30. CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY
When we finally descended from the Sky Garden and walked out of the lobby, the bustle of London nightlife met us at street level. I moved to my right, expecting to return to the hotel, but Emil’s hand in mine jerked me to a standstill.
“Not quite yet,” he smiled. “Follow me.”
“Where are you taking me?” I checked my phone. It was already past ten o’clock. I knew well enough that he would normally be getting ready for bed right about now.
“Where’s your sense of adventure?”
I stuck my nose in the air at the challenge and followed him without any more questions.
He bit back a laugh.
The maze of streets didn’t faze him. He zigzagged confidently until I was thoroughly turned around, and the noise of heavy traffic had faded into the background. Small pubs and quaint restaurants took over from the financial district’s modern vibe. When the deep thrum of bass echoed in my bones, I hazarded a guess.
“Are we going clubbing?”
As if on cue, Emil brought me to a gentle stop with a nod. During the day, the club could have been a coffee shop. Flashes of colorful laser lights danced through the heavy, old-fashioned door onto the sidewalk. Inside, a small but enthusiastic crowd filled the space, occupying every nook and cranny from the bar to the dance floor to the bay windows up front.
I looked at Emil. “I’m not really dressed for clubbing.”
“Neither am I,” he said, leading me in anyway.
It was a themed night, and music from the eighties punched my eardrums. Emil grabbed drinks as I scouted a place to sit or stand, ending up at a narrow table near the edge of the bar. Eventually he found me, sitting in the dark, my foot tapping against my will to the sounds of my childhood.
“Do you know this?” he asked, nearly spilling his overflowing glass as he gestured at the DJ.
“Yeah, my mom loved the eighties. She controlled the music in our house until Sydney and I went out into the real world.”
“Do you like it?” His skepticism was showing.
I laughed. “Some of it.”
He held out his glass for a quick cheers. We were silent for a while, observing the scene. It was a mixed crowd. About half were our age, while the other seemed as though the eighties might have been the peak of their heyday. I couldn’t help but smile as I witnessed a couple from the latter group belting out lyrics straight into each other’s faces.
“Relationship goals!” I shouted over the song at Emil.
He followed my eyeline and frowned. “Really? You want to scream in my face?”
“Only if you really, really want me to.”
He shook his head, taking another sip.
“I meant they’re so obviously comfortable together. It doesn’t matter that they’re surrounded by people. They’re just doing…them.”
He eyed them before nodding softly.
We stayed longer than I thought, carried away by dancing, more delicious cocktails, and then more dancing. When the crowd thinned, we found a hidden corner nook all to ourselves near the back. His arm wound around me, my head resting on his shoulder.
At one point, I felt his fingers run a soft trail along the inside of my arm, between my shoulder and elbow and back. Shivers radiated through me at the simple touch as I looked up at him. He was doing it absentmindedly as he stared at pictures adorning the walls, as though there was nothing more natural in the world. I watched him before I leaned in, catching his face as he turned toward me, and pecked a single kiss upon his cheek.
A lazy smile spread across his face. “Thank you.” He returned one to my forehead. I sighed, resting my head on his shoulder again and snuggling in close. “Are you tired?”
“A little,” I admitted, but in no hurry to leave. My eyes were struggling to stay open. “What time is it?”
He shifted, checking his watch. “Nearly midnight.”
I pouted.
“What’s wrong?” he laughed.
“The most perfect day. I don’t want it to end.”
“It hasn’t. Not yet.” His hand rubbed against my shoulder. “Come on,” he said, standing and gathering our glasses. “Let’s head out.”
I let Emil guide me once more. Traffic picked up as we neared the Tower of London, where we merged with large, boisterous crowds heading toward the river.
“Is it all right if we make two stops before going to the hotel?” Emil asked. I mumbled a yes.
As Tower Bridge lit up the night, I woke up to the beauty of this glimmering gemstone spanning the Thames. Even amid the honk of taxis and the ever-persistent wail of ambulances, it was an oddly calm setting. We paused at the outcroppings, staring down at the water as it was churned by the odd boat passing by beneath us. We took our time, eventually walking along the South Bank. Museums, shops, and cafés dotted the curved bank, while the riverside trail flickered with elegant lampposts every few yards. Past the famous Globe Theatre, my feet felt like blocks of lead, and I leaned more heavily against Emil.
