Page 102 of Devious Eyes
“What?”
I beckon her with my hand then grab her as she grumbles about something, pulling her through the ankle-deep water until she’s standing beside me. Her hands fly to her mouth instantly, feet moving back a little. “If you’llhaveme, Gabriella Alves.”
Her eyes swing to mine, shock written all over them. I’m not surprised. Keeping this from her has been a covert op all in itself, something Den was all over like a rash with his fucking earpiece.
“Are you…” Still she stands there, apparently speechless. I’m not sure if it’s a good thing or not as I watch her feet move again, this time forward. “But you…How did you…?”
She walks over to the middle of the beach, leaving me with nothing but what she’s not saying as she makes her way to the floral arch. I gaze on, unsure how this is going to play out, and slowly begin walking to the shore, giving her some room to make decisions. If it were up to me there would be nothing to consider, nothing to even think about, but this is Gabby. Her decision. Her future. And one with me means all the shit that comes with my name.
She stands beneath the arch and fiddles with the flowers for a while, eventually turning to look at me as I wait for her answer. So fucking beautiful. Always has been, right from that very first night before anything got in our way. And her fingers touching the flower in her hair, a light laugh following the move, makes me sigh for the future I wish I could offer her rather than what we’ll have with my name involved.
“You haven’t officially asked, though,” she says quietly.
I smirk and make my way over, damn sure I’ll drop onto my knees if that’s what she needs to make this happen, injury or not. She smiles back, a soft lilt to the look as she keeps playing with her flower.
“That what you need?” I ask, pushing aside my phone and drawing the velvet box from my pocket. She nods, nothing more as I brace my hand on my knee to help me down to the sand. She giggles as I stumble a little, the ache in my thigh causing me more damn problems than I’m admitting. I’d tell her to zip it if I wasn’t so damn enamoured by the sound of it, happy to have it filling my air every second of each day.
“Gabriella Alves, will you be my wife?” I ask, lifting the box and opening it.
She doesn’t look at the ring. She drops to her knees instead, arms nearly knocking me over as she pushes me onto my back and straddles across me. My hands close around her instantly, arms wrapping her up into me as we kiss the moment into our minds. That’s what this is. Fuck the actual marriage. I don’t need that. I need her acceptance of it, and these seconds right here, but she can have the words if she needs them to feel at home.
She can have everything if she wants it.
“Oh god, the ring,” she says suddenly, pulling away from me.
Fuck the ring.
I reach for her again, ignoring the cough that comes from the side of us somewhere. It’s only the minister, and he can damn well wait until we’re ready. She looks at him, though, another shocked face. “You mean right now?” she squeals.
I look at the guy, suddenly more interested in making this happen than I thought. “Yeah, right now,” I reply, pushing her up and climbing to my feet. “I’m not giving you a chance to skip out on me again.”
She smiles and laughs, holding her hand up. “Best put it on then.”
It takes a fucking eternity to slip the sapphire onto her finger. For some reason time seems to stall in the moment, her hand shaking as I try to hold it still. No diamonds, not for my little thief. She’ll remember this one because it matches our sea, not because it’s a piece she stole. She’s being given this one, asked to wear it for the rest of her life and never take it off. With any luck she will, making me a happier man by the day because of it.
Another cough breaks me from gazing at it, bringing us both back to the present rather than the peace I was lingering in for a few seconds.
“Are you both ready?” the guy says, a book open in his palm, one hand holding the platinum rings in the middle of it.
“I’m really not dressed for this,” she says, looking me over and gazing at the white linen I’m wearing. I tug her over to the arch again, not giving one fuck for how dressed she is. She’s here, on our beach, alive and breathing with me.
That’s all either of us should care about.
“You won’t be wearing clothes for long anyway,” I reply, thinking of wedding nights as the sun starts dropping lower behind us.
Long nights. Late mornings.
Love.
The minister starts talking as we stand in front of him. I don’t hear the words. All I can see and hear is her. The way she moves. The way she smiles. The way she looks at me as if this is all she’ll ever need. Even the way her breath calmly keeps pushing in and out regardless of all she’s been through, her hand holding mine as we cling onto the moment, forgetting the future for a while.
That’s a Cane woman if I’ve ever seen one.
She glows in this light, not that she ever doesn’t, but something about this moment in time makes her seem luminous against the cliffs around us. It’s the white, or the look of her softened features as she gazes back at me, all care for what has transpired seemingly lost under this event. Love does that, though. Love conquers all, or so I’ve heard.
Certainly feels that way.
We’ll make those children. Walk these beaches. Live and laugh and love, no matter what comes for us. We have to, because nothing is standing in the way of me making her happy, of me giving her a family she can feel safe in.
Gabriella Cane will have everything she’s never had before, and she’ll have it with me.
