The Lies That Bind(53)

“Sure…though maybe we should save it?” I say, noticing that it’s Cristal.

“Save it for what?” Matthew says, opening my cabinet and reaching for two champagne flutes.

“For a special occasion…It’s so expensive,” I say, thinking of how much dinner is going to set him back tonight.

Matthew puts the glasses down on the counter, then turns and stares into my eyes. With the most solemn expression, he says, “You’re worth it. We’re worth it.”

I lean up to kiss him, then say, “Okay. Let’s have a glass.”

He nods, pops open the bottle, and pours, going back and forth between the flutes. When he finishes, he hands me one, looking oddly nervous before saying, “I just want to say, one more time, how sorry I am…”

    “For what?” I say.

“For taking us for granted…for being too scared to dive into the deep end.”

I nod and say, “It’s really okay. We’re here now.”

“Yes. We are,” Matthew says. “And I’m never going to mess up like that again….I love you, Cecily.”

My heart feels so warm as I say it back. “I love you, too, Matthew.”

“To second chances,” he says, tapping his glass against mine.

I swallow and nod, thinking that toasts are among the things that I’ll never fully be able to extricate from my memories of Grant. But I push the thought quickly away as Matthew and I lock eyes and both take a sip.

Looking nervous again, he puts his flute down on the counter, his hand shaking a little. “Cecily. I wanted to wait to do this. During dinner…for the right, most perfect moment. Like when I first told you I loved you by that fireplace…but I just can’t wait any longer.”

Then he reaches into his pocket, drops to one knee, and looks up at me. I stare down at him, in total and complete disbelief at what seems to be happening. Then again, maybe he’s just about to give me something else—some sort of promise ring or other piece of jewelry. It doesn’t have to be an engagement ring. But do men kneel if they’re not proposing? I really don’t think so. Realizing I’m holding my breath, I exhale but otherwise remain frozen in place, my eyes wide, my thoughts jumbled and racing.

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, Cess,” he continues. “You’re the most beautiful, kind, intelligent, amazing woman…and I want you to be my wife. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He takes a deep breath, then holds up the most sparkling, gorgeous, brilliant-cut diamond on a gold band inset with a row of smaller diamonds. “Will you marry me, Cecily?”

    I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I have no words. No ability to speak.

“Say something,” he says, his eyes now watery.

“I…I can’t…” I say.

He is still kneeling, and his face falls. “You can’t say anything? Or you can’t marry me?”

“I can’t…even think….” I say, tearing up, too.

Matthew swallows and says, “Well, do you at least…like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” I say, gazing down at it as I feel him staring at me. Despite the insanely complicated feelings I’m experiencing, that simple fact remains. It’s one of the most stunning rings I’ve ever seen. I tell him as much.

“Will you put it on?” he says, a tremor in his voice. “Please?”

“I want to,” I say. “But I don’t think I should.”

He looks so crushed that I add the word yet.

He raises his eyebrows as he gets to his feet. “So that’s…what? A maybe?”

I take a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Yes,” I say with a tiny nod. “It’s a maybe. I just need a little time to process this….I had no idea….I didn’t see this coming….It’s so fast.”

“I understand,” Matthew says. “I know it feels sudden…and I know I agreed we weren’t going to label things.”

I nod, my hands shaking. “Yeah. And this is…this is definitely a label.”

He smiles. “I know…but I feel sure…so sure.”

I look into his eyes, wondering just how sure he is, and whether it can be enough for both of us.

Meanwhile, Matthew carefully places the ring on the counter and hugs me. I hug him back, still overwhelmed and more happy than sad. We stay that way for a long time before we finally separate and head to dinner, with that sparkling ring still sitting on my kitchen counter.



* * *



—

    Over the course of the evening—first at dinner and then back at my place as we get ready for bed—I replay his proposal a hundred times, feeling my maybe creep closer to yes. Meanwhile, Matthew doesn’t mention it once, and although I appreciate his restraint, part of me wants to talk about it.

So I manufacture an excuse, asking him if he’d like to have one more glass of champagne before bed. “It won’t be good in the morning,” I add. “I would hate for it to go to waste.”

Matthew nods and says sure, following me into the kitchen and pulling the bottle from the fridge. As he refills our glasses, I steal a glance at the ring—which Matthew catches.