“Are we there yet?” I grumbled.
“Almost.” His voice shook slightly.
I shifted against his shoulder, peering at his face in the semi-darkness. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, why?”
“Dunno. You just sounded funny.”
“I’m glad you find me hilarious.” He angled left toward a short crop of stairs.
“No, no more stairs,” I groaned.
“Only a few.”
I sighed and pushed away from him a little so I didn’t trip over my own feet. A wide, switchback ramp awaited at the top, which merged onto the glowing blue pathway of Millennium Bridge. St. Paul’s Cathedral was a beacon at the other end, its golden radiance a contrast to the bridge’s cool light. Except for the occasional screech of the train on the next bridge down, it was eerily quiet. We were the only ones here, save for a street busker and the lone silhouette of a woman farther down, leaning on the rail and staring off into the distance.
“Wow,” I whispered. “How lucky are we?”
Emil swallowed. “Very.” His hand clasped mine tightly, his fingers gone cold.
“It’s well worth being up past death to see.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
As we approached the busker, his plucky melody grew sweet, a drawn-out affair that tugged at my heartstrings even without the lyrics. Despite the fact he was playing it in a romantic Latin style, the tune was unmistakable. It was “Still Loving You.” Shocked, I pointed at the guitarist, who sneaked a look up at me with a smile.
Like he knew it was my favorite. Like he knew me .
Confused, I looked at Emil. He watched me apprehensively, though a corner of his mouth lifted a fraction. His eyes, however, were steely.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, sucking in a breath. Something was off. Was it excitement coursing through my veins? Fear? Both? Why was I panicking?
My attention flashed to the busker before returning to Emil. “How did he know about this song? Did he know?”
Emil’s fingers brushed across my lips, silencing the beginning of my blabbering. “It’s okay.”
My racing heart calmed, and I nodded beneath his hand. But he stepped closer, pulling me to his chest, swaying to the music. And, next to my ear, he began to sing.
My body froze with shock as he continued to move gently.
Never have I ever sung in front of anyone before.
His voice trembled, breathy and uncertain. I listened to quite possibly the most exquisite thing I’d ever heard in all its perfect imperfections. More spoken than sung as those insanely high notes sprung out of reach, each word sent a drip, drip, drip of love through to my heart.
He continued turning me in a slow circle, and it was as if I could see us from the outside, panning around the scene of our own little movie. As I faced St. Paul’s, I detected that the woman in the distance had moved closer, her hood drawn up against the chill, her phone out snapping pictures. I tucked my head into Emil’s shoulder shyly, not wanting to share this with a random stranger.
The song drifted to a close, and I drew Emil tighter against me, willing the moment to last forever. His shaky chuckle was far more at ease than his singing, but he gently pulled out of the cage of my arms after a few seconds.
“Why did you stop?”
“Because the song was over.”
“It was beautiful.” I ran a hand along the side of his face. “You’re beautiful.”
His jaw ticked, his gaze dropping to our clasped hands, my left in his right.
“Mallory?”
“Yes?”
Suddenly, like a giant weight had collapsed onto his shoulders, he bent to the ground.
“Are you okay?” I worried.
He fumbled in his coat pocket before his eyes met mine, heavy in a way that made my stomach coil. “That depends.”
“On?”
“Your answer.”
“You haven’t asked me anything,” I said stupidly before zeroing in on the tiny box in his other hand. And I stopped breathing altogether.
He noticed and ran a gentle thumb across the flat of my palm to try to bring me back to life. “Mallory Roth.”
Oh my god.
“I have been a fool. But I think we are all fools in love. Or so they say.”
My hands turned to ice. My brain quit working completely.
“So I must really love you for the time I wasted being one. I will happily spend the rest of my life making up for those lost moments. If you’ll let me.” The top of the box popped open. Something shiny glimmered in the dim light, but the sparkles became orbs as my eyes filled with tears. “I’m not good with words, so I’ll keep it simple. I love you. Will you marry me?”
