Chapter 25
25
MICKEY
W hen I lead her out onto the deck, I keep my eyes on Katie’s face. I know what’s set up behind me. I planned it in meticulous detail. What I’m here for is her reaction. I watch her expression transform. She widens her eyes and I see the reflection of golden sparkles there. Her lips part in surprise as she steps clear of the stairs and stands on the deck taking it all in. With the help of an obliging florist and a couple of men from the decorator’s staff, I’ve installed a wooden pergola to give shade up here but mainly to act as a frame for the gleaming Edison bulbs strung around and across it.
Tall ivory pillar candles are grouped on the rattan coffee table near the sofa and on the bar cart. The bottles and ice bucket are displaced to a cabinet below because the cart holds candles, a bouquet of lilies and little glass jars of chocolate mousse. The candle flames flicker in the soft breeze off the water below. Another bunch of stargazer lilies, showy and bright pink streaked with white dazzle in a low vase on the table and sweeten the air. Sparkling cider chills in a silver bucket with crystal champagne flutes nearby.
“It’s so beautiful!” Katie says, her uncommonly pretty face radiant with wonder. “I love it!”
“That’s what I was going for,” I say. I settle her on the sofa and tuck the soft pink cashmere blanket around her shoulders in case she’s chilly.
“You’re spoiling me,” she says with a giggle.
“The hell I am,” I say amiably, “You deserve the world, Katie. This is just some lights and flowers. Don’t sell yourself short.”
I reach behind a throw pillow beside her and take out the velvet box and present it to her. She glances at me like she did before and opens it to find the necklace I gave her ages ago, the one she returned to me.
“It’s yours. And so am I,” I say. “If you’ll have us.”
“Where am I gonna wear a diamond necklace, Mick? The CPA test or yoga class?” she teases, but her fingertips play over the graduated diamonds and I can tell she likes it.
“You can always wear it by itself,” I say archly. “I may have to take it off eventually because your collarbone is too delicious to hide—” She blushes prettily and I take advantage of the flush on her cheeks, press a soft kiss to her jaw beside her ear to feel her shiver.
“You know, if you want to get me in bed, you don’t have to go all this trouble,” she says, and it’s meant to be a joke but her voice is warm and husky. Her fingers grip my forearm and I feel the possession of that touch slice straight through me and make me go harder than the diamonds in that box. My breath catches and she smiles softly at my reaction to her touch. She has that power over me, and I know she likes it.
“I don’t just want you in my bed, Katie. May I?” I ask, feeling suddenly formal, shy knowing what’s to come. She nods and I slip the necklace from its case, breathe in the familiar sweet scent of her hair as she leans in for me to fasten the clasp. As I start to back away, she leans in and brushes her lips to mine, clinging and tender, her arms draping around my neck, leisurely and lush. I claim her mouth, deepen the kiss and press her closer, my hands greedy on her back. We kiss until I can force myself to break away, reluctant to let her go even for something as important as this.
I scoot off the edge of the sofa and kneel beside her. “Mary Kathryn Donahue, I love you more than I thought I could love anything or anyone. All I want is to be with you and make you happy for the rest of our lives. Will you marry me?” I asked. I reach in my pocket and take out the burgundy leather cube-shaped box with its scuffed edges and a slightly tarnished brass fastener. I offer it to her.
Katie’s hand goes to her throat and she touches the clasp on the old box reverently. She flips it open with care and the two halves of the lid fall open on their tiny hinges to reveal an old and lovely ring.
“It was my great grandmother’s,” I tell her. “Her name was Mary Brigid O’Halloran, called Molly. My grandpa told me the story when I was a kid. Molly was a kitchen maid in a squire’s house in County Meath. The cook got sick, Molly took over and cooked for a dinner party after a hunt. Her skill got the attention of the widowed squire and he was smitten from the moment they spoke. They were married as soon as he could have this ring made—emerald to match her Irish eyes, my grandpa said.”
“So your great grandpa hooked up with his employees too,” she teases and a laugh breaks from me.
“I didn’t see that coming, but yeah. Guess it runs in the family.”
“It sounds like a great love story. Molly makes a good roast pheasant or meat pie or something and gets to marry the squire and be the lady of the house. Lives happily ever after.”
“Hardly,” I say. “He was thrown by his horse and broke his neck when she was pregnant with my grandpa. She was a widow before she even had the baby. She was left to manage the estate until his older son came of age. Then the son kicked her and his half-brother out of the house and she came to America.”
“Wow, that took an ugly turn. I’m surprised she didn’t have to sell the ring.”
“She did. My grandpa started working the docks when he was fourteen and got a hand in on some smuggling work. He used his first big payout to buy her ring back from the pawnbroker. Molly was remarried by then so she told him to keep it for his bride. We’ve passed it down ever since. Now I’d be honored if you’d wear it.”
“Promise you won’t get thrown by a horse or something before our baby comes,” she says and it doesn’t come out lightly.
“I’m not going anywhere, Katie. I want you to wear this ring, be my wife. If you don’t like it because of the way things turned out for Molly, I can get you a different ring.”
“No, I want this one. It’s beautiful and it has a story behind it.” She studies the ring, the big dark emerald flanked by narrow diamonds on a platinum band. I slip it on her finger and kiss her lips softly.
“Yes,” she says, “I want to be your wife.”
“Name the day and you’ll be Mrs. O’Halloran,” I promise.
“Tomorrow,” she says with a grin.
“You don’t want a wedding?’
“I want to be your wife and take your name. I don’t care about the rest.”
“Can you hold out till Saturday? I want you to have a dress, a cake, make an occasion out of it.”
“As long as you’re not stalling so you can try to book Jackie Chan to sing at the ceremony or something,” she says. I laugh and kiss her.
It’ll be a wedding to remember, I’ll make sure of it. In the meantime, I pour the sparkling cider and make a toast to us. Then I ask her to dance with me on our roof deck under the stars. Nothing could be more perfect than this moment.