39. Epilogue Gloria
Epilogue: Gloria
T en Months Later
"London, why are we here?" I ask as he turns on the blinker to get off the freeway. We've driven even further than we did when we took his nieces horseback riding. "You said you had a 'fun, romantic date' planned, and taking four bathroom breaks in the past seven hours is not fun ."
"We're almost there, and you wouldn't have to take four bathroom breaks if you hadn't drunk so much coffee."
I roll my eyes. "Don't be such a tea snob. It was hazelnut coffee that your mom got me for Christmas. I had to drink it."
His parents invited me over last Christmas and we took part in the first-ever Young family Secret Santa. I got London, which he swears wasn’t rigged, and his mom got me.
"Yes, but you didn't have to drink three cups of it before we left." His eyes are fixed on the road, but one of his hands cradles mine. London turns off cruise control and smoothly lane-changes to exit the freeway.
"You didn't tell me we were going on a road trip!" I retort, poking him in the arm.
"I did—" He pauses like he's racking his memory for our conversation. "Didn't I?"
"No!" I flip my hair over my shoulder with my free hand. "You just said we were going on a date and to wear comfortable shoes."
I would prop my Keds-clad feet on the dashboard, but he jerks the steering wheel and turns into a parking lot. Or rather, a gravel-strewn piece of land without street lights or paving. Construction signs and caution tape litter the building next to it.
"London, I know I wanted to stop for four bathroom breaks today, but please don’t kill me in this abandoned construction site," I say as the car rumbles, jolting over the uneven ground. "We can work this out. I promise not to have any more coffee today."
London traces my knuckles with his thumb. "Gloria, I didn't bring you here to murder you."
"Okay, but just so you know, I'm an excellent axe-thrower."
"That’s why I didn’t bring an axe," he says with a chuckle before letting go of my hand and getting out of the car.
I let him open the door for me and take my hand to help me out of the car. Even though I'm not wearing anything fancy—I threw on jean shorts and a lacy camisole this morning—I appreciate his little chivalrous acts. "If this is a prank, you'll be the one getting murdered."
He grins. "It would be an honour to die at your hands."
I follow him to the trunk of the car, where he retrieves a wicker basket out of its hiding place—a big cooler hidden under a blanket—and holds it up with a grin.
Fading afternoon light is cast over everything we can see.
I think we're in Napa based on the signs we passed.
Orange and peach hues streak the fluffy clouds in the sky, while fields of grapevines and lush, rolling hills surround us.
Past a couple trees is a wooden lattice threaded with ivy and string lights, which form a canopy above our heads.
London hits a button on his phone, and faint strains of violin music start playing a cover of one of my favourite SB19 songs, streaming through invisible speakers.
A picnic table sits under it, covered with an orange checkered tablecloth. London sets down the wicker basket.
"Did you set this up?" I ask London as we walk toward the table.
"I did, with some help." He nods toward the construction signs behind the latticed area. "This is a winery location that Kostas has been scouting out. He asked me to come with you and see if the area was appropriately romantic. He’s hoping he can have couples come to do wine tastings and stuff."
My shoulders relax slightly from their hunched posture.
Our first anniversary was a few weeks ago. Surely, if he was going to propose, he would have done it then. Right?
"Dance with me, love," he says softly after setting up the food and drinks.
My fingers slide between his. He gently places a hand on my waist, and I rest my cheek against his chest, hearing his steady heartbeat. This is so far from that first time we danced in my apartment, when I was still pretending I could find the perfect guy who wasn’t him.
There could never be anyone so reassuring. So steadfast. My one constant.
After quitting McMann and Ma, I haven't seen London as often. But we make intentional time to be together, planning pottery-painting dates or karaoke or movie nights. We've been alternating between my favourite movies and his every Friday night.
The song ends. London lets go of my hand to place two fingers under my chin, lifting my face so I'm looking at him. He feathers the softest kiss on my lips. I sink into the sensation of being loved by him, closing my eyes.
Then, as suddenly as it began, the kiss is over. Before I can register what’s happening, London drops to one knee and pulls out a ring that sparkles under the twinkling lights strung above us.
