10. One Year Later #2
"I've had this for three months," she said, pulling out the ring box.
"Waiting for the perfect moment. But I just realized, every moment with you is perfect.
Every morning I wake up next to you. Every time you set off the smoke alarm.
Every time you make me taste something and tell me to be honest, and I am, and you kiss me anyway. "
She opened the box. The ring caught the light, rose gold and diamonds and morganite gleaming.
"Becca Navarro. Will you marry me?"
She was dreaming. She had to be dreaming.
The day had already been too perfect. Her bakery, her dream, finally real. Her family and friends gathered around her. Margot, steady and supportive, refilling napkin dispensers like it was beneath her even though she did it anyway.
And now this.
Margot was on one knee. Actually on one knee, on the floor of Becca's bakery, holding a ring that sparkled like something out of a fairy tale. Her face was open and vulnerable, the walls completely gone.
"Margot," Becca managed. Her voice was shaking.
"Is that a yes?"
"I—you—" Words weren't working. Her brain had short-circuited. "Are you serious?"
"Completely."
"You want to marry me."
"More than anything."
"Even though I set off the smoke alarm at least once a week?"
"Yes."
"Even though I take up three-quarters of the bed?"
"I've adapted."
"Even though I'm—" Becca's voice cracked. "Too much?"
Margot stood, still holding the ring, and cupped Becca's face in her hands.
"You're not too much," she said. "You're exactly enough. You're everything. You're the best thing that ever happened to me, and I want to spend the rest of my life proving that you were never too much for the right person." She wiped a tear from Becca's cheek. "So. Will you marry me?"
Becca kissed her.
It wasn't exactly an answer, but Margot seemed to understand. She kissed back, one hand still holding the ring box, the other tangling in Becca's hair. The kiss was soft and desperate and tasted like salt from happy tears.
"Yes," Becca gasped when they finally broke apart. "Yes, yes, a million times yes. Put the ring on me before I lose my mind."
Margot laughed, that real laugh, the one Becca had spent a year learning to earn, and slid the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly. Of course it did. Margot had probably calculated the size based on some obscure measurement Becca didn't know existed.
"It's beautiful," Becca breathed, staring at her hand.
"It reminded me of Sophie's wedding. The morganites match the bridesmaid dresses."
"You sap." Becca was crying again. "You absolute sap. You pretended to be an ice queen and you're actually a giant sap."
"Please don't tell anyone."
"I'm telling everyone. I'm going to shout it from the rooftops."
"Please don't shout from rooftops. It's unsafe."
Becca grabbed her face and kissed her again. And again. She couldn't stop kissing her. Her fiancée. Her fiancée. The word was too big for her chest.
"I love you," she said against Margot's mouth.
"I love you too," Margot murmured back.
"I'm going to marry you."
Margot laughed. "That's generally how engagements work."
"Shut up and let me be happy."
They barely made it home.
The subway ride was an exercise in restraint. Becca kept looking at her ring, then at Margot, then back at her ring. Margot kept her hand on Becca's thigh, which was distracting, and her thumb kept tracing circles that were even more distracting.
"People are staring," Becca whispered. "Are we being indecent?"
"My hand is on your leg. That's hardly indecent."
"Your hand is very high on my leg," Becca countered.
"Would you like me to move it?" Margot asked, voice amused.
"Absolutely not."
Margot's smile was wicked. "Then stop complaining."
By the time they reached their apartment, Becca was practically vibrating. Margot unlocked the door with infuriating calm, stepped inside, and was immediately pressed against the wall.
"You," Becca said, already working on her buttons, "proposed to me."
"I did."
"In my bakery."
Margot shrugged. "It seemed appropriate."
"You've been carrying that ring for three months."
"I wanted it to be a surprise."
"I hate surprises."
"You love surprises."
"I love you."
She kissed Margot before she could respond. This kiss was different from the one in the bakery. Hungrier, more urgent, softness burned away by three months of not knowing, and the sudden relief of finally, finally knowing.
Margot's buttons were not cooperating. Becca growled in frustration and pulled, sending two of them skittering across the floor.
"That was expensive," Margot said mildly.
"Bill me."
"I'm keeping a tab."
"Are you seriously thinking about laundry right now?"
"I'm thinking about you." Margot grabbed her hips and spun them, pressing Becca against the wall instead. "I'm thinking about how I'm going to spend the rest of my life making you feel like this."
"Like what?"
"Wanted." Margot kissed her jaw. "Cherished." Her neck. "Thoroughly, completely loved." The sensitive spot behind her ear that made Becca's knees buckle.
