“If?” I tried to keep my voice neutral.
“If I could be the lucky bastard to destroy this masterpiece with my teeth while half-drunk and fully in love with you on your wedding night.”
“Oh,” I breathed.
“Oh,” he repeated, his smirk widening. “I’m also wondering if I could be the man to hold your hair when you puke and not be the reason you got stupid drunk in the first place.”
My breath stuttered in my chest. It reminded me I had terrible breath. As if reading my mind, Layla slid two pieces of gum into my hand, then took a step back. I shoved them between my lips. Minty. Chase continued.
“I’m wondering if we could get engagement photos together, somewhere that doesn’t smell like the eighties, maybe, without having to worry you are about to leave there and go on a date with some bastard in a funny tie and a pair of tights—no offense, Ethan.” He turned and winked at my ex-whatever-he’d-been-at-the-time.
“None taken, I guess.” Ethan shrugged from beside Katie, holding her hand. I laughed through my tears. That was the best, worst marriage proposal I’d ever heard, and Chase wasn’t even done yet.
“Wanna know what else I’m wondering?” He cocked a brow.
“Dying to.” I laughed through my tears.
“I’m wondering if you could look at me the way you did the first time we met. Like I was a real possibility. With raw potential to be something you wanted for yourself. I want to be your every fucking thing, until we bring a replica of both of us into this world and become slaves to them, because you’re into having kids and shit.”
I cackled. And cried. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I drank him in, hopeful and boyish and dashing, with his imperial height, tar-black mane, and sparkling eyes that were never exactly the same color and always kept me on my toes. He took my hand. He was trembling, and for some reason, it undid me.
“In short, I’m wondering if, since you have your wedding dress stitched to your own measurements and some flowers I kept alive for you—by the way, they were a real bitch to keep alive—you would maybe want to marry me. Because, Madison”—his eyes twinkled with mischief and excitement and a promise to make my future brighter—“I called you Mad because I was mad about you and didn’t even realize it until you walked away. After you did, I kept thinking of ways and reasons to contact you. For months, I convinced myself it was nothing more than an itch I wanted to scratch, and when Dad got sick, it gave me a bullshit excuse to hunt you down, and all bets were off. I fucking love you, Goldbloom. You soften me,” he said gruffly, looking down at our entwined fingers. “But, you know, not everywhere.”
The room burst into laughter. The adrenaline was running so wild in my bloodstream I was shaking all over. The laughter felt like honey in my throat. So that was why he’d been weird recently.
The assistant with the Madonna mic burst into the room, waving her iPad in her hand hysterically. “There you are! You’re up next. Chop-chop!”
Everyone’s eyes turned to her. Layla began to push the door, closing it in her face. “I will chop-chop your body if you don’t go away. I am witnessing the most romantic thing in the world short of The Bodyguard with Whitney Houston, and you will not ruin it for me,” she said, sulking and glancing in our direction. “And for them, too, I suppose.”
“So what do you say?” Chase peered into my face urgently. He reached for his back pocket to produce a ring. I put my hand on his arm, stopping him.
“Actually . . .” I bit my lower lip, looking sideways at Layla, who widened her eyes, signaling me to say yes. “I never sold your ring. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I knew it wasn’t real—our engagement, I mean—but to me, it felt real. A lot of the time, in fact. So I . . . just kept it.”
“You kept the ring?” he asked, dumbfounded. I nodded. It was embarrassing. But maybe not as embarrassing as proposing to someone in a room full of people you knew when you weren’t even officially together.
“And all those times you deleted your text messages . . .” I trailed off.
“I told you I love you,” he finished. “And all the times you did it?” He cocked his head sideways.
I laughed, wiping more tears away. The hell with the fashion show. “Same.”
The assistant knocked again, sticking her head in. “Croquis should have started eight minutes ago. Just letting you know. Someone’s about to get fired soon.”
“Yeah,” Chase boomed. “And it’ll be your ass, because I own Black & Co., the official sponsor of this event. Now leave!”