Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sienna
The karaoke bar is alive in that perfect, hazy way that only happens after a few drinks and several hours of gloriously bad singing.
Purple and blue strobe lights pulse along the walls, fairy lights twinkle overhead like drunk stars, and the circular stage is bathed in a single warm spotlight that somehow makes whoever’s holding the mic look momentarily brave—or tragically delusional.
Right now, a middle-aged man is passionately butchering “Livin’ on a Prayer,” while half the bar screams the “whoa-oh-oh” chorus back at him with zero shame. The energy is chaotic, exactly the kind of unhinged chaos I thrive on.
Milo’s thigh presses firmly against mine under the table, his arm draped casually along the back of the booth. His fingers occasionally brush the bare skin of my shoulder in absent circles that make my pulse skip every time.
We’ve been here for a few hours now and have had enough cocktails that everything feels soft and warm at the edges.
The current singer finishes to scattered applause and a few merciful boos. The host—a man in a sparkly vest who’s clearly having the time of his life—jumps back on stage and reads the next name.
My eyes drift to Milo as he watches the next singer stumble through the opening of “Sweet Caroline,” his lips curled in that almost-smile that sends my stomach into somersaults. He catches me staring and slowly turns his head, eyes locking onto mine. Heat blooms low in my belly.
He leans in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “You’re staring.”
“You’re worth staring at,” I whisper back, my voice breathier than I intended.
His low chuckle vibrates against my cheek. “Dangerous thing to say in a room full of witnesses, Sienna.”
“Don’t you know by now?” I smirk, tilting my head so our noses nearly brush. “I live dangerously.”
“Mmm,” he hums, pulling back just enough to look at me. His gaze drops to my mouth for a moment before returning to my eyes. “Keep talking like that, and I might have to do something about it.”
I raise an eyebrow, biting my lip to suppress a grin. “Bold words for a man wearing a propeller hat.”
His eyes sparkle with amusement. “You like the hat.”
“I like what’s under the hat more,” I tease, letting my fingers trail down his arm. “Though I have to admit… the propeller is growing on me.”
Milo’s hand glides higher on my thigh under the table. “Careful, Sienna. If you keep flirting with me like this, we might not make it to our turn on stage.”
I lean in until my lips ghost along his jaw. “Maybe I don’t want to make it to the stage.”
He lets out a quiet groan, but before he can reply, the host calls out Milo’s name. I blink, completely confused. A devastating smirk slowly spreads across his face.
“Earlier tonight,” the host announces gleefully. “I had someone approach me with a very special request. Milo, where are you?”
Milo stands, and the spotlight lands on him, catching the ridiculous neon-green wig and the spinning propeller hat. He looks fucking hot. My heart stutters as he turns to me and extends his hand, eyes locked on mine with the same intense, playful look as before.
Without hesitation, I slide my hand into his.
He gently pulls me to my feet, his fingers lacing through mine as he leads me through the cheering crowd and onto the circular stage. The bar grows noticeably quieter, the energy shifting to something electric and expectant. All I can hear is the thunder of my own heartbeat in my ears.
Oh my god.
He’s really about to do it.
The dare.
In front of an entire room full of drunk strangers.
My palms are sweating. My knees feel suspiciously weak. When Milo glances back at me, that smirk still playing on his lips, I realize I’m in so much trouble—and I’m loving every second of it.
Milo drops to one knee right in front of me, holding a small black velvet box. When he opens it, the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen sparkles under the spotlight—delicate, elegant, and definitely not from the two-dollar gift shop bin.
“Sienna Harlow…” His voice is low and intimate, as if he’s speaking only to me, even though the entire bar is holding its breath.
My breath catches.
“I remember the day we met like it was only a week ago,” he begins, and a ripple of laughter bubbles up from the crowd, unaware of how true that statement is.
“In that short time, you’ve turned my whole world upside down.
You’ve made me laugh harder, feel more alive, and realize that life feels so much bigger when you’re in it. ”
My throat tightens, and my eyes start stinging.
“I had this whole speech planned… but everything vanished from my mind the second I got on one knee,” he admits with a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “But I do have this…”
He reaches for my hand, squeezes it gently, then presses our joined hands to his chest so I can feel his heart hammering wildly beneath my palm.
“It’s been beating like this since the moment we met—when you looked me dead in the eye and scolded me for working on a plane to paradise.”
The crowd lets out a collective “Aww.”
I gulp.
Milo keeps going, his voice growing rougher and more sincere.
“I want to be the one who catches you when you jump, who chases rubber ducks with you through the jungle, who makes you breakfast when you burn it, and who kisses you like the world is ending every day, for as long as you’ll let me.”
He pauses, swallows hard, his eyes shining under the spotlight.
“So what I’m saying is…” He takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out. “Sienna Harlow, will you marry me?”
It’s silent for a second. Two. Three.
Then I scream.
“Yes!” I yell, bouncing on my toes. “Yes, yes, a million times yes!”
The room erupts in cheers, whistles, and applause.
Milo slides the ring onto my finger, then rises to his full height. I launch myself at him before I can second-guess. He catches me effortlessly, his arms banding tight around my waist as I wrap my legs around his hips. The flamingo squeaks between us, making us laugh.
Our mouths crash together in a messy, laughing, desperate kiss—teeth clashing, tongues tangling, pure joy spilling from both of us. His fingers dig into my thighs as the crowd erupts around us.
When we finally break apart, Milo settles me back onto my feet and keeps an arm banded around my waist. I glance down at the ring, watching it sparkle.
“Milo… why does this look like a real ring?”
He chuckles. “Because it is.”
I blink rapidly. “You got me a real ring?”
“Mmm,” he hums, tucking a strand of purple wig behind my ear. “I wanted it to be convincing. The gift shop rings were visibly plastic.”
I playfully smack him on the shoulder. “You’d better not have spent a fortune on this. I would’ve been fine with a Ring Pop.”
“Well… then I definitely won’t tell you how much it cost.”
I tilt my head, narrowing my eyes at him. “After tonight, you’re taking it back. I’d lose it in five minutes.”
He shakes his head, smiling softly yet firmly. “It’s yours. Forever.”
“Milo—”
“Don’t want to hear it,” he cuts me off, grabbing my hand and pulling me off the stage. “You’re keeping it.”
“But—”
He turns suddenly, nearly making me trip over his feet. “End of discussion.”
I blink. “Did you just—”
His mouth is on mine before I finish my sentence. The kiss is slower this time, deeper, as if he’s sealing a promise. When he pulls back, his eyes are dark and serious.
With a defeated sigh and a dramatic eye roll, I let him tug me back into the booth, my heart hammering twice as hard as before.