Page 50 of Love You Truly

The way she’s standing here impatiently waiting for me to make good on whatever is supposed to accompany an engagement ring, I stammer some more and think about that damned Cyrano play again and try to remember any of the lines that could help me here. Unfortunately, I have a shit memory, and I’m on my own with only a jingle for a fast food hamburger chain running through my mind.

Time to get creative.

I drop to one knee and gaze upward, tracing the long, tanned leg to where it gives way to Mallory’s curves and, finally, her gorgeous face.

Mallory doesn’t react to my position. Maybe she thinks I dropped something or I need to tie my shoe. Maybe she’s waiting for me to grab some other random get-to-know-you item and ask her more irrelevant questions.

“Mallomar, in the time I’ve gotten to know you a little bit, I have to say you’ve surprised me. You don’t let people see the real you, but I like the glimpses I’ve caught. And I’m looking forward to getting to know you better. I know this is all a business deal for both of us, but you still deserve a real engagement. A story you can tell people about when they ask.”

I gesture to the flowers and the smoothie as though they’d make any sort of a decent engagement story. But when I look back at her, she’s motionless and focused on me.

Her mouth drops open, and her hand goes to her chest. “Dash, this is really sweet of you.”

“You deserve a real proposal for our fake engagement.” I stop myself when I hear how ridiculous it sounds. “I know that’s probably weird…”

“It’s not. Thank you.” Her soft, kind voice emboldens me to finish what I came here to do.

Gesturing around us, I take in the rolling green acres of farmland, and a different kind of calm settles over me than I feel when I’m at Buttercup Hill. This place is all unmanicured, fertile green patches of plants. It isn’t a business yet, just open land, the fresh scent of loamy soil, and a dozen types of plants and grasses. There’s freedom in that and I like how it feels. Messy and untamed like Mallory, who doesn’t suffer fools.

“You could do so much with this.” I gesture around us. “Dry farmed vines, grazing patches for animals, a sustainable agriculture incubator, educational walking tours.”

She smiles. “I love all of that. You have a good eye.”

It screams potential, and for the first time, I feel proud to be helping Mallory do what she wants with it. I don’t have much say at Buttercup Hill, but this…this feels like a fresh start.“I don’t just want to be another guy who admires you from afar. I want to be the guy who sits across the table from you at dinner and hears about the boring parts of your day. I want to be the first one to see you smile when you get good news. And I want to be the guy who helps you build this place into your dream.”

My words take on a life of their own as I say them, but I mean every word.

That’s why I stop talking. I realize I’m professing real feelings, or at least words that sound like real feelings, and that’s not the point here.

I want to seal it all with a kiss. I want to do so much more, but none of that is part of our arrangement. We’re not in public, and there’s no public benefit to pulling her into my arms and kissing the hell out of her, despite what I might want to do.

When my gaze returns to her face, I notice her soft jaw and glassy eyes. I allow myself to think that maybe, possibly, this could be a real moment between us. She licks her lips like she’s getting ready for the kind of kiss I’m aching to give her.

The moment hangs heavy between us. Nothing stops me from kissing her except the fear of future awkwardness if I’m wrong about how she feels. We have a wedding and a marriage ahead of us, and I don’t want to ruin it because I can’t keep my hands to myself.

So I swallow down my impulse and take the ring out of the box.

“It’s not an engagement if you’re not wearing my ring, so let’s see if it fits.”

She tentatively holds out her hand but snatches it back before I can slip the ring on. “Wait, aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Am I?”

“You didn’t actually ask me to marry you.”

A smile pulls at my lips because I love that she wants the whole proposal, not just the ring or a few canned lines.

“Mallory Rutherford, I want you until the end of days. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

She starts nodding before I get all the words out. “Yes. Yes, I will, Dashiell Corbett.”

I slide the ring onto her finger and feel like I’ve conquered something huge. Maybe my own fears. I don’t know why I’m filled with deep feelings over a ring. It’s a wonder how this tiny piece of jewelry carries so much weight and how wars are fought and won over women who possess a fraction of the beauty of the one standing before me.

Mallory holds the ring up to the light, inspecting the flawless solitaire, emerald cut diamond. I spent more than I needed to, but I didn’t want anyone to doubt my intentions or question my sincerity. Especially her.

“For the record, you got it right,” Mallory says, her eyes never leaving the ring as she picks up the flowers and tugs one red bloom from the bunch.

“You like red flowers,” I confirm, feeling lucky the bright batch that caught my eye happens to be what she likes.

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