Chapter 23 #3
I huff a laugh at her little joke. "Best way to wake up ever."
She nuzzles the underside of my chin with her nose. “Welcome to the rest of our lives."
“On that note,” I murmur. "Hold that thought."
"Huh?" she mutters. "Hold what thought?”
"Welcome to the rest of our lives," I repeat, leaning off the bed to snag the handle of my duffle and drag it to the side of the bed, where I rummage through it.
"Kills?" she asks, her voice level and even, indicating extreme curiosity. "Whatcha lookin' for, babe?" She rests her chin on the curve of my ass as I hang off the bed, watching me dig through the bag.
"There's not that much shit in here," I mutter. "Shouldn't be this hard to find it. I know for a fact I put it—hah! Here it is."
I conceal it from her, hiding it in the mess of wadded-up clothes I shoved in there.
I unwrap the roughly four hundred layers of Saran Wrap around the Ziploc bag I used to protect it, hiding it in my hands as I roll to my back and pull Story onto my chest.
"You're being a little secretive over there, babe,” she mutters. “Gonna share?"
"Share?" I echo. “No. This is just for you.”
She frowns at me. "Well now I’m really curious. What do you have?"
Nerves crackle through my veins, making my blood feel effervescent. I suck in a deep, shaky breath.
She hears the shake. "Killy? You're making me nervous. What's going on?"
"I, um. Before we left, I ran into your mom."
"My mom?" She's more confused than ever.
“Yeah." I keep the object hidden between my palm and thigh, under the blanket, until I'm ready to show it to her.
"She's had something super important that she's kept safe for you until it was the right time.
I…I've debated this for a while now, and I know this is probably a stupid way to do it, but I can't wait anymore.
I just can't. Yesterday, last night, and now this morning?
All I can think of is how fucking insanely in love with you I am. "
"Aw god, Killy. I love you too."
"I knew—the second I felt that syringe poke my neck, I knew that my life was going to change. I just…I had no clue how much."
"Killy—"
I kiss her quiet. "Shush, baby, please. Just…just let me get this out.”
"Okay." She nuzzles my cheek and kisses my cheekbone. "I'll just do this, then." She kisses me softly, everywhere—lips, chin, ears, eyes, cheeks, jaw, neck, throat, chest, forehead, endless soft loving kisses as I fumble for the right words.
"You're everything to me, Story. You're my past, my present, and my future." I swallow a hot lump, panting as my eyes burn and my heart crashes in my chest. "I just…I fucking love you. I don’t remember a time I wasn’t in love with you. I’ll love you until the end of time."
"Killian?" Her voice shakes.
I bring the object out, open it one-handed. It's a tiny box of crushed red velvet; the velvet is old and faded to a sheen.
Story gasps as the light catches the diamonds within—the ring is not really anything super special to look at.
It's a simple, small, square-cut diamond, maybe half a carat at most, with three tiny diamonds to either side. But then, it’s not the financial value of the ring that makes it so important.
"It belonged to your mother," I say, my voice soft. “Your birth mother, I mean.”
A brief, fraught silence follows my statement.
"Killy, you mean…"
"After…what happened…" I say, hedging around getting too deep into the emotional minefield of the mall shooting, “Selah somehow managed to get a hold of this. I have no idea how, and she didn’t say—there wasn't time."
She sits upright and reaches for the ring box—I let her take it, and she holds it in both cupped palms, staring at the engagement ring nestled within with an extraordinarily complex set of emotions on her face; I can read the onslaught of emotions cascading and shredding through her like shrapnel in a tornado.
"There was a lot of confusion in the weeks after the shooting,” she says.
“It's all super vague and hazy to me now—I was really young, after all.
I ended up at a temporary foster home for a few weeks.
I had nothing—none of my stuff. I never got any of it, actually, and I've never had anything of my birth parents’, either.
I don't know how Mom ended up finding me. I just remember sitting on a front stoop, waiting for I didn’t know what with a trash bag full of hand-me-down clothes and a raggedy old stuffed owl one of the other foster kids gave me so I'd stop crying all the time. The sidewalk was cracked and humped from a tree root; I remember that.” Her voice is distant—remembering.
