Page 155 of Kiss Me Like I Didn't Kill You
I chose this colour on purpose. Ever since that day at her father’s estate, when she wore the white dress and I slid the first ring onto her finger, it’s been burned into my mind.
I wanted to see it again. Needed to. Because whenever I see her in that shade, I catch a glimpse of the day she’ll walk toward me in a wedding gown.
I take her hand and guide her toward the table. Faint music drifts through the restaurant. I pull out her chair, she sits gracefully, and I ease it in, my hand brushing her shoulder before I take my seat across from her.
Our eyes meet briefly with the waitress who appears at my side. I give a small nod, and she disappears to bring the first course.
I reach across the table and take Ophelia’s hand again, unable to stop myself. My thumb traces along her knuckles, over the cool metal of the two rings that now rest there.
Fuck, if I could marry her tonight, I would. Without guests or ceremony, just her and me, and the rest of the world fading out.
“Do you want a big wedding?” I ask, the question slipping out before I can stop it.
She looks up, lips curving. “Not big as in too many people I barely know,” she says, her tone light. “But I do want a proper one. A dress I’ll only wear once. A veil. Maybe somewhere by the sea in Italy. And definitely a ridiculous cake and a first dance.”
Her eyes narrow, teasing. “So don’t get any ideas, Arlo.”
I smirk, leaning back in my chair. “You know me too fucking well. If it were up to me, I’d have an officiant here tonight and sign the damn papers that make you mine for good.”
She shakes her head, smiling faintly. “You’re impossible.”
The waitress returns, pouring champagne into two tall glasses before slipping away again.
Ophelia glances down at her hand, twisting it slightly in the light. “Do you expect me to wear both of them?” she asks, teasing but curious.
“Yes,” I answer immediately.
Her brows lift, waiting.
I lean back slightly, my voice low. “The first ring,” I say, “was a promise, one I broke, and one I spent every day since trying to earn back. The second…” I look directly at her. “The second is proof that I did.”
She stares at me, lips parting slightly, and then looks down at her fingers again. “They fit so well together,” she murmurs, “like they were made to be worn as one.”
I smirk. “They were. That was my plan all along.”
Her eyes widen, but before either of us can say anything, the waitress arrives with our food.
I glance at her plate. “Where’s your glucose monitor?” I mutter.
“In my clutch,” she says with a faint smile, already reaching for it.
I watch as she discreetly checks her glucose level. Once she confirms it’s safe to eat, she reaches for her fork.
I nod, satisfied.
We start eating. For a while, the silence between us is easy.
“The view is…” she pauses, glancing out through the glass, “…exquisite.”
I don’t answer. My eyes aren’t on the skyline. They’re on her.
“Indeed,” I say.
After dessert, I catch her eye. “Let’s go for a walk around the city.”
She nods.
I stand and help her up, sliding her chair back before reaching for her coat. I drape it over her shoulders. Then, I take her hand in mine.
