I feel the rightness of that statement deep in my heart. “Yeah, we do.”
When the kids are done, and the whirlwind of wrapping paper and boxes and bows settles, Levi asks me to pull out his mother’s champagne flutes while he opens a bottle of Dom Perignon.
On our way back into the living room, I ask, “Is this one of your family’s traditions?”
“Not exactly.”
I pass out the glasses, and Levi follows, pouring champagne. Just before I sit down, Levi takes my hands and lowers to one knee.
“What are you—”
He draws a small box from his pocket, and my body becomes that bubbly bottle of champagne, tingling from head to toe. He opens the box, presenting me with a beautiful engagement ring of platinum and diamonds, one I’m having a hard time seeing through my tears.
“We’ve finally found our way back together,” he says. “Let’s make sure we never lose each other again. Marry me, Laiyla.”
I pull in a breath to answer, but my throat closes, so I nod, and when air finally reaches my lungs, I say, “Oh my God. Yes.”
He slides the ring on my finger while the rest of his family toasts to us. I wrap my arms around Levi’s neck, and he holds me tight.
“I love you so much,” I whisper.
“Love you too, Ladybug. Love you too.”