Libby felt her lips stretch into a grin after the first few questions, and by the time he had reached the last one, she was snort laughing in relief at the very valid points he had made in the best possible way.
“No. To all of that,” she replied, her heart soaring exultantly.
“Do you love me because you think I’m perfect husband material?” he asked, humor fleeing from his voice and expression. Libby sucked her lips between her teeth as she considered his question for all of two seconds before blurting out her answer.
“God, no!”
He winced exaggeratedly at that response. “You could have at least pretended to give it a bit more consideration,” he mock protested.
“You’re far from perfect,” she said, her fingers squeezing around his once more. “And so am I. And I think I kind of love that about us.”
“Liberating, isn’t it?”
She laughed and was surprised at how wild and carefree she sounded.
“It truly is,” she admitted. “You’ve done so much for me, Greyson. I know that. And I know I haven’t always seemed grateful. But I was trying so desperately hard to maintain those barriers. Everything you did for us was so wonderful. I wanted you to know that I appreciate it all.”
“You don’t have to be grateful, Olivia. I didn’t do any of this for your gratitude . . . I did it because I had to. Because I love you. I love Clara. And you both deserve the best I have to offer. Even if my best isn’t always that great.” The last was uttered on a wry note, and she shared a grin with him before going serious again.
“I’m just angry with myself. I didn’t show you how much what you were doing meant to me, how much I appreciated it, and I feel like this is my fault. If I’d said something sooner, maybe you wouldn’t have felt compelled to damned near kill yourself trying to prove yourself to me.”
“Hey, now,” he said soothingly. “This isn’t your fault. I was careless.”
“I don’t know what I would have done if you’d been hurt even worse than this.” Her voice was thick with tears, and he made a soft, reassuring sound.
“I’m not, though. I’m fine. Let’s not dwell on things that didn’t happen and focus on the here and now.”
She nodded and used her free hand to brush away a few stray tears.
“I want you to know . . . ,” she murmured, once she had herself under control again. “The things you said about Harris and me . . . I’ve come to understand why you may have felt the way you felt. Our behavior wasn’t fair. You and I were married, and you should have been my best friend, the one I trusted with my innermost thoughts. But it was so easy to fall back into old habits with Harris.”
“I don’t want my dumb suspicions to deprive you of one of your most important friendships, Olivia,” he said. “I don’t want things to be awkward between the two of you. I would hate that. I was unreasonable.”
“And we were unfair.”
He smiled, a gentle tilt of his lips. “Well, now that we’ve established all of that, let’s not make the same stupid mistakes in the future. Which kind of brings me back to what I was trying to say earlier. Well, it’s more a question than a statement. I was wondering if perhaps you’d consider . . . uh.” He cleared his throat, and his hand reached for hers again, grasping her fingers so tightly it almost hurt. “I wanted to know if you would do me the honor of being my wife. Again. If you’d marry me. For real this time.”
Libby gaped at him, her jaw dropping as she tried to make sense of his words.
“We are married. For real,” she said. Her heart hammered in her chest as the magnitude of his words hit her. She hadn’t known how much a proposal would mean to her. It shouldn’t mean this much to her, it was ridiculous . . . and yet, it felt so perfect.
“I mean, we’re divorced, aren’t we? And since we didn’t do anything right the last time around, I thought we could try again. And do it right. You know? An engagement party, all the announcements, a wedding, a big dress. Clara can be our ring bearer. But all of that is just icing. The actual cake would be us, loving each other, respecting each other . . . talking, laughing . . . being partners. Parents. Lovers.”
“Greyson . . .”
“Please.” Desperation seeped into his voice, as if he was anticipating rejection. His grip tightened even more, and Libby tugged her hand from his with difficulty. He looked absolutely gutted when she pulled away from him. But she very quickly reestablished contact by brushing his hair back from his forehead.