"I hated that house—I don't know why. I just remember hating it.
And then this awesome Wrangler pulled up.
I remember the tires were big and knobby and the wheels were super shiny chrome.
Mom got out, and I just remember thinking very clearly, ‘Wow, she's so beautiful.
I wish I could be as beautiful as her someday.
' And then she came right up to me and crouched in front of me, and she asked if I remembered her. "
"Did you?"
She nods. "Yes, of course. At that point, she was the only thing I could remember clearly. My brain had blocked everything else out, I was told later. The rest—or most of it, at least—came back later through therapy. All I could remember at the time was Mom, Selah, I mean, taking care of me.” A pause, a shaky breath.
“She sat down next to me and she asked if I wanted to go live with her forever.
I couldn't believe it." She looks at me, then. "She's had this the whole time?”
I nod. "Apparently. I guess she was waiting for the right time to give it to you, and decided that this was it."
She frowns. "By way of you?"
I gently take the box back, and pluck the ring out. "Well, yeah. I asked your dad for your hand, after all."
Her eyes snap to mine. "Killian…what?"
Sitting cross-legged and naked on the bed facing her, I take her left hand and kiss her ring finger. "Will you marry me?"
A bark of shocked laughter bursts out of her, and she claps a hand over her mouth. "You asked Dad for my hand in marriage?"
I snort. "Yes, Story." I pause. "Didja miss the question?"
"No! I mean yes!" She covers her face with both hands, lets out a steadying breath, and then gives me a long, loving look, extending her hand to me. “Sorry. Yes, Killian Harris. Of course I'll marry you."
I slide the ring on her finger—it's a tight fit over her knuckle but then loose once it's past.
"When did you ask him?” she says, holding her hand out so the light catches the diamond.
“Just before we left. I packed and asked one of the guys to bring the boat around while I got supplies together. And then I went to their villa and sat them down and asked Anselm for your hand in marriage."
"I bet they were confused."
I laugh. "Not at all. Your mom burst into tears, ran off, and came back with that. Said she brought it down on a hunch."
"A hunch?" she repeats, sounding surprised.
I laugh. “Well, she said 'hoonch' but yes."
Story snort-laughs. "My skepticism was the word, not the pronunciation, you goof."
I shrug. “It was her word. She had a hunch that I was gonna ask you."
"What did Dad say?"
"That…" my throat goes tight and I clear it gruffly before continuing. "That he would be honored to consider me a son. He said…he said he sees how happy you are with me. How good we are for each other. He said that he couldn't imagine anyone more perfect for you than me."
"Neither can I," Story says, and then leans this way and that, looking out of the open door as if looking for someone or something.
"What are you looking for?" I say, amusement tingeing my voice.
"The priest or reverend or whatever. I want to marry you right now."
I laugh and pull her down to the bed, pin her, and kiss her. "I think your parents and mine would probably like to be involved.”
She caresses my cheek. “Yeah, maybe. I just want to be Mrs. Story Harris."
“I dunno.” I frown. "You should keep Binyamin. A hyphen, maybe, if you really want. But…yeah. You should definitely keep Binyamin."
She sniffles, tears filling her eyes. “Really?"
“God yes. Of course! She adopted you out of a hellish situation. It's…your bond with her is incredibly unique and special, and that name is part of it."
"Story Binyamin-Harris," she murmurs. "I like it."
"Me too."
She gazes up at me, eyes glittering wet. "God, I love you. I didn't think I could love you any more, and then you go and propose to me with my birth mother's engagement ring." She cradles my nape and pulls me down for a kiss. "You're everything. You know that?"
She reaches between us and finds me and brings me to life and fits me inside her and I fill her with myself, and then we're together again and moving and breathing and kissing as one, and it's slow and lazy and loving and takes forever for us to find our completion together.
Her eyes never leave mine. She caresses me and clasps me to her breasts as I lose myself in her all over again, and when we're both panting and sweaty and finished, she pets my back and shoulders, kisses me softly and endlessly.
"Welcome to forever," I whisper.
She only nuzzles closer, nestled against me, hands exploring, fingers tracing, trailing.
"Forever and a day, please," she whispers back. “Because forever just isn't gonna be long enough."
No, it really won't be.