and the room fades to a low hum.
She melts against me, cheek to my chest, arms around my waist. I rest my chin on her head and breathe her in.
“You okay?” she asks, voice muffled against my shirt.
“Never better.” I press a kiss to her hair. “Just needed you close.”
We sway like that for a minute, maybe two. The countdown starts somewhere in the background.
Ten.
Nine.
I pull back just enough to see her face. Her eyes are bright, reflecting the tree lights.
Eight.
Seven.
I reach into my inside pocket. My fingers close around the small velvet box I’ve touched a thousand times in the dark.
Six.
Five.
Her breath catches. She knows.
Four.
I drop to one knee right there on the Persian rug, in front of the tree, in front of fifty relatives who suddenly go dead silent.
Three.
I open the box. The ring is a 3-carat oval diamond set in rose gold, surrounded by a halo of tiny emeralds the exact color of her eyes when she’s happy. I had it made the day after the boathouse.
Two.
“Savannah,” I start, and my voice cracks like I’m sixteen again and asking her to homecoming with a Ring Pop. “I have loved you since you were fifteen years old and stole my hoodie because you said it smelled good. I loved you the night you let me back in and forgave me for being an idiot.
Her hands are over her mouth, tears already falling.
One.
“I love you now, carrying our baby, glowing like the damn sun. And I’m going to love you every day for the rest of my life.
Happy New Year!
Cheers erupt around us, horns, kisses, champagne corks popping, but I don’t look away from her.
“Marry me, Savannah Banks. Let me be your family. Let me love you out loud for the rest of our lives.”
She drops to her knees in front of me, velvet dress pooling around her, and throws her arms around my neck.
“Yes,” she sobs into my shoulder. “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes.”
I slide the ring onto her finger and then I’m kissing her, hard and deep and desperate, while the entire room explodes into chaos around us.
Ellie is screaming. Mom is crying so hard Dad has to hold her up. Someone starts clapping in rhythm and suddenly the whole damn family is chanting “Kiss her again!”
I do. I kiss her until we’re both breathless and laughing and crying all at once.
When we finally break apart, Ellie barrels into us, hugging us so hard we almost topple.
“I told you,” she hisses in my ear. “I told you in seventh grade she was going to be my sister.”
Savannah laughs, wet and perfect, and holds up her hand so the ring catches the firelight.
Mom pushes through the crowd, tears streaming, and pulls Savannah into the kind of hug only mothers can give.
“Welcome to the family, darling,” she says, voice shaking. “Officially.”
Dad claps me on the back, eyes suspiciously bright. “About time, son.”
The quartet starts playing “At Last,” and I pull Savannah back into my arms, swaying again while everyone takes a thousand photos and toasts with whatever glass is closest.
She rests her head on my chest, right over my heart.
“Midnight,” she whispers.
“New year,” I answer.
“New life,” she says, hand settling on her belly.
I kiss her temple, then her lips, soft and slow.
“Forever,” I promise against her mouth.
And outside, the snow keeps falling, blanketing the world in fresh white while inside, under a tree lit with a million tiny lights, I hold my future in my arms and know, without a single doubt, that every second of the wait was worth it for this one perfect moment.