Darkmoon(73)
“Connor, I’ve been in and out of the house all day,” I replied. “Do you think it matters?”
“It matters to me.”
I laughed. “Okay, then. Just be glad we’re doing this now and not when I’m seven months pregnant.”
“True.” And he scooped me up in his arms, lifting me like I weighed nothing, then carried me through the open doorway. After pushing the door shut with one foot, he set me down in the entry. “Maybe I’m doing this backward,” he said, “but I really do want to make it official.”
Before I could do anything but stare down at him in stupefaction, he got on one knee and fished a small black box out of one pocket.
“Connor — ”
“We’ve danced around this, Angela, and there’s no reason to do that anymore. We’re together. I can’t imagine a life without you. So will you marry me?” And he opened the box, revealing a beautiful ring, obviously an antique, with a filigreed mounting of either white gold or platinum, and a square-cut diamond flanked on either side with emerald-cut sapphires.
I didn’t even stop to think, my heart answering as the words rose to my lips. “Oh, yes, Connor, I’ll marry you. Of course I will.”
He slid the ring on my finger, and I reached out and took both his hands, pulled him back to his feet, brought him toward me so I could kiss him again and again and again. And then his arms were sliding around me, lifting me, and he carried me upstairs, through the welter of boxes in the master bedroom, to the bed that had been delivered that morning and which I had just finished making up.
That bed definitely got a proper christening.
* * *
Afterward, we lay there for a while, feeling the breeze blow in through the open windows, a breeze that smelled of pine and sun-warmed grass. I gazed down at the ring, thinking how perfect it was, how perfectly it fit me. “How did you pick it out?” I asked, turning my hand so the light from the window struck the diamond, scattering sparks all around the room.
“I guess it sort of picked me out. There’s a shop around the corner from the tapas place that sells antiques but also has a selection of antique jewelry, and when I was out I stopped in to take a look. