CHAPTER EIGHT
Proposal
JULIETTE
The second morning in Florence, I wake up before her and immediately feel sick. Not ill. Not exactly. Just that tight, electric nausea that sits right under your ribs when you know you are about to change your entire life.
Adaline is still asleep beside me, one arm half across my waist, her face turned into the pillow like she fell asleep mid-thought.
The curtains are barely drawn and pale gold light spills across her shoulders.
Florence is already awake outside. I can hear the low hum of voices drifting up from the street, the distant whine of a scooter, the clatter of plates from a café below.
We have been here two days. Two days of walking until our feet hurt, of sharing pastries and arguing over which painting we liked best, of kissing in narrow alleyways like we are reckless and twenty again. Two days of her looking lighter. Two days of me carrying a secret so heavy I barely sleep.
The ring is in my bag. I bought it the first month we started dating. I glance toward the chair where it hangs, folded neatly like it is not holding the most important thing I have ever bought. My heart starts racing again. This is it. Today.
She shifts slightly and tightens her arm around me. “Why are you awake?” she mumbles, voice rough with sleep.
Because I am about to ask you to marry me. Because I have rehearsed this speech in my head so many times it has lost all structure. Because I am terrified you will see how much I need you and realise it is too much.
“Because you kick,” I say instead.
She huffs softly, not even denying it, and finally opens her eyes. They are still heavy, lashes tangled, but when they focus on me they soften immediately.
God.
I almost do it right there. Almost ruin every careful plan and blurt it out in a crumpled hotel bed with yesterday’s clothes on the floor. She is so unbelievably beautiful, radiant in a way I couldn’t even describe.
“Today,” I say, forcing my voice to sound normal, “I have a surprise for you.”
She narrows her eyes slightly. Suspicious already. “That sounds dangerous.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“Not when you say it like that.”
I grin, but my palms are damp. “Just get dressed. Something nice.”
Her eyebrow lifts. “How nice?”
“Florence nice.”
I’m surprised she didn’t catch onto this when I told her we were coming to Florence.
Even though this has been our fifteenth holiday in the eight years that we’ve been together, she told me when we first started dating that Florence was her dream proposal destination.
Either that or in the operating theatre, and there is no way I was doing it there.
“That is not helpful.”
I lean over and kiss her before she can ask more questions. Soft. Brief. Because if I linger I will start shaking.
All morning I am too aware of everything. The way she laughs when we pass a street musician. The way she drags me into a tiny bookstore and insists on smelling the pages of an old Italian novel she cannot read. The way her hand fits into mine like it was designed that way.
Every time she smiles at me, my chest tightens painfully.
I think about the hospital corridor. My gallery. Our tutoring. Every single late night and early morning and all the bickering in between. I cannot imagine a life where she is not the first person I think of.
By late afternoon, I am almost vibrating with nerves. I called Adam, Kai, and Victoria yesterday and they assured me Adaline had no idea, but I couldn’t help the anxiety.
The taxi takes us out past the tighter streets and into open hills. Florence shifts behind us, the dome in the distance catching the light. Rows of vineyards stretch out in neat lines over rolling land, green against warm earth and horses everywhere.
“A vineyard,” she says, glancing at me. “You are spoiling me.”
I shrug like this is casual. Like I am not about to ask her to bind her life to mine.
“You said you wanted proper wine,” I respond.
She studies me for a second longer. I can tell she senses something is off. She always does.
We walk up a gravel path that curves gently upward. The air smells of soil and leaves and something faintly sweet. Birds hum somewhere in the distance. The light has turned golden now, brushing across the vines and catching in her hair.
There is a small wooden table set near a low stone wall. Two glasses. A bottle of wine already open. No one else in sight.
“Juliette,” she says quietly.
My pulse is so loud I can barely hear anything else. I guide her toward the wall instead of the table. I need the view behind her. I need this to feel as big as it does inside me.
“Just stand here,” I say softly.
She looks out over the valley, then back at me. There is a crease forming between her brows. “You are making me nervous.”
Good. We can be nervous together. I take a step back. Then another. My hands are shaking so badly I press them together to steady them.
This is the moment.
I think about the first time I realised I loved her. The way she laughs at everything I say even when it’s not funny. The way she reaches for my hand in a crowded room without looking, already knowing I would be there. The way she sees every ugly, insecure part of me and stays anyway.
I reach into my pocket. Her eyes drop immediately to the movement.
“Juliette,” she says again, but this time it is barely a breath.
I sink down onto one knee. The gravel presses sharply through my trousers but I barely feel it. Her hands fly to her mouth. Her eyes widen in a way I have never seen before. Not fear. Not doubt. Just shock. Pure, unfiltered shock.
“Wait,” she whispers.
I open the box. An emerald-cut diamond, it almost blinds me and the smugness in me is soaring.
“I was going to memorise this,” I say, my voice trembling despite myself. “I had this whole speech planned. It was structured and calm and probably very impressive.”
She lets out a shaky laugh, tears already gathering at the edges of her eyes.
“But I keep thinking about you walking into my classroom,” I continue. “The way I immediately knew that you were going to take over my life.”
My throat tightens but I push through it.
“You make me braver. You make me softer in the right ways. You call me out when I am wrong and you hold me when I cannot say what is wrong. You are the first person I want to tell everything to. The good. The bad. The stupid little things that would not matter to anyone else.”
She is crying openly now. Not quietly. Not politely. Tears slipping down her cheeks, her hands trembling against her lips.
“I do not want a life where I come home and you are not there,” I say. “I do not want big moments without you beside me. I do not want to celebrate anything if I cannot turn and see your face first.”
The sun dips lower, casting everything in deep amber light. The wind lifts her hair slightly around her shoulders.
“I love you,” I say, the words steady now despite the shaking in my chest. “Not in a temporary way. Not in a holiday way. Not in a way that changes when things get hard. I love you in the way that chooses you. Every day. Even when it is messy. Even when we are tired. Even when we are arguing about nothing.”
I swallow.
“Adaline, will you marry me?”
There is a second where the world feels completely silent. Then she is laughing and crying at the same time.
“Yes,” she says immediately. “Yes. Obviously yes.”
Relief crashes through me so hard I almost lose balance.
I let out a breath I did not realise I had been holding for weeks.
I slip the ring onto her finger. It fits perfectly.
Her hands are still shaking as she looks down at it, then back at me like she cannot quite believe this is real.
I stand and she pulls me into her before I can say anything else.
She kisses me like she did in that locker room years ago. Not hesitant. Not delicate. Her hands grip the back of my shirt and she presses close like she needs to feel every part of me.
“I cannot believe you,” she murmurs against my mouth. “Florence. A vineyard. You dramatic idiot.”
I laugh into her kiss, my own tears finally slipping free.
“You deserve dramatic,” I say.
She pulls back just enough to look at me. Her eyes are red and bright and completely wrecked.
“I was going to propose next year,” she admits breathlessly. “You beat me.”
“Good,” I smile brightly.
She kisses me again, softer this time. Slower. The kind of kiss that leaves me breathless. Behind us, the sun glows. The hills stretch endlessly outward.
But I barely see any of it.
All I see is her.