Epilogue 2
HIS QUESTION
Nate
Eleven Months Later
I’m loving visiting House on the Rock with Robyn.
Nothing makes any sense, it’s all illusions and architectural wonders, unique collections.
Everything’s both random and carefully curated.
That’s the point of it. And it’s only better than finally visiting it because I’ve finally visited it with my soon-to-be fiancée.
If I can find the guts to get on one knee.
And I might pass out before I actually do it.
We’re here, where I asked them to keep people out for about fifteen minutes so it could just be the two of us.
At the entrance, a simple wooden sign reads The Infinity Room, understated and a little playful. A wooden bench sits off to one side, and a decorative wagon wheel leans nearby, grounding the space in rustic detail. An employee in a green apron nods when he sees my “Frank Lloyd Wright Rules” pin.
Behind the wooden sign, everything funnels forward toward a bright vanishing point, making the room feel endless, suspended, and slightly disorienting.
It’s a long, enclosed passageway built almost entirely of wood and glass, more corridor than room despite the name.
The ceiling peaks into a shallow gable, its exposed beams marching forward in tight, repeating triangles that pull your eye straight down the length of the space.
The walls tilt slightly inward, lined with slanted window panels that create a subtle sense of imbalance, as if the structure is leaning into motion rather than resisting it.
Marching into the glass corridor, I hold Robyn’s hand, and we walk to the far end.
With every step, the floor tilts enough to make my calves tense.
My brain recalibrates with never-ending possibilities ahead of us.
No railings or visible support. Just trust that if you got the foundation solid enough, the structure will hold.
The wind lifts a few strands of her hair, and she laughs under her breath, the sound half awe, half disbelief. “This is obscene,” she says. “I love it.”
“Want to try to make a cake out of it?” In my pocket, clutched around my fist, my grandmother’s ring burns like a live coal.
It’s not heavy. It’s not flashy. White gold worn thin at the band, the diamond modest, the kind of ring that’s weathered storms and withstood cracks.
I may not have bought it for her, but it’s perfect for her, us, anyway.
I haven’t been able to stop brushing the velvet box since I slid it into my jeans this morning.
Every cell in my body knows I’m going to do something important, and it’s keeping me on edge so I don’t fuck it up.
My phone buzzes. I won’t let go of Robyn’s hand, so I have to free the ring.
Mom: Did you do it yet???
I don’t even answer. If I do, she’ll call, and if she calls, she’ll cry, and if she cries, I might lose my nerve. I shove the phone back into my pocket, immediately regretting the decision because it buzzes again, harder against my thigh.
Julian: If you chicken out, I will personally see that someone else does. Just to annoy the shit out of you.
Andrzej: Remember: you bend one knee. And breathe so you don’t pass out. You don’t want to be that guy. Also, if she says no, I’m keeping her this time. She has better appreciation for Polish pastries.
I snort before I can stop myself. Everyone’s running out of patience, and I’m running out of nerves.
Robyn turns, eyebrow lifting. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say, which is the biggest lie I’ve told.
She comes closer, tilting her head, studying my face the way she does when she’s clocked something. Her eyes flick to my hands, empty. To my pocket. Back to my face.
Oh. She knows. I’m going to kill Julian.
My pulse jumps. The room seems to stretch even farther over the lake, the glass underfoot humming faintly with the wind. I take a breath, then another. The ground is solid. The math works. I trust the foundation.
She steps forward until she’s standing at the very edge, nothing beneath her but air and water and the illusion of falling.
I kneel behind her. “Robyn,” I say.
She turns and eyes me up and down, teasing threading through her smile. “Nate?”
I open the box in my pocket and slide the ring into my palm, impossibly small for how much weight it carries. For a second, I just hold it there, fingers curled, because I need to say this right.
“I used to think love was all about making yourself indispensable.” My voice is steadier than I expected. “That if I could just find what’s the thing only I could provide, then I’d be loved, never be left. I was so wrong.”
Her expression softens, and she doesn’t interrupt. She never does when it matters.
“I learned that from you. You helped rebuild things I was never supposed to break, and from the rubble I caused—through truth, fear, and vulnerability.” The glass floor is cold even through my jeans.
“We became better versions of ourselves, learned how to love each other well, and still chose care.” My heart is loud in my ears. “Still chose each other.”
I open my hand, and even though I can see in her eyes she knows what’s coming, her breath still catches.
“This ring belonged to my grandmother. At one point, my mom trusted me to give it not to anyone but to you. She trusts us with it. I trust you with me.” I swallow. “I don’t want to rush you or make you smaller. I want to build a life that can hold happiness for both of us.”
Her eyes are shining now, wet but not spilling. She presses one hand to her mouth, and the other reaches for me as if she’s afraid I might tip over the edge and disappear.
“Robyn,” I say, and this time my voice does shake. “Will you marry me?”
For half a second, the world holds its breath.
Then she laughs, broken and bright at the same time, and drops to her knees in front of me, hands on my face, thumbs brushing under my eyes.
“Yes. Yes, Nate. Of course, yes.”
The word hits me in the chest and detonates.
Relief, joy, disbelief. I slide the ring onto her finger, a perfect fit that’s been waiting for her—because, with the mistakes I made, Rebecca Leighton wasn’t going to risk getting the fit wrong.
She pulls me up by the collar and kisses me, hard and sure, the lake and the sky and the impossible room bearing witness.
My phone buzzes again in my pocket.
Mom: ???
I grin into Robyn’s mouth.
“Don’t tell her yet,” Robyn murmurs when we break apart, forehead resting against mine.
“Oh, I’m telling her. I’m telling the whole fucking world about it.”
Then I play “Electric Love,” and we make out to the tune of lightning in a bottle.
The familiar song syncs with her fingers—my ring on one of them—digging into my beard.
When she laughs, leaning back to look at the ring and then at me, I stop the recording and add the caption: Can you believe she said yes?
Then I post the video for everyone I know to see. I got the girl back.
“We’re standing over a thousand feet of nothing,” Robyn says, peeking at the drop behind us.
“Yeah.” I squeeze her hip. “Turns out, the foundation holds.”