"Oh, good. We'd love to meet her." Once again, she took Siobhan's hand. "Listen, I hope this isn't out of line, but I just want to say I feel for you. I mean, you should be able to be with the person you love, you know?"
Wasn't that the god's honest truth?
And as he watched them walk away, he realized that maybe--just maybe--he'd finally figured out how. Even if his father continued to refuse to help.
Dallas has set up a small picnic on the private section of the beach that makes up our bungalow's backyard. Since I'm in full picnic mode, I'm wearing a little black bikini that was definitely designed to soak up a maximum amount of sun. I have a sarong tied at my waist, but it's for fashion more than coverage, as the slit at the side reveals more than a little hip and one entire thigh.
Dallas is dressed casually, too, in khaki shorts and a white short-sleeved Henley that accentuates both his tan and the toned muscles of his arms. Honestly, the picnic is nice, but I'd be content to just lay here and soak up the view.
A blanket serves as our dining area, and we're enjoying an incredible lunch of fresh fruit and stuffed fillets of salmon that Dallas actually made himself. I take a bite, then sigh with pleasure before taking another sip of my wine mixed with Diet Sprite, a drink Dallas thinks is the devil, but I think is totally refreshing and beach-worthy.
Dallas meets my eyes, and for some reason I laugh.
"All right," he says. "Tell me."
"I don't know what's funny. Maybe I'm just grateful I have a boyfriend who can cook."
"Boyfriend," he says, as if he's turning the word over and examining it from all sides. "I don't think you've called me that before."
I lift a shoulder as cold fingers of discontent edge toward me. "Well, it's true."
"Very true," he says, and the heat in his voice is undeniable.
"I want more." My confession is soft, and I toy with the stem of my wineglass as I say it. "I don't know, Dallas. I want to say I'm not pissed at Daddy for not agreeing with your idea about rescinding, but I am. He just doesn't see the big picture. And you and I--we've lost out on so much time already."
For a moment he just looks at me, then he gets up and kneels in front of me, his hands on the arms of my beach chair so that I'm locked in and he's very, very close. "I love you," he says.
"You better," I counter.
His lips don't even twitch, and his eyes don't drift off mine. "I love you," he says again, extending his hand. "Come with me."
Since I really have no choice in the matter, I do, and he leads me all the way down to where the ocean greets the waves as they roll in and roll out in a timeless rhythm.
I'm about to ask him again what we're doing, but he pulls me close and kisses me, hard and deep and so passionately it seems as though that kiss has released a thousand strings of firelight that are now lighting me up from the inside.
I whimper when he pulls away, because although I want him to tell me what's on his mind, I also don't want that kiss to end.
"Tell me you can't live without this," he says.
"You know I can't."
"Tell me you want me."
"I do," I whisper. "You know I do."
"I did some thinking on the beach today and I realized that I don't want to wait anymore. So I went to the gift shop, and I bought you something."
I'm about to ask what he's talking about when he actually drops to one knee in front of me, then holds up a blue-green macrame ring. It's so absurd--and yet his face is so serious--that tears well in my eyes and I press my fingers to my mouth.
"Marry me, Jane."
A tear escapes, and I taste its saltiness when I open my mouth to gasp. "Dallas, what--"
"I love you," he interrupts. "I've loved you for as long as I can remember, and I will love you for the rest of my life and beyond. I don't want to spend a day without you. You inspire me. You humble me. You're my best friend and my deepest passion. The other half of me. The best part of my soul. Please, Jane Martin. Will you be my wife?"
I'm not sure when it happened, but somehow I'm on my knees, too, and he's slipping the silly ring on my finger, and I'm hugging it to my chest, the tears coming too hard and too fast for me to manage words.
I want to pull him close and kiss him hard; I want to shake him and demand to know what the hell he's been smoking.