Page 74 of Ms. Lead

His eyes widen briefly, and I don’t know if it’s at what I asked or how I asked it.

“Are you asking me for permission to—”

“Ask her to spend the rest of her life with me. Yes.”

It’s so close that I can taste it, and I want to get there as soon as possible. Words are getting in the way and holding me back. I want to be moving.

His eyes narrow for only a heartbeat, but then he grabs my hand and shakes it heartily, leading me back to the vestibule, a massive smile on his face that lights up his entire being.

“Go. Go find her. Tell her I gave you my blessing.”

* * *

It takes me quite a while to find Bianca again. The rain has stopped, and everyone is gathering in the square outside the church so weaving my way through the sea of people is extremely difficult.

Once I find her, part of why it took so long is she’s crouched down and talking to the flower girl, who is fidgeting as though she’s frightened. Bianca is soothing her and trying to calm her down. I approach and crouch down next to her.

“Hi,” I say, smiling.

Both the little girl and Bianca are surprised by my sudden appearance, but that was the point. Distract. Give something new to worry about, even if it’s something benign.

“I’m Oliver.” I smile, holding out a hand. “What’s your name?”

The girl takes my hand and shakes it but doesn’t say anything.

“This is Bridget, the amazing flower girl from the wedding,” Bianca fills in for her. “She’s still working on her English, but she’s pretty good at it, isn’t that right, Bridget?”

The girl nods shyly, a small smile peeking through, but still stays silent.

From behind me, a flurry of Italian is sent in our direction, and I turn to see who I assume is the girl’s parents, relieved at finding her in the crowd. She was apparently missed.

Bianca and I stand, and she conveys that Bridget was safe and okay the entire time, just a little scared. At least, I think that’s what is said. The parents offer their thanks and lead the shy girl into the crowd.

That leaves me alone with Bianca. Alone in a crowd of people.

It's not awkward. It’s perfect. At least, I think it is.

“What are you doing here, Oliver?” she asks, but I can’t read if she’s upset in a bad way or a good one. “How did you find me? This place?” She waves around, indicating the square we’re standing in. Using her hands with such passion when she speaks is something that I’ve missed seeing terribly. “And why?” This last question comes with fear attached to it.

“Why? Bianca, it’s six months. I’m actually early. And I tried to be even earlier on Valentine’s Day in an attempt to be even more romantic, but I got stuck in Colorado for days. Then once I got to Vegas, Normandy told me you were here. It took some sleuthing of friends back home, but we eventually figured it out because it’s important. You are important. To me.”

She takes a small step toward me, and I close the distance, grabbing her waist, and it feels so damned good to touch her again.

Her dark eyes search mine. “But I thought for sure if that were true, you would have done this earlier. You would have bypassed the six-month rule.”

I see now where all of this trepidation is coming from.

“You probably don’t see it now, in my current state, but I had a lot of growing to do in these six months. Even I didn’t know how much I needed that time to be able to stand here in front of you, so sure about how I feel about you.” I dare to pull her closer, and she doesn’t resist, letting me wrap my arms around her. “There is so much to tell you about what’s happened, but just know this, I love you, Bianca. I have loved you since baggage claim in Vegas, and I think you know it. You felt it too.”

Her cheeks catch fire, probably remembering our first interaction at the airport when she first picked me up. How we knew the minute we saw each other that this was special.

“I did.” She pushes on my chest lightly. “But you made it so damned difficult.”

“It’s kind of what I do,” I laugh. “I am constantly the Devil’s advocate in all things. Sometimes that’s a good thing, but in our case, it made me get in my own way. And I’m sorry about that. You have no idea how sorry I am.”

She turns serious and shivers a little. The sun peeks through the threatening rain clouds but does little against the day's chill. I shrug out of my jacket and wrap it around her shoulders, rubbing her upper arms for good measure to warm her up.

“Oliver, you left. You just left. You left me with a fucking cat poster and a note.” Her disappointment claws at me, and I take it. I’ve prepared myself to take whatever she throws at me because she has earned the right to hurl every hurt at me that she has. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t affect me. It does. It solidifies my need to make amends. To make this right. To fix this. “What the hell was I supposed to do with a cat poster and a note? And you couldn’t even tell me in your note that you loved me. Just like you couldn’t say it the night before. I bared my soul to you, and you just left.”

---