Page 227 of Becoming Us
My throat tightened, a fresh wave of emotion pressing behind my ribs.
“You’ve just witnessed that singing isn’t the way,” he added with a watery laugh. “So here’s a list of everything I’ll do for you, for the rest of my life, if you let me.” His voice cracked slightly at the end, and he blinked fast, like he was trying to hold it together.
“I’ll hug you to sleep every single night,” he said, “even when it’s too hot to cuddle. I’ll hold your hand all the time, everywhere we go—we’ll be glued together, just like you like.”
A teary chuckle slipped out of me, small and broken.
“I’ll sit with you when you’re feeling down,” he went on, “and I’ll never question the weight of your sadness. That’s yours to feel—and mine to support. I’ll listen to you talk about anything and everything. I’ll never judge you, even if you change your mind a hundred times. I won’t shy away from hard conversations. And we’ll never go to bed angry, not if I can help it.”
His brow furrowed slightly, like the thought of letting me go to sleep hurting made his chest ache.
“If I’m the one struggling, I’ll tell you. I won’t make you guess. I’ll meet you there, wherever you are, so you won’t have to spiral into doomsday scenarios.”
He paused. Swallowed. His hands flexed nervously, like there was more in his chest than he could get out in one breath.
“But most importantly,” he whispered, “I’ll tell you every single day how much I love you. And I’ll remind you how good you are for me.”
Atty looked at me like I was the only thing that had ever made sense.
“I’ll never stop doing that. Even if it sounds repetitive. Even if people think it’s too much. Maybe we are a little too much,you and me—but I love that about us. Iwantthat. Ichoosethat. Every day, for the rest of our lives.”
His smile wobbled. “Because it’s not too much for me.You’renot too much. You’re just right.”
His hands reached up to brush the tears off my face, thumbs trembling as they swept under my eyes. His gaze moved across my features like he was trying to memorize me all over again, then settled into mine.
“So, Noah Rossi?—”
“Yes,” I said, voice cracking.
Atty let out a soft laugh. “Will you let me ask?”
I gave a halfhearted nod, chest too tight to speak again.
He exhaled slowly. “Will you marry me?”
I didn’t even try to answer with words this time. I leaned forward and kissed him—barely registering the roar of cheers around us.
“Yes, Atty,” I whispered against his lips. “Of course I’ll fucking marry you.”
He kissed me again. And again.
Then he stopped—reaching for the little box, pulling out the ring, and sliding it onto my finger with trembling hands.
I stared up at him, everything in me aching with disbelief. “Is this actually happening?”
He nodded. “It’s real.”
“You sang Madonna for me. There’s a fucking choir behind us singing a song that—by the way—is about blow jobs and orgasms,” I said, dazed, breathless, half-laughing through the chaos of my feelings.
He laughed, too, dimples still going strong, his eyes never leaving mine.
“I was going to do it. I’ve been trying for years,” I said, not quite accusing—more like stunned that he’d somehow managed to beat me to it.
His fingers threaded through my hair, anchoring me in place. “Yes, but you give me this every day. I wanted the performance to be for you this time.”
He was the best fucking man on the planet.
I kissed him again—my stony, fallen-from-heaven angel—feeling him melt against my mouth, into the shape of us. I didn’t want to let go. Not even for a second.
