27. Rex
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Rex
I bought her an island as another anniversary gift but things got complicated between us before the papers were processed.
Now, watching Freya’s face as the helicopter descended toward white sand and turquoise water, I knew I’d made the right call.
This moment, her slack-jawed wonder, the way her hand tightened on mine, the breathless “oh my God” that escaped her lips, wouldn’t have meant anything back then.
It would have been just another expensive gift, another attempt to buy what could only be earned.
Now it meant everything.
“Rex.” She pressed her face to the window like a kid on Christmas morning. “Rex, what is this?”
“Your island.”
“My what?”
The helicopter touched down on a landing pad nestled between palm trees. I helped Freya out, steadying her against the wind from the rotors, and watched her take in the scene before us.
The villa climbed the hillside in tiers of white stucco and dark wood, its windows catching the last light of sunset.
Below, a crescent of perfect beach curved around a lagoon so blue it hurt to look at.
In the distance, I could see the orchards and the tide pools that dotted the rocky point at the far end of the cove.
“You bought me an island,” Freya said faintly.
“I told you I’m never just dramatic.”
“This is- Rex, this must have cost-”
“Don’t think about what it cost.” I took her hand and started leading her toward the villa. “Think about waking up to that view. Think about teaching our daughter to swim in that water. Think about growing old together somewhere no one can bother us.”
“Our daughter?”
“Still just a feeling.” I squeezed her hand. “But a strong one.”
The villa was everything I’d hoped it would be.
Open and airy, with ceiling fans turning lazy circles and gauze curtains billowing in the ocean breeze.
The chef I’d hired, flown in from a five-star restaurant in Miami, had prepared lobster and roasted vegetables and a chocolate soufflé that made Freya actually moan when she tasted it.
We ate on the terrace as the sun sank toward the horizon, the sky turning shades of pink and orange that no painter could capture. Freya had sparkling cider in a champagne flute, and I had actual champagne, and neither of us could stop smiling.
“I can’t believe you did this,” she said for the dozenth time. “An island. You bought me an island.”
“I bought it months ago, actually. Right before everything fell apart.” I set down my glass. “I was going to surprise you on our anniversary. Had this whole plan, helicopter at sunset, dinner on the beach, the deed wrapped in a bow.”
“What happened?”
“You happened.” I reached across the table and took her hand. “You left, and I realized that I’d been trying to buy your love instead of earning it. All the expensive gifts, the grand gestures, none of it meant anything if I couldn’t be the man you needed.”
Her eyes glistened in the fading light. “So you canceled it?”
“I postponed it. Told myself I’d bring you here when I deserved to, not before.” I lifted her hand to my lips. “I hope I deserve to now.”
“You do.” She stood, pulling me with her. “Come on. Let’s watch the sunset from the beach.”
We walked barefoot through the sand, the water warm around our ankles.
The sun was a molten ball of gold sinking into the sea, painting the clouds in colors I didn’t have names for.
Freya leaned against me, her head on my shoulder, and I wrapped my arm around her waist, my hand resting on her belly.
The baby kicked against my palm.
I went completely still.
“Did you feel that?” Freya asked.
“Yeah.” My voice came out rough. “Yeah, I felt it.”
Another kick, stronger this time. Our child, making their presence known, reaching out to us through layers of skin and muscle and hope.
“That’s the first time,” I managed. “The first time I’ve felt-”
I couldn’t finish the sentence. My throat was too tight, my eyes burning with tears I refused to let fall.
Freya turned in my arms and cupped my face in her hands. “Hey. It’s okay. You’re allowed to feel things.”
“I missed so much.” The words came out broken. “I missed the first three months. I wasn’t there when you found out, when you were sick, when you needed someone-”
“You’re here now.” She brushed a tear from my cheek that I hadn’t realized had fallen. “That’s what matters.”
We stood there as the sun disappeared and the stars began to emerge, one by one. The baby kept kicking, little flutters of movement that felt like morse code, like our child was already trying to communicate.
“If it’s a girl,” Freya said quietly, “I want to name her Alma. After my mother.”
“Alma.” I tested the name, felt how it sat on my tongue. “Alma Waller. That’s beautiful.”
“You don’t think it’s too-”
“It’s perfect.” I pulled her closer. “Your mother would be proud of you, Freya. I know I never met her, but I know she’d be proud.”
Freya was crying now, soft tears that caught the starlight. “I wish she could have known you. The real you, not the businessman everyone else sees.”
“Me too.”
We stood in the darkness as the night wrapped around us, the ocean murmuring against the shore, our baby kicking between us. It was perfect. More perfect than I’d imagined when I bought this island, more perfect than I’d dared to hope during all those weeks when I thought I’d lost her forever.
But there was one more thing.
“Freya.”
“Hmm?”
I stepped back, reached into my pocket, and sank to one knee.
Her hands flew to her mouth. “Rex-”
“I know we’re already married.” I held up the ring, her ring, the one she’d left on my pillow the day she walked away, the one I’d carried with me every day since.
“I know we have the license and the certificate and all the legal documentation. But that wedding wasn’t real.
It was an arrangement, a contract, two strangers promising things neither of us understood. ”
I took her hand, and my voice cracked.
“Marry me again. For real this time. Not because your father needed money or because I wanted land. Marry me because you love me, and I love you, and I can’t imagine spending a single day of the rest of my life without you.”
The stars reflected in her tears. The ocean whispered against the sand. Somewhere in the villa, the chef was probably wondering if we were ever coming back for dessert.
“Yes,” Freya said. “Yes, yes, yes.”
I slid the ring onto her finger, it fit perfectly now, resized during one of the many nights I’d spent awake missing her, and stood to pull her into my arms.
“I love you,” I said against her lips.
“I love you too.” She was laughing and crying at the same time. “I can’t believe you proposed on an island you bought me.”
“I told you. Never just dramatic.”
She kissed me under the stars, and I held her close, and our daughter kicked between us like she was celebrating too.
The rest of our lives was just beginning.