Page 74 of Glitter Rose
His hand stills on my thigh. “Would I be here if I didn’t?”
Not a direct answer. I study his face.
“Yes.” He sets the spoon down. “I meant it. Every word. I’ve been here for months. Working my way in. Until I could get you out safely.”
“Months?”
“I couldn’t reach you without blowing my cover. Do you have any idea how hard it was to see you every day and not—And that fucker Mike following you. I’m sorry it took so long.”
“Did you—the blue box…”
“Did you find it?”
“I thought I was hallucinating again.” I roll away to reach the bedside drawer, fishing out the small Tiffany blue box.
He takes it, and a lump forms in my throat as he opens the box, revealing the princess-cut diamond nestled inside.
“Where did you even find this?” I whisper.
“Jewelry store, three blocks from your penthouse.” He plucks the ring from its satin bed. “Was going to surprise you that morning, before…” He takes my left hand, thumb stroking over my knuckles. “Can I?”
I stare at the diamond, catching the dim light, my heart hammering so hard I swear it might break through my ribs. A Tiffany blue box. The stupid, silly dream I’d confessed in the safety of my penthouse, before zombies and Gabriel and four months of hell.
“Knox…”
His eyes hold mine, waiting, the question still hanging between us. The ring hovers at my fingertip.
I nod frantically, my hand shaking as he guides the ring onto my fourth finger—I can’t believe this is happening. It’s a bit loose, my body having shed weight it couldn’t afford to lose, but it stays in place.
“Are we married now?” I half-laugh, half-sob.
“If you want to be.”
“I don’t even know if marriage exists anymore.”
“Then we’ll make our own rules.” He brings my hand to his lips, kissing the ring. “This is my promise to you. I will never leave you behind. I will burn this place to the ground before I let anyone hurt you.”
“Pretty romantic for the apocalypse.” I curl into him again, resting my head on his chest. “What happens now?”
“Now.” He drapes the blanket over us. “We get you out of here.”
For the first time in four months, I feel something dangerous spread through my chest.
Hope.
“I don’t have glitter anymore,” I murmur.
He laughs softly, the sound rumbling through his chest beneath my ear. “We’ll get you more. All the glitter in the fucking world, princess.”
SEVENTEEN
KNOX
Lab 3 sits at the end of the east corridor like a tomb. I slip inside, closing the door behind me with barely a sound. The lab is bathed in the blue glow of emergency lighting, casting everything in underwater shadows.
Min-ji stands near a centrifuge, her slight frame rigid with tension. Miller hovers by a computer terminal, fingers tapping nervously against his thigh.
And Ramirez—Gabriel’s fucking right hand—leans against a lab table, arms crossed over his chest.