"Bedroom," Becca managed.
"Too far."
"It's twenty feet away," Becca said, snorting a little.
"Twenty feet too many," Margot mumbled into her skin.
Becca laughed, breathless and giddy. "That's my line."
"I learned from the best."
They made it to the bedroom anyway, shedding clothes as they went. Becca's apron was still covered in flour. Margot's shirt was missing buttons. By the time they fell onto the bed, they were down to underwear and desperate need.
"Wait," Becca said, holding up her hand. The ring caught the light from the window. "I'm engaged."
"You are."
"To you."
"Also true."
"I'm engaged to you." She stared at the ring, at Margot, at the ring again. "This is real."
Margot took her hand and kissed her palm, her wrist, the spot where the ring sat. "Very real. I can find the receipt if you need proof."
"I don't need proof." Becca pulled her down. "I just need you."
Making love that night felt different.
They'd had sex plenty of times over the past year. Frantic reunion sex after Becca's trips back to LA to close out her old apartment. Slow Sunday morning sex when neither of them had anywhere to be. Comfort sex after hard days. Celebration sex after good ones.
But this was something else. This was engaged sex. This was we're going to spend our lives together sex. Every touch felt weighted with meaning, every kiss a promise.
Margot kissed down Becca's body with devastating slowness. She paused at each of Becca's favorite spots: the curve of her breast, the dip of her waist, the inside of her thigh. By the time her mouth reached its destination, Becca was already shaking.
"Please," she gasped.
"Please what?"
"Please, I need—"
Margot's tongue found her, and Becca stopped being able to form words.
She'd learned Becca's body so thoroughly this past year. Knew exactly how much pressure, exactly where, exactly when to slide two fingers inside and crook them. Becca arched off the bed, one hand fisted in the sheets, the other reaching down to tangle in Margot's hair.
"Margot—"
"I know. Let go."
She did. The orgasm crashed through her, longer than usual, deeper, pulling sounds from her throat that she couldn't control. Margot didn't stop, holding her steady through every aftershock, until Becca had to push at her shoulder.
"Easy—I need a second—"
Margot rose over her, pressing a kiss to her navel, her sternum, her throat, before settling against Becca's mouth. "Good?"
"Earth-shattering." Becca was still trembling. She rolled them over, settling on top without a word. From this angle, she could see Margot spread out beneath her: flushed, disheveled, beautiful. "I want to make my fiancée feel good."
Margot's breath stuttered at the word. "That's—say that again."
"Fiancée." Becca kissed her collarbone. "My fiancée." Her breast. "My soon-to-be wife." Her stomach. "The woman I'm going to marry."
"Becca—"
"Come here." Instead of sliding lower, Becca pulled Margot up so they were both sitting, face to face, legs tangled. She shifted until they were pressed together, skin to skin, Margot's legs wrapped around her waist.
"Like this?" Margot whispered, her eyes searching Becca's face.
"Like this. I want to see you."
They moved together. No hands, no separation. Just their bodies pressed close, rocking into each other, finding a rhythm that built slowly. Becca's forehead rested against Margot's, their breath mingling, noses brushing with every shift.
It was the most intimate thing they'd ever done. No distance between them. Just warmth and pressure and the slow, devastating friction of being as close to another person as it was possible to get.
"I love you," Becca said, and it came out ragged, broken up by the rolling of their hips. "I love you, I love you—"
"I know." Margot's arms tightened around her. Her breath was coming fast now, her hips moving with more urgency. "I feel it. Every day. I feel it."
The pleasure was building for both of them, shared and mutual, every shift of their bodies amplifying the other's response. Becca could feel when Margot was close by the way her rhythm stuttered, the way her fingers dug into Becca's back.
"Together?" Becca gasped.
"Always."
They came within a breath of each other, holding on, foreheads pressed together, eyes open.
The orgasm moved through Becca like a wave, long and slow, and she watched Margot's face as her own hit: the way her composure shattered completely, the sound she made against Becca's mouth, the tears that spilled down her cheeks.
They stayed like that for a long time, wrapped around each other, trembling, breathing each other's air.
"You're crying," Becca whispered.
"Happy tears." Margot wiped at her face. "I'm going to be your wife."
Becca's chest was too full. Too much happiness, too much love, too much everything. She'd spent so long being told she was too much, and here was this woman, this incredible woman, telling her she was exactly enough.
"I love you," she whispered. "So much. Forever."
"Forever's a long time."