CHAPTER 19. KISS AND CONTROL #5
“So,” she says, lowering her voice like she’s letting me in on a secret, “did you two…?”
My face goes hot. “Monica.”
She laughs, delighted. “I knew it! Oh my God, you did. Are you being safe?”
I bury my face in my hands. “Please stop.”
“Hey, I have to ask. I’m your older sister—if you two are fucking like rabbits, you’d better know about STDs.” She’s grinning like this is the best entertainment she’s had in years. “And judging by that look on your face, you’re not denying it.”
“Mon—”
She relents a little, her voice softening even though the smile doesn’t fade.
“Don’t look at me like that. It’s cute! And I never thought I’d see you this…settled. Or this gone.”
“I’m not gone,” I mumble, though my cheeks definitely disagree.
She tilts her head, still smiling knowingly.
“You are. And I like him for you.”
That makes me blink, my pulse jumping straight to my throat.
“You do? I thought you didn’t like him.”
“I never said that.” She snorts. “And I was wrong about him. He’s quiet, intense, a little intimidating—but he clearly adores you. Also, he’s intense in the right way, and you need someone who can match you like that.”
I open my mouth to protest, but no words come out. I just grin at her, flustered, caught between wanting to argue and the ridiculous warmth spreading through me.
The kitchen door opens, and Xavier and Ernest walk back in.
They both look like they’ve been through it—faces blank, jaws tight—but there’s also something easier between them now, the kind of truce only family can hammer out in five minutes.
Ernest is carrying two wineglasses, and Xavier has another glass and an open bottle.
They come back to the table and sit down without a word, clearly not planning to drag whatever that conversation was into the living room. Monica shoots me a curious look, and I shrug—because honestly, their relationship is still mostly a mystery to me.
As Xavier settles beside me, he takes a long sip of his wine. I nod toward his glass.
“Where’s mine?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
Xavier glances over, then shakes his head. “You can’t. Not with the antibiotics for your leg.”
It takes me a second to catch on—then I laugh. “Right. Thanks. Totally forgot.”
“You could die if you mixed those with alcohol,” he says, completely serious.
“Thanks,” I say again, smiling at him, barely stopping myself from leaning over and kissing him. Shit, the need to touch him is almost unbearable.
The air feels lighter for a moment—until Ernest pointedly clears his throat. All three of us turn to look at him. He’s staring right at me as he says, in a tone way too casual for what’s coming:
“So, Xavier told me you’re getting married.”
I freeze, the smile still on my face but going stiff. Monica gasps. Xavier swears.
“What?” I say, frowning now. “If this is about that interview again—”
“It’s not,” Ernest cuts in. “Xavier just told me.”
Xavier swears again, and I turn to look at him.
He’s gone scarlet, one hand slapped over his face like he’d pay good money to vanish on the spot. I keep looking at him, but he won’t meet my eyes. When he finally peels his hand away, he shoots Ernest a look that could kill and mutters, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Ernest lifts his brows, clearly embarrassed, and shrugs. “You didn’t tell me the groom didn’t know.” His tone is borderline innocent, like this whole mess has absolutely nothing to do with him.
I stare between them, stunned. Sure, Xavier had texted me about marriage last night—when I was still half out of it in the hospital. I thought it was just nerves. Something he said in the moment. Not something he’d actually repeat to his uncle.
“Getting married?” I say at last, lifting an eyebrow at Xavier.
He drags a hand down his face, still red to the roots of his hair. His eyes flick to me, then away.
“Sorry. Not now, obviously. I just thought…maybe…someday. If you’d want that.”
The table goes quiet. Monica’s eyes go wide, lighting up with excitement. Ernest leans back, hands folded like Xavier just got down on one knee and now it’s time for my answer.
Heat rushes to my cheeks, but it’s not dread—it’s something else entirely. A strange, impossible happiness lodged just beneath my ribs.
“You mean it?” I ask softly.
Xavier swallows, throat working. “Yeah. If it’s something you’d like. In the future,” he repeats, dying of embarrassment. “Theoretically.”
“It wasn’t theoretical five minutes ago,” Ernest snorts, fanning the flames.
Xavier looks like he might lunge across the table, but I take his hand before he can do anything stupid. He turns to me, gaze glassy, like he’s bracing for impact.
I can’t help but laugh, heart pounding with this ridiculous rush of excitement.
“Well,” I say, “theoretically, if you proposed to me in the future—I’d say yes.”
Xavier freezes—breathless, stunned by the words. Monica squeals, and I think I catch Ernest smiling out of the corner of my eye. But I’m only looking at Xavier.
“Alright,” he says it like he can’t believe he gets to—soft and dark and breathless.
“Alright,” I echo.
I smile, lean in, and press a quick kiss to his cheek. If Xavier could blush any harder, he would—but his complexion has officially maxed out.
For a second, he just stares, like he’s still trying to process what I said. Then his mouth curves, eyes bright, and he squeezes my hand in both of his.
“Alright,” he whispers again.
And the look on his face—flushed, wide-eyed, hopelessly in love—already feels like forever.
THE END
P.S. If you’re still wondering about that dumb sex joke Newt told Xavier when he was drunk, here it is: “Sex is like math—add a bed, subtract clothes, divide the legs, and hope you don’t multiply.”