Page 147 of Good Losers (Lochkelvin Academy)

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The air is instantly sucked from the room. I stare at Rory in utter, heart-in-mouth shock. It takes every effort not to keel over, winded and blinking, replaying his words over and over again in my overstuffed head.

Beside me, Luke chokes.

I want to get married.

I want to get married.

Finlay’s face shutters, looking like he hadn’t ever calculated this course of action. His gaze flicks between me and Rory, curiously at a loss, and I wonder if he thinks he’s been cast aside like the overturned leather brogues by his feet.

“Married?” Finlay asks, repeating the word as if it’s an obscure medical condition. “Married?”

“He wants to mold me in his own image. So I’ll go one better and destroy it for him.” He smiles broadly at Finlay. “Can you imagine? An audacious American bride entering the upper echelons of British society? I can hardly wait to see my father’s face.”

“You want to ruin your reputation… by marrying Jessa?” Danny asks, sounding offended on my behalf.

But Rory just laughs. “You don’t understand. It’s customary for people like me to play the field. To sow oats and all the rest of it. But tomarry? And even younger than my father did, before university? No. That’s highly unusual. It’s fucked-in-the-head unusual, to pre-empt one’s love before the supposed sexual carnage of further education.” There’s a faint twinkle in his gray eyes as he lifts them in my direction. “What say you?”

What say you?

It’s not exactly how I ever imagined being proposed to — because this is a proposal, right? Or at least something like it? It’s not the first time Rory’s brought up the idea of us getting married, which means he’s been thinking of it at least since early summer.

Or long, long before…

“We’re still in school,” I manage, echoing myself from the candlelit dinner we shared when Rory had first brought up this topic. I’d thought he’d been joking then; it hadn’t been believable. But now, with the intense gray of his eyes, the weight of his focus…? “We’reteenagers. I…”

“You can get married in Scotland at sixteen,” Finlay helpfully points out.

“We haven’t even been dating that long.” I pause and then ask, with wide-eyed confusion, “Arewe even dating? Because tonight I’m pretty sure I’ve kissed every single person in this room. And… I don’t know if that’s your idea of being exclusive, but it’s not mine.”

It seems insane, receiving a marriage proposal before a discussion on exclusivity.

Like a captivating tennis match, heads swivel round to look at Rory. This… has never actually been hashed out before now; we’ve all been free to come and go, kissing and occasionally more, because Rory never says otherwise.

So I believe that trying to iron out whether or not we’re actually serious is a more important matter than leaping into a potential proposal with impromptu plans for getting hitched. What can I say? I’m an old-fashioned girl at heart.

But deep down, somewhere primal, I know Rory’s serious, and he didn’t even need to mention marriage to make it so. My head grows dizzy.

“I’ve never claimed to be into monogamy,” Rory says after a moment. “I’ve never forced exclusivity.” There’s another pause, shorter this time, and he concludes, “I’m happy with the way things are.”

With a shake of my head, I tell Rory, “I don’t understand.”

The suite descends into a restless quiet. Eventually, to fill the swelling cavern, Luke says in a tense voice, “She deserves better than this.”

I don’t know whatbetter than thiscould refer to. I have a boyfriend who appears to have no problem with me kissing his best friends, who even seems, to some strange degree,proudabout it. In terms of personal and sexual independence, how can there be better than that?

Rory shoots him an impatient look. “I know. You’d have offered her a palace of ladies-in-waiting, of dignitaries who’d kiss the back of her hand. You’d have made the saint into a spectacle.” He turns to me. “But at least what I’m offering is the truth. I’m offering my love and only that.”

Only that? For part of me, it’s all I’ve ever wanted.

He stands and approaches me hesitantly, his silver-gray eyes never leaving my face. “At some point or another, I’ve cared for and looked after everyone in this room. While that may not still be the case,” he adds hastily, a pointed reference to Danny, who stands behind him with the bust finally settled on the glass coffee table, “all I’ve ever wanted is to treat the chiefs — the people who look out for me — right. We’re a unit, a team. And I accept that the people you like are part of that now, too.” Another coded reference to Danny.

“What’s this got to do with us?”

He cups my cheek, gazing down at me. “Don’t you see, little saint? We’re already sharing our lives, sharing ourselves, with the people we care about. Me with the chiefs and you with Danny. I have no desire to end this. The only desire I have is to enshrine us together in law. Because although you may enjoy playing with the others, I know who your heart really beats for.”

Rory.

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