Chapter 37
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Here goes nothing…
Today is the day.
Actually, that’s a lie.
It has been the day for three days, but I have been anxiously stalling, chatting with my journal as though the dang thing has ever given me a Samson clue in its life, and doing stupid stuff in an effort to calm my nerves.
The stupid stuff so far has consisted of going to the mines with Pyro—Samson did not like that—heading to Slate’s and helping him put together an essay on innovative tactics that could save lives in combat—Samson also was not a fan—and having a girls’ day, where I did my very best not to cry and scream or hog the show with my panic.
Samson didn’t mind that one so much. But I did fail in my mission of not letting my panic hog the show.
By the end of the tea party, Ines told me to stop being a wuss and propose tomorrow—today—and Samson, while not as irritated by my choice of company this time, did ask if he’d done something wrong that made me feel like I had to spend a lot of time not at home, i.e. away from him.
Let’s be honest—our schedule has been fairly set for weeks.
My antisocial blood stalked me all the way from the other world. Planning day-long events with others three days in a row is a massive cause for concern.
Samson is sweet enough to know that, not jealous. He also probably felt neglected when I didn’t bring him home any pastries from the tea party. I know I would have felt neglected had our roles been reversed.
It’s just that, well, there were no leftover pastries.
I ate them all.
And cried.
I ate them all salted with my tears.
The Hardee’s flashbacks were not helpful.
Dead convinced that no one would ever love love me, I sobbed and ate. And trauma-dumped. For hours. Because I know I mentioned how my parents couldn’t even normal love me. In broad daylight. To Aurelia’s teary, relating horror.
Go me.
Oversharing queen.
Actually, it’s kinda brutal that Ines responded with Just Propose To Him Tomorrow, For *insert swear word here*’s Sake. Considering she’s decided we’re at eight friendship hearts, I am boggled there wasn’t an ounce more care put into her reply.
“Is everything okay?” Samson asks, running his thumb across my knuckles as we make our way to the Mystic Forest. While holding hands. Because we do that. All the time.
Friends hold hands. No big deal.
A shiver courses down my spine, and not because it’s nippy these days. “Y-yes? Why do you ask?”
Samson’s attention burns into the side of my head, because I can’t bring myself to look at him. “You’re…tense. I hope you didn’t feel obligated to spend time with me after our conversation last night.”
That makes me meet his eyes. “What? No. Samson, I love spending time with you. I…” Nerves congest, like they do. “I’m sorry I’ve been out a lot this week.”
“You haven’t done anything wrong. I wouldn’t think anything of it if it weren’t so…odd for you. You’re acting odd.”
I am a panic slime, barely held together beneath the paper-thin membrane of my skin. “I’m sorry.”
Stopping our progression, he cups my cheek and lowers his forehead to mine. “Please talk to me once we make it to the Mystic Forest.”
Unable to speak, I nod, and we keep plodding ahead as though more dread isn’t siphoning into my limbs with every step.
This is going to ruin something—everything. Samson won’t feel like he can trust me anymore, because, honestly, who knows when his very good friend will be thinking about biting his shoulders?
I’m imposing the understanding that I am thinking about biting his shoulders on him.
You can’t just be friendly with that kind of knowledge present. You can’t just share a bed with a feral shoulder-biter who is madly in love with you.
My stomach hurts.
A chilly breeze plucks the chords of the weeping limbs in the forest, sending a rustle of music around us as I—carefully and slowly—remove my quarry of homemade dishes and bought sweets from my void bag.
Bless the magic that stops time within the bag. The meal is as warm as the day I made it with Neptun and the pastries are as fluffy and fresh as the moment I bought them from Chrysa.
“This is…a lot,” Samson offers, gripping his own bag strap.
Nervous laughter spills. “I-is it?”
“Citrus…are you sure you’re okay?”
I’m terrified.
Rejection has been the only thing I’ve been able to count on for my entire life. It’s a pain I’ve never gotten used to.
I turn away from him, stare at my bag, know his circlet is inside, a slot in my inventory, taking up dark matter. “I…” My stomach swirls. “I’m fine. I just…” A bubble catches in my throat. “I care about you, a lot. You know that, right?”
“Yes. I feel the same way about you.”
“I don’t want to do anything that might ruin what we already have, so…please…if you don’t want anything to change, it doesn’t have to, okay?”
Silence.
It’s sharp.
He must know by now what’s going on.
I wasn’t delicate enough.
I feel sick.
