Page 89 of Desperately Seeking Mr. Darcy
“I kept it,” he says.
“You ... kept it,” I repeat, sounding like a confused parrot. “But why?”
“Because I wanted to.”
“I don’t understand,” I say, looking down at the letter, shaking my head in confusion.
“Although I may not have realized it then, I think my heart has always belonged to you. That’s why I kept it.”
I hold the paper to my chest, touched beyond words that he held onto this silly letter I wrote when I was a love-struck teen. And now I’m an adult, fully in love with this man sitting next to me.
I reach for him, but he stands up from the bench and then, turning toward me, he gets down on one knee.
“Oh,” I say on a breath, my heart picking up its pace and my eyes suddenly filling with tears.
Zane takes me by the hand. “You gave me your heart once, Macey. I’ve just been waiting for the right time to give you mine.”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a ring, the oval-shaped diamond catching the light, even in the dim glow.
I let out a little whimper, feeling sort of overwhelmed, but in the best way.
“So,” he says, his voice wobbling just slightly. “Macey Bennet, will you marry me?”
“Oh,” I say again, a hand going to my mouth as a lone tear travels down my face.
“Oh?” he says, giving me a questioning look. “Not exactly the answer I was hoping for.”
I shake my head. “Can you just give me a second?” I take a trembling breath, closing my eyes and trying to imprint this moment in my mind—every tiny detail—forever.
“Of course,” he says. “But you should know that if you turn me down, I’m never wearing a cravat for you again.”
I open my eyes then. “You thought I’d turn you down?”
“Well ... no. I mean, I hoped you wouldn’t.”
“Zane,” I say, leaning in, grabbing him by the back of his neck, and placing a kiss on his lips.
“Is that a yes?” he asks when we pull away.
“Yes,” I say. “It’s definitely a yes.”
He places the ring on my finger, and I hold my hand out in front of me, astonished that this is real, that I’m back in this magical place, dressed up in Regency costumes, and the man I love has just asked me to marry him.
I always wanted the kind of love that Jane Austen wrote about, to find a hero like those in her stories, but the real thing is so much better.
Sorry, Mr. Darcy—Zane Porter wins, hands down.
“I guess this means you’re stuck with me now,” he teases me.
“As long as you promise to put on breeches every now and then, I think I’m okay with that,” I say.
“That, I can do,” he replies, smiling mischievously before pulling me in for another kiss.
THE END