"Gloria Romero, I've liked you since we did that biology lab together years ago," he says.
"But I fell in love with you when you agreed to stay in the library until midnight to help me with our assignment that was due the next day—even though you had already finished it the week before.
Every day that I get to spend with you is a privilege and a surprise, because no matter how well I think I know you by now, you always catch me off guard.
I want to spend all my days hearing your silly nicknames for me from random British towns, and there's no one I'd rather share the rest of my life with.
You're beautiful, intelligent, kind, and selfless… And I love you. Will you marry me?"
The word is out of my mouth as quickly as the tears start streaming down my face. "Yes! Yes, I'll marry you."
Before I know what I'm doing, I fling my arms around his neck and forget about the ring he's still holding. London laughs and catches me before we fall off-balance onto the hard ground. "You also have to take the ring, you know."
It's a gorgeous yellow, oval-cut diamond surrounded by sparkly leaf-shaped white gems. The ring looks like it was crafted from my wildest dreams and far beyond anything I could have let myself want.
I hold out my hand and let London slide the ring onto my finger. "I knew I should have given you my ring size."
He gently eases the metal band onto my finger, where it slides into place. A perfect fit. "I measured your finger when you fell asleep on the couch one time."
"Way to make yourself sound like a stalker."
“If stalking you is what got you to agree to marry me, I'd do it all over again."
"Technically, you did snoop through my private documents to get me to be your girlfriend…" I tease.
"I didn't snoop, I—Just kiss me, woman," he says, but the grin spreading across his lips before they touch mine tells me he isn't all that frustrated .
We separate from our kiss and London leads me to the picnic table. I brush the gravel off my clothes, wishing I'd worn something nicer. But the way London's brown eyes glow when they trace over my form tells me I could be wearing a garbage bag and he'd still find me attractive.
Just as I've reached for the wicker picnic basket to determine its contents—I'm really hoping for brie and crackers—a vehicle pulls into the driveway behind us.
I spin around, only to see the Dorapolis royal limo.
Raina runs out of the car before the driver can even turn off the car and get the door for her.
She's holding baby Penelope and asks, "I'm not too late, am I? "
"You missed everything. You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago," London jokes.
"No! Propose again," Kostas says as he gets out of the car along with his wife.
"As much fun as that would be, I don't think London wants to give his speech again. I mean, he probably won't even be able to say it without tearing up," I tease.
London shakes his head, that same joyous smile still on his lips.
I get up from the picnic table and embrace Raina, coo over my honorary niece, and say hello to Kostas.
London turns to Kostas. "Thanks for letting me use your next winery site to propose."
"Wait, this was actually Kostas' property? I thought you just made up that story so I wouldn't get suspicious," I say, turning to London.
"No, when Raina told me that London was planning his proposal, I told him about this place where I want to build my very first American vineyard," Kostas explains.
"It's beautiful," I say.
"It is," London agrees, resting his hand on top of mine in a way that tells me he isn't talking about the view. I smile anyways .
I rest my head on his shoulder. We chat and dig into the picnic basket’s contents—brie, fancy rosemary crackers, sparkling apple juice, and salami sticks. My eyes fix on Penelope, happily stretching her arms up from her mother’s lap. A sense of deep warmth and fulfillment suffuses my heart.
"So, I hear A Royal Match has pretty high ratings.
It's going into its, what, fourth season now?
" I say to Raina. Neither of us watch much TV, but we both make time to watch the show that Kostas' brother, King Andreas of Dorapolis, was the first contestant on.
"I'm surprised there's enough princes and princesses for the show to still be going on. "
She shrugs. "I hear they're expanding it to dukes and marquesses. I guess they'll accept any aristocrat with enough desperation for fame."
I laugh. "So you're saying your brother-in-law was desperate for fame?"
"No comment," she teases, though I know she loves her family. We change the subject to how her baby is doing, and I no longer worry about being left out or left behind in life.
Because I know that this is exactly where I'm meant to be, that I don’t have to be good enough to fit in.
I belong with the people I love.
Especially with the man who I thought would never be more than a friend.