Chapter 73 Clara
Clara
Idon’t know what to expect when the guys gather without me, all of them sneaking glances my way as they figure out the plan for this gift-giving situation.
With a frustrated huff, Trips approaches, the other three still whispering.
But then Jansen sprints forward and leaps on Trips’ back like a koala as RJ skirts around them, carefully twining my fingers with his.
He tugs me to one of the many cakes Jansen got, and I decide to ignore whatever is going on with the other guys right now.
RJ’s taking the lead, and I’m curious to know where this is heading.
The one he stops in front of has rough tan frosting scraped on it like tree bark and no extra decorations. I’m trying to figure out what we’re doing next when RJ gets down on one knee in front of me. And all my brain can say is, ‘Oh.’
He swallows, then swallows again, before pulling a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. I wait, knowing he takes a minute to get his words out. And it’s not uncomfortable but charged with anticipation and tremulous joy.
Gold-tinged eyes hold my gaze, and all I want to do is drop to his level. To be this man’s equal in every way that matters.
So I do.
“Of course,” I whisper, squeezing his hands.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to. Yes. To you and me. To all the quiet moments and the wonderful conversations. To your support, your laughter, your love. Yes, to all of it.”
His chuckle soothes my anxious ramble, and he kisses me, jamming the paper back into his pocket.
And the kiss says everything he struggles to get out with his words.
Soft lips, tender touches, care and passion and so much love that it aches between us.
When we finally come up for air, our panting breaths mingling, he chokes out, “Will you be mine?”
“Forever and ever.”
He pulls out a necklace from a different pocket—purple stones, the color of the slip he bought me a year ago, pool in his hand surrounded by a white gold chain.
There are three of them, two ovals in a line leading to a single teardrop-shaped stone at the bottom.
I lean forward as he clasps the necklace, his hands resting on the back of my neck for a moment before he traces the chain to the gems. “Tears don’t make us weak.
They make us strong. All the things we’ve overcome brought us to this point.
And from here on out, we don’t suffer alone. We’re in this together.”
I snag his fingers, pressing my lips to the tips, not able to talk. His fingers linger there, golden eyes locked to mine, eyes that at first intimidated me, but now shine with so much love that it would be impossible to be cowed by them. My intense, shy hacker. Mine.
He gets up, helping me to my feet as well, then brings me to the desserts.
He passes me the cake knife so he can wrap his fingers around mine, then together we press into the tan frosting, carving out a triangle.
It wobbles as we try to get it on the plate, but it mostly makes it.
Then with two forks, we each take a sliver, and carefully place the dessert into each other’s mouths.
The heady combo of caramel and chocolate meets my tongue, and I smile around the cake.
He flicks a crumb from the corner of my mouth, presses his lips to mine for a moment, then with a squeeze of my hand, moves across the room.
My heart thunders when I take in the four desserts on the table, then the four men I’ve given that beating organ to.
Knowing what the plan is now, I giggle as Jansen literally slides in front of Walker and Trips, a twinkle in his eyes that says this wasn’t what they decided. “Damn thief,” Walker mutters, but steps back, letting Jansen have his fun.
Instead of taking my hands, Jansen wraps himself around my knees, and I can’t help but laugh.
“I love you so much,” he mumbles into my skirt, and I think that’s going to be it, but then, he falls back onto his heels, kneeling in front of me like a penitent, his palms resting on the tops of my feet.
His green eyes take on an unfamiliar seriousness, and I suddenly have no idea what to expect from the most unpredictable of my loves.
“I know I’m not generally someone who gets taken seriously.
And I’m okay with that. There’s nothing wrong with prioritizing fun.
But straight from the beginning, I wanted to take this seriously with you.
I fought for you from the moment I met you.
There was something in me that recognized that you were my person.
And even more importantly, I think even then, it realized you were our person.
“ His fingers flex against my feet, emphasizing his point.
“So I fought against myself, moving slowly when all I wanted to do was race into things. I kept parts of myself back, not wanting to scare you away. Everything I’ve done for more than a year, it’s been with you in mind.
