Page 226 of Overcast

“The wrong one? How do you—”

“Love is blinding and ignorant, you didn’t know everything you were getting yourself into.”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“You sure about that?” I raise a brow. “I just told you I killed Reagan’s father, and I wasn’t even an adult yet.”

“Yes.” She inserts pressure on my hand.

“Alright—” I begin to lower myself onto my good knee, but a sharp pain hits the one with a bullet lodged into it, allowing a grunt to escape my lips.

“Marty,” Stormi begins, resting a hand on my side. “There—”

“I need you to marry me, Stormi. I can never let you go again—ever. I’ll do anything you want me to do, baby. I’m fucking begging you to say yes.”

Her lips part in shock because this is the least romantic thing a man could ever do.

Hell, there are several dead bodies in this room right now, but I didn’t plan this. I just want it—more than anything.

Stormi stares at me, dumbfounded, and sucking in all the air with her lack of a response.

“Is this where you torture me with silence?” I ask. “Because...it’s working.”

She shakes her head, and my heart drops.

I don’t blame her.

I’m a fucking wrecking ball engulfed in fire that’s swinging aimlessly around wanting to cause destruction.

But it was worth a damn shot.

“Then the bunker it is,” I deadpan.

“Marty,” she mutters, chin tucked into her chest. Her cheeks pinked, worry casts over her features, and my hand comes up to tip her face to me.

“You don’t have to say yes, Stormi. I can take you back home. I can stay at your side from a distance to protect you from anything. I can—”

“Stop.” She lets out a harsh exhale then averts her gaze from me. “You don’t want to marry me.”

“What? Of course, I want to—”

“I’m not who you want, just someone who can deal with it. I’m boring and naive. I’m not exciting or—”

“You’re everything,” I quip. “You’ve never wanted to get married?”

“Never thought about it much until...I thought you were going to kill me.”

My inner caveman begins to beat his chest because I want to throw her over my shoulder and tell her to start thinking about it again.

“I’ll marry you.”

“Well, if—wait...what?”

“I said—” She erases the rest of the space between us. “—I’ll marry you. But only if you promise to come home to me everytime you go on whatever you go.”

“Say it one more time.”

“I’ll marry you, Emric Ivanov. I’ll marry all of you.”

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