Page 68 of Saving His Heart
“Sweetheart?”
Holding up a hand, she doesn’t turn around as she follows in GG’s path. “I-I need some time, Preston. Please.”
“Okay,” comes out in a croak as I choke on my own sadness.
How did you fuck this up so badly?
Chapter 28
Emory
“Then Claira-Rose thought she would be funny and wrapped a condom around Ted Johnson’s tailpipe at the senior center. I’ll be damned, that thing just got bigger and bigger, I swear it would have fit Monty’s—”
“And that’s where we call it a night, GG,” Preston finally interrupts, standing to gather the dishes.
“Nah, you just leave those dishes be. I’ll take care of them. You’ve got that fancy ass dishwasher in there, so it takes no time at all. I think the two of you should go have that chat now.” GG stares at me as she speaks.
Preston was able to make small talk all throughout dinner, but it was strained. I, on the other hand, couldn’t get a single bite down, let alone talk.
“Best idea you’ve had all night, GG.” The tenseness of his voice proves his anguish over the past hour, too.
No sooner do I set my fork down does Preston grab my hand and literally drag me through his home.
With two hands on my shoulders, he gently presses me to sit on the bed.
“I know I fucked this all up, and I know I’m an asshole for—”
“Did you ask me to marry you so I can be your medical power of attorney?”
“It crossed my mind, at first, and I guess it’s something we’ll have to talk about when you become my wife.” His confidence, usually so freaking sexy, is annoying as fuck right now. “But the more I thought about it, the more I know, without a doubt, you are what I want. It’s not just about a power of attorney—”
“Then why, Preston? Why would you ask me to marry you?”
“Because I love you.” He says it so calmly I’m beginning to wonder if I’m the crazy one here.
“You don’t love me.”
“I do.”
“You can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because you don’t know me,” I scream, finally losing my temper and not caring if GG hears us or not.
Grabbing the desk chair, he drags it to sit right in front of me.
“I know that I love you,” he says with a grin. “I know that you’re the most selfless person I’ve ever met. I know that you have always put everyone else before yourself. I know your favorite color is baby blue, that you hate cilantro, and that your perfect afternoon is curled up with your medical journals taking notes. You prefer dogs to cats even though you’ve never had either. You don’t drink very often, but you like red wine, not white when you do—hoppy beer, not lagers. You prefer jeans to leggings but would be happiest in scrubs. You have two holes in each ear, even though you never wear earrings. Your right pinky toe slants a little to the right and never keeps polish on it. You check your sisters’ checking accounts every week to make sure they have money. You volunteer every week at the infusion center even though you walk in those doors, knowing your heart will bruise a little more each time. Your right eyelashes curl a little higher than the left. You have a chickenpox scar behind your left ear—”
“Stop, Preston. Please, stop.”
“I know you, Goldie, and I know I have never wanted anything more than to be your husband. This isn’t some weird end-of-life shit. This is me, sitting here, begging you to give me what I never knew I wanted but now desperately need, with you.”
My breathing is as erratic as my mind. He wants this.He’s dying. If he wasn’t dying, he wouldn’t want me.Does that matter?Do I grant his wish? It’s not really hurting me. Fuck me. These questions have been rattling through my brain for over an hour, and I can’t come up with another argument for why I shouldn’t.
Preston must sense my hesitation because he pulls out the ring again, this time forcing me to look at it.
“Emory Anne Camden, will you marry me?”
