Page 103 of Sweet Chaos
“Dylan threatened to come over and physically drag me out of the shop if I didn’t leave in two point five seconds.” He’s still impatient. Still likes to call the shots and boss me around. Not that I always listen but tonight I did. Three months ago, I opened my own design studio, right next door to The Surf Lodge. I’ve been working long hours, and Dylan has been so busy with work that lately, it feels like we haven’t spent much time together. “So yeah, I’m on my way home.”
I smile just thinking about home, a beachfront Spanish style house that sits on a bluff and overlooks the Pacific Ocean. Even though it was love at first sight, I argued that it was too expensive. Dylan said you can’t put a price tag on happiness. It was his dream house so he bought it and we’ve been living in it for the past year.
“Wait. Why do you ask?”
“Oh. No reason,” Nic says. “Gotta run. Call me tomorrow.”
O-kay. She cuts the call like she’s suddenly in a rush and my music comes back on. It’s a perfect October night, the air still warm, and a big orange moon in the sky. The past year has been a whirlwind and it feels like I’ve barely stopped to take a breath. Except for my relationship with Sienna, which seems to be damaged beyond repair, but not for my lack of trying, life has been good.
One of the biggest surprises of the past year was when my mother finally asked my father for a divorce. He and Cecily are expecting a baby at Christmastime. Good luck to her. I don’t speak to him. There’s nothing to say. As for my mother, she’s become active on the town council now, and she’s finding her voice.
For too many years, my father had oppressed her, and made her feel worthless.
When she left him, she moved out of the house, claiming that she’d always hated it and moved into a beach condo. Over the past year, my mother has gotten to see a different side of Dylan and while I wouldn’t say they’re close, they’ve called a truce. She doesn’t call him a punk anymore and he tries his best to bite his tongue and be cordial when he sees her.
The house is dark when I pull into the driveway. Weird. Dylan usually has all the lights blazing. I park in the garage next to his G-Wagen, grab my bag from the passenger seat, and walk inside the house.
“Dylan?” I call out as I move through the rooms. I’ve injected color into his monochrome design and decorated the house in a modern vintage style. Midnight blue, jungle green, dashes of blush pink and brushed gold. Like my website. My aesthetic. He was happy to let me have free rein.
The scent of garlic and tomato sauce wafts from the kitchen but he’s not in there. Not that he actually cooks. But he’s good at ordering takeout.
I stop in the living room, my eyes going to the open glass doors where he’s standing, waiting for me by a table set for two on the terrace. There must be a hundred candles dotted around the terrace and the infinity pool, the flames dancing in the sea breeze, shedding light into the darkness. And there he is, looking like every fantasy I’ve ever had. He still makes my knees weak. Still takes my breath away.
“What’s going on?” I ask. He’s wearing a plain white tee and faded jeans. “Did you cook?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “Yeah. Got the recipe from Nic.” He carves a hand through his hair and lifts one of the silver domes like this is a restaurant and he’s the maitre d’. Where did he even get those silver covers? I stare at the food on the plate. It’s my favorite. Chicken Milanese with a side of spaghetti. It looks perfect. Amazing. “Not promising it’s any good.”
It will be good. Dylan doesn’t half-ass anything. He replaces the lid to keep it from getting cold and I’m confused as to what’s happening.
“Are we, um… eating? I mean… what’s the occasion?”
“You are. You’re the occasion, Starlet.” He takes my face in his hands and I stare at his gorgeous face. His pouty lips and chiseled jaw and sharp cheekbones.
“Are you happy?” He’s serious, I know it from his tone and his expression, but I’m shocked that he still feels the need to ask.
“I’m so happy. Because I have you.” I have a million other good things too but he’s the most important one.
“I never want you to regret choosing me.”
“I never will,” I say with complete certainty. “I will always choose you. Again and again and again.”
“Thank God you said that. Otherwise, this could be awkward as fuck.”
Before I can process what’s happening, he’s dropped to one knee. Dylan St. Clair is on one knee in front of me. He’s holding a small velvet box and I’m dying.
Dying.
“Dylan, what—”
“Shh. Let me talk.” I nod, just now realizing that an acoustic version of “Wicked Games”, a female cover, is piping over the surround sound. He’s planned all of this. For me. And even as he starts talking, I can’t fully concentrate on the words because I’m so overwhelmed by it all.
“I love you, Starlet. There’s nothing in this world I wouldn’t do to make you happy. I would move heaven and earth for you. I know there will be times when I’ll fuck up. I’m still an asshole sometimes. Doubt that will ever change. But I can promise you that I will always be loyal and honest and true to you. I will always fight for you. You’re my firsttruelove. Until you came along, all I’d ever seen of love was the bad shit. You showed me what real love looks like. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Only you. Always and forever.”
My hand covers my mouth, the lump in my throat so big I can’t speak.
“Fucking say something.”
“Oh. Well... you didn’t ask me a question.”
