Chapter 59
CHAPTER
FIFTY-NINE
JULIE
"Pack a bag," Ryan says one evening as we're cleaning up after dinner. "Something warm. Layers."
I look up from the container of leftovers I’m putting a lid on. "Pack a bag for what?"
"A vacation."
"Ryan, we can't just?—"
"We can. I've already arranged everything with Jamie. She's got the shop covered. My parents are handling anything that comes up at home. We're leaving tomorrow morning."
"Tomorrow? Where are we going?"
He grins, and there's something in that smile that makes my stomach flip. "It's a surprise. But trust me, you're going to love it."
I should ask more questions. I should demand details. But instead, I just smile back at him and say, "Okay."
Because I trust him. Completely.
He takes me to Iceland and from the moment we get off the plane, I’m in love.
"Oh my God," I breathe.
Ryan takes my hand. "Good surprise?"
"The best surprise."
We rent a car and drive toward our hotel, and I can't stop staring out the window. The road stretches on endlessly, and there are barely any other cars. It's just us and the landscape and the sense that we're at the edge of the world.
Our hotel is a small luxury property nestled in a valley, with views of mountains and waterfalls. The room is all clean lines and natural materials—stone and wood and glass. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook a landscape that looks like it belongs in a dream.
"Ryan, this is incredible," I say, turning to him.
"We haven't even started yet," he says, pulling me close. "Come on. We're going to catch the sunset."
The following days blur together in the most perfect way.
We wake early and explore. We drive to Skógafoss, a massive waterfall that thunders down from the sky like the earth is weeping.
The mist rises up and soaks us, and I'm laughing so hard I can barely breathe.
Ryan pulls me close and kisses me right there, with the roar of the waterfall all around us.
We go to a beach where the sand is black as coal and the waves crash against the shore with a violence that's almost beautiful.
We walk along the shore holding hands, enjoying each other.
We soak in the Blue Lagoon, surrounded by steam and the smell of minerals, and I float on my back and watch the sky change colors above me.
Ryan floats beside me, and we don't talk.
We just exist in this moment together, in this place that feels like it exists outside of time.
We eat fresh fish and drink wine and watch the light linger in the sky until nearly midnight.
We stop at a small geothermal hot spring and soak in the warm water while the cold air bites at our faces.
And we make love constantly. I wouldn't have believed it could get better, but it does.
I'm sex mad and not at all upset about it.
The big, body rocking orgasms I read about in my romance books weren’t lying. With the right partner, sex is amazing.
On the sixth day, Ryan wakes me early. "I have one more thing I want to show you," he says, kissing my forehead. "Get dressed. Wear something warm."
We drive for about an hour, heading toward a part of Iceland I haven't seen yet. Finally, Ryan pulls off the main road and parks. "We have to hike a bit," he says. "But I promise it's worth it."
It's a waterfall, but not like the others.
This one is smaller, more intimate. It falls into a pool of the clearest water I've ever seen, surrounded by moss-covered rocks and wildflowers.
Behind it, the cliff face rises up, and there's a sense of privacy here, of being completely alone in the world.
He takes my hand and leads me closer to the waterfall. The mist rises up and cools my face. The sound of the water is like music. And then Ryan stops and turns to face me. His eyes are serious. His hand is shaking slightly as he reaches into his jacket pocket.
"Julie," he says, and his voice is thick with emotion. "You're everything I've ever wanted and I've never been more certain about anything in my life."
My heart is pounding so hard I think it might break through my ribs.
"I love you," he continues. "I love how strong you are. That you survived something that would have broken most people. I love that you don't perform. You don't curate your life for social media or clout. You're real."
He takes a breath, his thumb brushing across my cheek.
"You laugh at my terrible jokes, read some of the filthiest books ever written, and dance around when you're cleaning.
You make notes in your phone about scent blends to try because you're curious and you follow that curiosity.
You remember things that matter. Always. "
He steps closer, his voice dropping. "And I want to build a life with you where we both get to just be real. No image. No performance. No one watching or judging. Just us, exactly as we are."
He drops to one knee, and I can't breathe. "Julie Nelson, will you marry me?"
He opens the box, and the ring catches the light.
It's stunning. A classic solitaire diamond on a platinum band, elegant and timeless and understated.
It's exactly what I would have chosen for myself.
It's not a statement piece designed to impress.
It's a ring that says he sees me, all of me, and he loves it.
I had a secret moment of hesitation with Asher. Disappointment in the ring and fear of what it meant. There is none of that here. His ring choice only confirms what I already know. Ryan is real. We are real. And I am ecstatic.
"Yes," I say, and my voice breaks. "Yes, yes, yes."
He slides the ring onto my finger, and it fits perfectly. Like it was always meant to be there. Then he stands and pulls me into his arms, and I'm crying and laughing at the same time. He kisses me, and it tastes like tears and joy and the promise of a future I once feared I'd never have.
"I love you so much, Shawshank," I say against his mouth.
"I love you too, Buttercup. Forever."
The next morning, we're having breakfast on the balcony when I blurt out, "I want to get married in our backyard."
He tilts his head. "Our backyard?"
"I know it's not what people expect," I say quickly, the words tumbling out. "I know most people want some big venue or a destination wedding or something fancy and Instagram-worthy. But Ryan, that's not us. That's not what any of this has been."
"Julie—"
"Let me finish," I say, squeezing his hand.
"Our backyard is where we've built our life together.
It's where you hung those Edison bulbs and I laughed at you because you couldn't figure out how to string them properly.
It's where we planted those flowers together and got dirt all over everything.
It's where we built that ridiculous grill that took three hours and came with approximately eight thousand unnecessary bolts. "
He's smiling now, that slow, warm smile that makes my heart feel too big for my chest.
"It's where we sit in those Adirondack chairs you built and just...
exist together," I continue. "It's home, Ryan.
It's our home. And I want to marry you there, surrounded by the people who actually matter.
Not three hundred strangers. Not a dress that makes me feel like I'm being weighted down. Just us."
"Just us," he repeats softly.
"Your parents, my mom, Jamie, you, me, and an officiant. Seven people. That's it. That's all we need." I look at him, searching his face. "Is that okay? Do you hate that idea?"
"Hate it?" He laughs, a real, genuine laugh that echoes across the balcony. "Julie, I love it. I love you. I love that you want something real and simple and ours."
"Really?"
"Really." He pulls me out of my chair and into his lap, wrapping his arms around me. "Our backyard. I can see it perfectly. You in some beautiful dress, flowers in your hair, barefoot in the grass. Our families supporting us as we take that step. Pure fucking joy."
"That's exactly what I want," I whisper.
"Then that's what we're going to do." He kisses me, soft and sweet and full of promise. "We're going to get married in our backyard, and it's going to be perfect because it's ours."
I kiss him back, knowing I did it. I found a real one. No illusion.