Sweet Rome (Sweet Home, #1.5)(95)

Cupping her face, I told her, “But what I want is you. Everything I want is with you. You’re my ‘one day.’”

She handed me an envelope from her pocket, and a small smile set on her lips. “Your ‘one day’ is finally here.”

I immediately ripped it open and read the short paragraph:



Miss Shakespeare,

We at the University of Washington, Seattle, are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted on the PhD program for Religious Philosophy. To confirm your place, please contact us using one of the methods below.



My heart pounded and my hands were actually shaking. Looking up at my girl, I couldn’t digest it. She was coming with me? She’d done this for me?

But… how?

Her gaze was expectant, but all I could get out of my mouth was, “You… Does…? What?”

Giggling, she removed the letter from my frozen hands and said, “I also applied to Seattle. When Doctor Adams, all those months ago, mentioned there was a possibility of you going there, I researched into how the draft worked and took a calculated chance on Seattle. I didn’t want to say, just in case it didn’t work out. But it’s just paid off. I’m coming to Seattle with you, baby. You’re looking at the newest PhD student of philosophy. I sent my email confirmation about twenty-five minutes ago.”

Fuck. As she said those words, I realized we’d done it. Against all the odds, against every obstacle thrown our way—the loss and all the pain—we’d friggin’ done it. We’d both gotten what we wanted and we were still together.

Unable to contain my happiness, I smashed my lips against hers and my mind drifted to the one last missing step. I wanted Molly forever, and in my heart I knew there was only one thing that would make everything perfect.

Breaking away from her lips, I stared my girl right in the eyes and said, “Marry me.”

Her mouth dropped in shock and she stuttered, “W-what?”

Holding her face in my hands, I repeated, “Marry me. Marry me tomorrow, tonight, as quickly as we can. Just… f*ckin’ marry me, Shakespeare. Let me make you officially mine.”

“But… But…”

I pressed her against the wall and reiterated, “I love you. I love you more than anything. I can’t and won’t be without you ever again. I want to give you everything possible. I want to give you happiness… I want to one day give you children… Marry me. Be with me. Have forever… with me.”

Her breath came quick as I kept my gaze locked on hers. A wash of contentment settled over her face, and then she made my f*cking life.

“Yes!” she cried.

“Say it again.” I needed to hear that one small—but powerful—word once more… just to be sure.

“Yes. Of course I’ll marry you!” She giggled and I kissed her with everything I had until she chuckled against my lips.

“What the hell are you laughing at now, Shakespeare?” I asked, her happiness becoming infectious.

“That the two ill-fated lovers—in our story—found a way to be together against all the odds, all of the obstacles, finally getting their happily ever after.”

Fucking Romeo and Juliet…

Ah, whatever. My girl wanted a fairy tale? She could damn well have one. Holding her close, I whispered, “For never was a truer story of love conquering woe than this of Molly Juliet and her Romeo.”

We both paused for a moment, gazes locked, before we burst out in laughter.

“And where, Romeo Prince, did you learn that?”

Shrugging, I answered, “Google. Where else!” Molly couldn’t stop herself from giggling.

Bringing her left hand to my mouth, I kissed her bare ring finger. “You need a ring.”

“It’s okay. We’ll sort it later. I don’t need a ring yet. I’m happy with just having you.”

“Fuck that!” I said a bit too loudly. “We’re sorting it right now.”

“But… but… the draft…”

“Is done. We’re going to Seattle. No need to stay here any longer, and right now we’re getting you a ring.” I paused and looked down at my flustered fiancé—f*ck! my fiancé—and a question came to mind. “Or should we just get married now?”

Swallowing, she whispered, “What? Where?”

I shrugged. “Vegas? We can be there in a couple of hours.” The excitement that thought brought was almost too much to take. She could be my wife in a couple of hours.

“No,” she said in a low voice, and the excitement within me faded.

“No?”

Clutching my hand, she said, “I want to marry you, as soon as possible, but not at some cheap chapel or by some dodgy fat Elvis!”

Pulling her to my chest and wrapping my fist in her hair, I asked, “Then where?”

Smiling sadly, she said, “My parents eloped to Gretna Green.”

“Where the f*ck is that?”

“Scotland.”

Scotland? Fine, whatever. “Done. We’ll get the next flight out.”

Shaking her head but laughing this time, she said, “No. I’m joking. I don’t want that. I want us to have our own story. I want us to make our own memories. I want this wedding to be done right.”