I crumpled, kneeling in front of him, the chilled concrete seeping through my tights in an instant. The sensation woke me up, and the tears fell as I tugged him into a rough hug. I bawled into his shoulder.
“Are you all right?” he asked after a minute, rubbing soft circles into my back.
“No,” I sobbed idiotically.
“Okay.”
“No!” I hiccuped. “I mean, yes! Yes, I’ll marry you.”
His hand hesitated a moment before moving up to my jaw to pull me back. His look searched my face, first tight with concern before growing lighter, a sheen of his own brimming at the corners of his eyes.
“Really?” Beneath the happiness, there still—somehow—lurked uncertainty in his voice.
Salt filled my mouth as I smiled through my tears, laughing. “Of course, you fool.”
When he kissed me, it was as if every warm, lovely thing that had ever happened to me throughout my life was reborn. Every embrace, success, friendship, discovery, and show of love seeped through my body from this one point of contact, filling me with an indescribable lightness. When I eventually floated up from the kiss, our eyes met, and I saw the same relief looking back at me.
He brought the box back up, prying the delicate ring from its velvet pillow inside. A laugh landing somewhere between a giggle and a sob escaped me as he slid it on. It shimmered even in the half light.
“It’s perfect,” I breathed, looking up at him. “It’s all perfect.”
He swallowed, cupping my cheek during another too-brief kiss. Then he stood, pulling me up with him into a tight embrace.
And there we stayed, crying, laughing, just holding on to the blissful moment for as long as we could. When I realized this, having him, would last for a lifetime, I started giggling all over again. He squeezed me tighter, like he couldn’t get enough of the sound.
Eventually, I remembered we had an audience. I sent the guitarist a bashful smile over Emil’s shoulder before we finally broke apart.
“Congratulations,” he said in a thick Cockney accent.
“Thank you,” I said. “Really, thank you. It was wonderful.” I dug into my purse and retrieved the measly amount cash I had, but he refused the tip.
“Your fiancé was generous,” he said. My heart stuttered at the word fiancé in a way I rather liked.
“He better have been,” I teased.
“Well, I had help,” Emil admitted.
“Help?”
He jutted his chin past me, and I looked behind to see the woman drawing closer. She slipped off her hood and pinned us with a Cheshire cat kind of grin. My jaw dropped.
“Gail?” I ran to her, pulling her into a hug. My joy knew no bounds tonight.
“Congratulations, dear,” she said.
“How are you here?”
Emil stopped beside me. “She helped me coordinate everything. I couldn’t have done it without her.” He gave her a hug once I’d gotten my fill.
“And I am a sleuth photographer.” She winked. “I think I earned my deerstalker and pipe.” At the questioning tilt of my head, she sighed. “Sherlock Holmes.” She waved her camera in my face. “You two are too cute not to capture the occasion.”
Sneaky, sneaky lady.
“I want to see!” I reached for the camera, but she yanked it out of reach.
“Later,” she said, then cocked an eyebrow. “You need to finish your evening.”
“There’s more?” I gaped.
“That’s up to you,” Emil said, his blush visible in the dead of night. “Are you ready to go back to the hotel?”
“Strangely, I’m not tired anymore,” I said with a thick hint.
Emil’s eyes went slate-black.
“Have a good night,” Gail said, innuendo dripping from each word as she walked away.
Emil’s fingers laced through mine, and I shook my head, trying to wrap my mind around what had just happened. The bow of the bridge sloped gently toward the bank as we walked, and I glanced left and right before chuckling.
“What’s so funny?” Emil asked.
“What is it with us and bridges?”
He mirrored my gaze and grinned. “Seems appropriate enough,” was all he said before pulling my hand up and grazing my knuckles with his lips.
And through the streets of London we wandered, reveling in every moment, every sight, every kiss—no longer stolen, but freely given. Each touch was a reminder that nothing would take him from my arms, or me from his.
Not our pasts.
Not our fears.
Not our dreams.
Not even oceans could keep us apart now.