Page 127 of L.O.V.E

It’d be a long time before that happened.

I slipped out of the shadows and took my seat. I hated leaving her there, alone on that stage, heart on her sleeve, vulnerable, waiting for me to come to her rescue. With everything in me, I hated leaving her there.

“Fuck, I’m a jackass,” I whispered.

Finn gave my shoulder a squeeze. “You’re doing the right thing.”

Fate didn’t play fair. She’d been downright nasty in my opinion. But there was no denying, my future with Natalie was well earned. The woman on that stage had been through hell and back to be with me. She deserved the world on a silver fucking platter. She deserved a proper fucking proposal.

I had no doubt I was doing the right thing.

But shit, I hated watching her shoulders slump when she realized I wasn’t joining her.

The spotlight shut off with an audible click, leaving Natalie in total darkness. The entire house fell quiet, each and every one of our guests privy to the turn of events. All but Natalie.

When the blue light shone again on Mona, Natalie gasped.

I spread my fingers on the ivory and started to play.

Mona started the first line of “L-O-V-E” by Nat King Cole.

The crowd applauded.

Mona continued to croon while sauntering my way, until we were both encased by the only source of light in the room.

Natalie sobbed. Mona sat next to me and took over the keys.

Fuck, I was about to make a fool of myself, ruin a beloved song, in front of all our friends and family, and Ellis would undoubtedly record every second and use the footage to humiliate me for the rest of our lives. But goddamn, Natalie King was worth the sacrifice. My pride. My balls. Everything. Anything. Amen and thank you, Jesus.

I leaned into the mic and sang about the letter V, those five words spot-on because goddamn, our love affair was very fucking extraordinary.

My voice cracked. Singing was not my strong suit, but the evening wasn’t about talent. The performance was about Natalie and doing right by my girl.

She hadn’t moved from her spot center stage, so I joined her there, circling, throwing in a shuffle here and a sashay there, butchering the song. She laughed, though tears poured down her face.

On the last line I dropped to my knees, laid down the mic, and pulled the little blue box from my pocket.

I couldn’t hear myself talk over the roar of the audience, all of them friends and family. Natalie joined me on the floor, her steepled hands pressed to her lips, those ridiculously adorable frames sliding down her nose.

Fuck, she was gorgeous. She was everything. I gripped the side of her glasses and slid them back into place.

The audience chanted, “Nat King Cole, Nat King Cole.”

I’d practiced a speech as well.

Staring at my girl, my future, I couldn’t remember a word.

I removed the ring from the box. Pulled her hand away from her face, then slid the gold band onto her finger. I leaned close, kissed her wet lips, then whispered, “Yes, I’ll marry you. My heart is yours. Always has been. Please, please don’t break it, baby.”

Natalie

We celebrated into the early morning hours. Until I couldn’t dance anymore, cry anymore, or hug, laugh, or see straight.

Cole drove me to his home above the gym. His one-bedroom apartment where a prince of the city lived like a commoner.

We made our way up the stairs. Cole carried my shoes and held me close. Inside the apartment, he helped me out of his suit jacket and then toed of his shoes.

“Still living above the gym,” I teased, looking around the dark space.

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