This was a horrible idea. Horrible. What am I doing? What am I saying? Why did I think I could propose to him now? According to my book, he’s still unromanceable. I have concrete proof of that. I check that, obsessively, every day. What am I doing?
“Citrus,” Samson murmurs, moving. His clothes and bag shuffle as he adjusts his position behind me.
Tears bead in my eyes.
“Look at me, sweetheart.”
My heart cracks, but it’s best to rip the bandaid off now, so I reach into my bag, feel the cold metal of the circlet as my fingers wrap around it, and face him.
He…
Is kneeling on the picnic blanket, holding a floral circlet set with dozens of tiny orange and yellow gems mounted among curling vines. Dozens. They form dainty bunches of baby’s breath and glitter in Samson’s hands.
“You are everything to me,” he says. “Everything. I love you, in every possible way. I want you, badly. I didn’t know the name for what I’ve felt for you until recently, but the moment I found it, I knew I couldn’t ignore these feelings for long.
I would like to marry you, Citrus. I would like to make you mine.
I never want you to go home to anyone else.
I never want to let you leave my arms. Even if you only move back to your farmhouse next door, my life would be empty.
Nothing can ruin what we already have, so if you don’t want this, I’ll put it from my mind forever, but if you could consider it…
for even a moment…” His eyes close, briefly, as he fortifies himself.
“Through knowing you, I am convinced I’ve had it all wrong.
It’s not that I’m unlovable or unable to love.
I was not an option in your game, because you were not the only one playing it in your old world, and I, Citrus, was made solely for you.
” He wets his lips. “You don’t have to answer me now.
If…if there’s someone else…don’t feel obligated to cater to my feelings for you.
I can love you under any circumstances, just, please, if you would grant me time to prove I can love you better than whoever else you’re considering, allow me that much. ”
My muscles go limp. I can barely lift my attention to Samson’s pleading face. “Who…would I be considering?”
His head shakes. “I don’t know. Neptun. Pyro. Slate. You told me you’ve experienced relationships with most of the town in your game, and you’ve been growing more comfortable here, around everyone. Else.” His gaze drops. “For all I know, you’ve taken a polish to Austin.”
I grimace.
His eyes flick back to my face. “Oh. Good. One less man to worry about.”
“Samson…” I swallow and remove his circlet from my bag, presenting it as I kneel across from him on the picnic blanket. “There are no men to worry about…”
Eyes massive, he stares down at his crown. “Who’s…that for?”
“You. I love you. More each day. Everyone’s been helping me prepare for this moment. That’s why I’ve been gone so much lately.”
All the tension in his shoulders evaporates. “What?”
“What, what?”
“Everyone’s been helping me prepare for this moment,” he says.
I blink; my brows furrow. “What?”
“Remember the night you had your first bleeding here?”
I blush. How could I forget? It’s become a core trauma memory. “Well. Yes?”
“That’s when I realized my feelings for you were not entirely…innocent.”
“Uh,” I say, blinking. “Huh?”
So steady, he holds my gaze. “When you asked me if I wanted to be an option, and I couldn’t shut up as I talked about you, I realized.
I didn’t want to be an option; I wanted to be your option.
I talked to Ines the very next morning, before you were up, before she was up, honestly.
I said I wanted to marry you. She rolled her eyes and told me no, duh.
I sent my order for your circlet off with Mimet through her, picked it up in Amecrest the day she told me it should be done.
” Lifting a hand off the shining metal, he plunges his fingers into his hair.
“Are we getting married on an island? Whose idea was the island? Ines has been planning insanity. Chrysa’s convinced we need a fifteen-tier cake.
They’re building Lau a boat. I’ve ignored most of the nonsense because I figured I’d talk to you if you said yes, but you’ve already talked to them? ”
My brain might be shutting down. Everyone knew? Nobody told me? No wonder Lazul was submitting paperwork. Everyone knew Samson would say yes because everyone knew Samson was planning the same thing.
“Citrus.” His hand finds my cheek, focuses my gaze on him, trembles slightly. “Sweetheart,” he whispers, “are our dogs going to be the crown-bearers?”
Shoulders bunching, I whisper, “Is…that okay? It’s the cutest thing ever, isn’t it?”
Affirmative, he nods. “Yes. It is. Is the island your fault?”
I wet my lips; my brain is sludge; Samson loves me? “It’s my favorite wedding location in the game. During winter, especially. It’s everything Florida could never hope to be.”
“Understandable,” he murmurs, running his thumb across my cheekbone. “What about the fifteen-tier cake…?”