Even during the bad stuff, you were there with me, keeping me from the worst parts of myself, sometimes in person, but sometimes just in my heart.
And I can’t imagine life without you in it.
Honestly, I don’t want to imagine that. You’re more than just my person.
More than my love. You’re the center of my family, the heart of my life.
I beat for you. Just you. And I want that to last forever.
I want to die wrapped in your arms with the steady thrum of your heart under my ear.
The law isn’t on our side, but I’ve never really cared about the law.
This isn’t a proposal, Clara. This is a marriage.
Because a piece of paper can never tell me what my soul already knows. I’m yours, forever. Will you be mine?”
The tears I’d been so carefully trying to hold back escape, and I can’t do a damn thing about it. “Of course. I love you so much, Jansen.”
Instead of getting up like I expect, he fishes something from the inner pocket of his jacket, a chain of alternating diamonds and onyx spooling across his palm, before he clasps it around my left ankle.
His fingers stay there, his head bowed, and my palms come to his shorn head, the heat of him licking my skin.
When he looks up, green eyes glittering with tears, I know what he’s waiting for.
“Get up. Kiss me,” I command.
In a flash, he’s holding me close, devouring my mouth, his arms wrapped around me, the skin of my back burning with his touch. Our tears mingle, and there’s something cathartic about it, that we can cry together, that we’re not alone in the weight of emotion we both carry inside of us.
He pulls away before I want him to, but also at the exact right moment. One more second and my body would make demands it’s not quite time for.
His cake is the white one with a cartoon watermelon slice iced in the middle.
I laugh, slightly concerned about what I’m going to be tasting.
Together, we cut the cake, the darn thing falling apart on its way to the plate, Jansen skipping the fork altogether and picking up the piece from the tablecloth and holding it in front of my lips.
Taking my cue, I do the same with another crumbled piece, and when it hits my tongue, I’m surprised that it’s simply vanilla.
His fingers linger, and I lick them clean as he does the same to mine.
“Vanilla?” I ask. “You’re not very vanilla, Trouble. ”
His smirk sparks, and I want to bathe in his joy.
“It turns out that nobody makes a watermelon-flavored cake. The lady said white would make the decorations pop.” His brows furrow, sudden concern crossing his face.
“Now that I think about it, though, I might have made a mistake. Don’t you dare think I’m asking for a way out of this relationship. You’re stuck with me.”
I laugh, and he presses his lips to mine again before he steps aside, leaving a somewhat patient Walker in my line of sight.
The way he prowls forward has excitement flooding my veins, the intensity of his movement making my nerves flare.
He doesn’t drop to one knee, instead kissing me, his fingers wrapping around the back of my neck, pulling me flush to him.
Battling me for control, I feed it to him, trusting him with my pleasure.
He doesn’t release me until I feel rubbery and lightheaded, my pulse an ocean in my ears.
When he falls to one knee, it’s with the grace of a king waiting for his crown.
Dark eyes hold my gaze, his grip on my hands just this side of painful.
“Clara,” he says, like my name is a flavor he wants to savor.
“I’m a prideful bastard, and a bit of an insecure one, too.
I know my faults. But I’ve never wanted to work on them, not until you.
You taught me that pride has to be earned, but that it’s as selfish as I am.
No one can give it. I’ve got to take it for myself. ”
His posture softens, like the next part is something he doesn’t want to admit but needs to.
“You taught me that being insecure is being human, and that I can’t make choices based on the part of me that thinks I’m not enough.
I’ve learned to trust myself, to trust the people I let close, to trust that if I give you my heart, you’re not going to toss it aside for a better option, for a smarter, better person.
Because love isn’t like that. It’s not earned.
It’s a gift, one you’ve got so much of you’re happy giving it to not just me, but my best friends too.
And if you have enough love that we all feel like we’re number one, then it’s true.
We’re all number one, because it’s not a competition.
There’s no first or last in this relationship.
Only love, trust, and teamwork. With you as my guiding light, I don’t have to worry about being enough.
Because to you, I’m already enough. Thank you. For loving me.”