Chapter 22
22
A s Fleur drove along a dual carriageway behind a lorry that was clearly on its way back home to Germany via Dover, she kept her required distance and thought about what she was going to do about the mad proposal idea that was beginning to form in her head. Her brain played a game of Eenie Meenie Miney Mo, back and forth, over and over again. Would she be doing it? Oh yes, she would.
She let herself imagine what it would be like to get married again, to anyone, let alone Patrick. How had she even got to this place where it was a thing in her head that she wanted to do? She’d sworn off being in a serious relationship after her disastrous dabble with dating, and now here she was locked in a world of her own considering marrying someone. Stranger things. Would she wear a white dress, a trouser suit, a ball gown with a pink sparkle? Would she not even care if it was a local registry office or a country house somewhere? So many questions in a lovely, big, frothy, happy swirl.
As she stared at the German number plate in front of her, a thought suddenly popped into her brain—she knew a place where she would really like to make things forever . Somewhere she would like to marry Patrick. A place that had been in her mind for a long time, but she hadn’t really realised it, until now. Driving along a dual-carriageway in the southeast of England in the direction of the White Cliffs, topped by grey skies and a smattering of drizzle on her windscreen, she realised that a wedding ceremony, surrounded by tropical flowers, on a beach, waves swaying, guitars playing, marrying someone she loved to his core was top of her list. Fleur Champion wanted to marry Patrick in Maui. A vision of it swam in front of her eyes. All she had to do was make it happen.
As she drove and continued to keep an eye on the German number plate, the thought settled in her mind like a book slotted into the right place on a shelf. She wanted to marry Patrick, hook, line, and sinker. That part wasn’t up for debate, but the how was where her brain got stuck. Because if she really thought about it and was honest with herself, she knew that if it was going to happen, she would have to be the one to ask. It wasn’t as if he was going to suddenly pop the question just because it was now very important to her. As far as she could tell, it wasn’t on Patrick’s radar.
The notion of her doing the asking messed with her head more than she cared to admit. It felt as if doing that was upside down. It wasn’t as if Fleur was traditional and sentimental – well, not really, not anymore. Nope, she’d seen too much, lived through ups and downs and quite frankly been a bit scarred by life to cling to outdated ideas about how things were supposed to go and be done, but still in some obscure dusty corners of her mind, old narratives lingered. They whispered and sniggered; he proposes, she waits, that’s just how it’s done.
The whole thing was ridiculous when she picked it apart, but it was still there, front and centre. She huffed a little bit and shifted in her seat, keeping her eyes on the road and mulled over how it might go and what she would do and say. It wasn’t about waiting for Patrick and wanting some over-the-top, down- on-one-knee moment. It wasn’t about expecting Patrick to prove something or anything like that. But a part of her, some deeply ingrained old-fashioned part, had always assumed that if she ever got married again, it would happen to her, not because of her.
Yet, here she was, driving down a dual-carriageway, actively scheming to be the one who asked a man to marry her on a tropical beach. She’d have to have a plan, maybe start a list in one of her books. Or maybe even do it right on the spur of the moment and wait until they were in Maui, standing in the very place she could see in her mind—a beach at sunset, warm air, soft waves, a feeling of absolute rightness, perhaps a rainbow. She could just say it then and there and totally surprise him. Her stomach fluttered and turned over in sheer disbelief at herself. Who even was she?
Percolating the whys and wherefores through her mind, she watched the traffic shift around her; cars slipping into different lanes, people going wherever they were going, no doubt none of them agonising over the gender politics of a marriage proposal they were cooking up in their head. One that had come from nowhere and no one else on the planet had an iota of an idea about. One that she was now so fixated on, it was driving her a little bit around the twist.
Thinking about the bride in the picture on her desk, she perused the traditional way she’d been married before. The ring, the wedding, the life that was supposed to follow, and look how that had turned out. Absolutely dreadful. She wasn’t the girl in the white dress anymore, though. She was someone so very different, grown up and out of that old life and had built a new one.
She tapped the steering wheel and nodded, feeling ridiculously happy with herself and excited at the same time. Not that long ago, she’d thought that Patrick was going to dump her. Now, here she was, the decision settled. Ding-a-ling. She was going to ask him to marry her to make the forever ring really true and cement it with the law.
Fleur flicked the indicator on and overtook the German lorry, barely registering the movement as her mind continued its circling. The reality of what she was planning was settling properly, digging its heels in and making itself known. She was actually going to do it, of that she was adamant. It wasn’t just a passing thought, not some vague idea she’d toss aside in a few days. It was real, and all she had to do was work out how. The clarity felt amazing.
How did one go about proposing when one had never, in all their years, even imagined doing it again, let alone being the one to do the asking? Did she need a ring, a speech, an occasion? Would Patrick want a ring? He wasn’t exactly the jewellery-wearing type. Perhaps a watch, but that didn’t seem quite right. Or maybe something different entirely that meant something to them, what, she had no idea. It wasn’t just about a ring, though. That was the easy bit, really. It was the moment and how she was going to deliver it that tripped her up the most.
It wasn’t as if they’d sat down and had long conversations about marriage. They were good together, steady, solid, but marriage hadn’t ever been on the table. At least not in the sense that she knew Patrick had given it any serious thought; she was fairly sure he hadn’t. She could almost hear his voice now, half amused, half incredulous. “You’re asking me?”
Fleur groaned at the possibility that Patrick might not say yes. Not because he didn’t love her or want to be with her, but because it simply wasn’t on his radar. Her stomach flipped at the thought, but she batted it away. Nope. She wasn’t going to let herself get worked up over that part, she was doing it, end of.
Checking her mirrors and merging into the left lane, traffic thickened slightly as they approached a service station. She wasn’t stopping, but the sight of cars pulling in, people getting out, stretching their legs, grabbing overpriced coffee all made her suddenly aware things were different in her regular old humdrum commute to a business centre in some obscure part of the country. Today, here she was perusing the ins and outs of a marriage proposal; hers. Gulp.
About twenty minutes later, she’d arrived in the car park of the hotel, pulled out her day-to-day notebook and started a list.
1. Decide how to do it. (Big moment? Casual conversation? Blurt it out?)
2. Figure out the ring situation. (Jewellery? A watch? Something symbolic?)
3. Pick the right time. (where?)
4. Don’t overthink it. (already failing spectacularly, hahaha.)
Fleur chewed her lip as she looked down at her notebook. The reality was, she could plan it to within an inch of its life, but at the end of the day, it would be what it would be. Patrick loved her. That part wasn’t in doubt. And she loved him enough to want to say this is forever, let’s make it official. Simple. That was all that really mattered, and she’d figure it out as she went.
The thought sent a weird tingle of nerves and exhilaration through her. All she had to figure out was how, when, and where to do it. She wanted to marry Patrick; that part wasn’t up for debate. Our Champo just needed to make it happen. She tapped the side of her head with the first two fingers of her right hand and laughed to herself at what her dad would have said. He'd probably tell her she was off her rocker. Would he have been that wrong?