Don't Speak (A Modern Fairytale, #5)(128)
“Even when I lost you, I didn’t stop lovin’ you, Laire. All it took was a glimpse of your face for every feelin’ I ever had to come rushin’ back so fast, I could hardly bear to let you out of my sight.”
Tears cascaded down her face, and she nodded at him, her smile so true and so lovely, it took his breath away.
“I don’t want to live another day without you. I don’t want this life if you’re not in it. I want to wake up next to you every mornin’ and make love to you every night. And every moment in between, I want to know that you’re mine and I’m yours and we’re the only family we’ll ever need.”
A small sob squeaked through her lips as she nodded.
“And if you need time, darlin’, that’s okay. Because we’ve always followed our own rules. And I’m not goin’ anywhere ever again, unless you’re goin’ with me.”
Her hand was shaking, but damn, she looked so beautiful, part of him wished he had more to say, just so he could kneel at her feet a while longer, looking up at his mermaid, the freckled, red-haired girl who had captured his heart so long ago.
“You ready?” he asked, grinning up at her, hoping against hope that their happy ending was just within reach.
She nodded and kept nodding as he asked, “Will you marry me, darlin’?”
She had started nodding halfway through his proposal, but now she managed, through tears and laughter, to answer, “Yes.”
Smiling up at her, Erik took the ring from its pillow and slipped it onto her finger, the two-karat diamond, flanked by two emerald-cut sapphires, catching the moonlight as she wiggled her fingers experimentally. “Ahhh, Erik. It’s so beautiful.”
Reaching for her other hand, he stood up, looking down at her face, lit by the moon and the stars, yes, but also lit by the spirit of this amazing woman who was the mother of his child and his future bride, on earth and into eternity.
“Yes,” he said, cupping her sweet face and leaning down to claim her lips with his, “it is.”
EPILOGUE
Valentine’s Day
Finding an apartment in New York City wasn’t quite as simple as Laire had planned.
She had always imagined that she and Ava Grace would live in a simple walk-up not too far from Madame Scalzo’s midtown offices, and she’d drop Ava Grace off at school each day on her way to work. But Erik was accustomed to a different way of life altogether, and his trust fund, combined with the salary he’d be making at Dryer & Wolverton, LLC, the premier entertainment law firm of New York, meant that they could set their sights a little higher.
Though it felt like an undue extravagance to Laire, they’d finally agreed on a three-bedroom, three-bathroom, two-floor apartment in the Atria, a luxury doorman building in the Murray Hill neighborhood. Erik liked the fitness center, Ava Grace liked the indoor children’s playground, and Laire liked the rooftop garden, where she could see the East River when she was feeling homesick for the sea. When Erik tried to insist on private school, however, Laire put her foot down, telling him that the local public school—one of the newest in New York City—was the right choice for Ava Grace. It was going to be hard enough convincing their daughter that she wasn’t a princess after the way Erik and Hillary had showered her with gifts. Laire needed to make some decisions to keep Ava Grace grounded.
Then again, she thought, covering her stomach lovingly with her palm, there were other factors that would make sure Ava Grace wasn’t too badly spoiled—sharing her parents, for example, would be good for her.
But for now, just until tonight, when she would share her good news with Erik as a wedding gift, the sweet secret of her pregnancy was hers and hers alone, and she savored it.
The door creaked open, and Laire looked up as Patrick’s wife, Samantha, entered the church’s small bride’s room with two glasses of Champagne, holding one out to her.
“How are the natives?” asked Laire, placing the glass on the dressing table without taking a sip.
“Restless,” said Samantha with a grin. “But thank God Jude’s still asleep. Patrick looks terrified that he’ll wake up any second raise Cain.”
“Any sign of Hillary and Pete yet?”
Samantha shook her head. “Nope. I asked Erik, and he said that their plane got in half an hour ago. I guess they’re in a cab?”
“Probably in traffic,” said Laire, holding out the necklace from the Elizabethan Gardens to her friend. “Can you fasten it around my neck?”
“Mm-hm,” said Samantha, smiling at Laire in the mirror. “I wish Judith could’ve been here today.”
Laire thought wistfully about her two mothers—the mother she’d lost as a child, and dear Judith, who’d been so good to her as a struggling teen and young mother. She wished they were here today too.
Samantha caught Laire’s eyes in the mirror. “I didn’t know if I should ask or not, but . . . your family couldn’t make it?”
The truth? Laire had told her father and sisters about her wedding, but they hadn’t offered to come up and she hadn’t asked them to. Not out of any meanness, but because they would have had to figure out a way to say no. For people who wanted nothing more than to live and die on the same tiny island, a trip to New York City wasn’t the stuff of excitement or adventure, but terror. And asking them wouldn’t be an act of inclusion, but selfishness.