Chapter 50
Chapter
When I pry my eyes open the next morning, I have an earth-shattering hangover. The sun is stabbing me through my skull.
And Mark Winterson is sitting in a curved hotel chair, fully suited, looking broody. Facing the bed, like maybe he was watching me sleep. He’s leaning forward, elbows on knees, turning a velvet box over and over in his hands. But then he notices I’m awake and slips it in his jacket pocket.
Part of me thinks distantly: Huh, that’s strange? But I’m in too much of a haze to really process it.
“Hey.” The soft brown eyes that make him seem so attentive catch the copious natural light in this hotel room.
“What time is it?” I mumble blearily.
He checks his watch. “Just past noon.”
“Do you have your big meeting soon?” I rub my tender eyes.
“Had it already.” He smiles, and that dimple pops again. “Went great.”
It dawns on me that I’m just wearing a T-shirt and underwear—one of his T-shirts, I see, and I don’t remember how I got into it.
“What…did we do last night?”
“Nothing.” He laughs. “You were out like a light. It was a struggle to get you out of that dress and tuck you in. Here—”
He goes to a room service cart parked by the window, pours some coffee into a mug from a silver pot, and delivers it to me in bed.
I feel ten percent more human as soon as I’ve taken a few sips, even though it’s a bit weird that he’s just standing there watching me drink.
“So I’ve been wanting to ask you something,” Mark Winterson says. He takes the box out of his jacket pocket.
Everything seems to slow. Suddenly all the coffee in the world couldn’t be enough to brace me for this. It’s like I have pins and needles in my stomach, my chest, the inside of my brain.
He goes down on one knee and peers up at me earnestly, holding the box out and popping it open. Nestled inside is a ring glittering with more diamonds than I’ve ever seen in one place.
“Get the fuck out,” I squeak.
“I mean it. I haven’t felt like this about anyone in years. Or maybe ever.” He runs a nervous hand through his perfectly tousled hair. “And I know it probably seems sudden. But…we’re here in Vegas, and—Ruby Ocampo, will you marry me?”
My brain is a total fog. I can’t feel my fingers, and it’s hard to get enough air in my lungs.
“I—I didn’t think you’d be a shotgun wedding person,” I stammer. “Thought you’d want something fancy. Maybe at a vineyard. With all the chairs?”
His brows lift. “Not sure chairs figured into it for me. Do you want all the chairs?”
That makes me laugh despite my mounting panic.
“I mean, at least for me,” he says, putting a hand over his heart, “I’m not going to be more sure than this.”
He sets the open ring box down beside me on the comforter, like maybe looking at the dazzling specimen will convince me.
A sick feeling of relief seeps into my sore muscles. Here’s something I can do to fix Mom’s situation.
It could be my last chance to help her move on. And when will I have an opening this clear again?
Mark Winterson’s still down on one knee, his absurdly handsome face turned toward me.
“And I’ve learned, in life—” He reaches for my hand and rubs a thumb along my palm. “You shouldn’t hesitate, once you’re sure.”
What does marriage even mean, with divorce rates as high as they are? I can go through with it and then immediately work on getting out of it.
You liked him well enough for a while, right? You can fold yourself up into this shape for a bit longer? Grit down, persevere, almost there, almost there—
My heart beats faster, and my head aches. I close my eyes and see Greg hiding under my desk, beside me on the swings, hugging me in my kitchen. I promised him: Just one more weekend. I feel like I’m going to throw up.
I’m saying goodbye to him, if I do this. He’ll never forgive me.
But can I stand always wondering if this one decision is the reason Mom gets stuck at work forever? Can I live with myself if I knew I had the chance and didn’t take it?
“Ruby,” Mark Winterson says, squeezing my hand. “Are you all right?”
“Yes! Yes, my answer is yes,” I blurt in a fevered rush.
Mark Winterson grins, relieved, and throws his arms around me, hugging me tight, kissing me. He slides the ring onto my finger, and I feel nauseous.
“Fantastic,” he says, standing and brushing his hands together like he’s dusting them off.
A job well done. “I have to take care of one more work thing. Our appointment at the chapel is at two-thirty. You should eat something.” He nods toward the room service cart, a silver domed lid sitting on a tray.
“And I got you a dress.” He retrieves that mysterious second garment bag and holds it up. “There’s a veil in here. And…”
He opens the closet and takes out a bouquet densely packed with pink and yellow blooms, and sets it down at the foot of the bed.
Wow, he really had this all planned. It’s kind of scary.
“Get dressed and wait for me on the casino floor downstairs? You can meditate at the slot machines,” he says with a crooked smile, taking out his wallet and handing me a few hundred-dollar bills like it’s nothing. “I’ll come get you.”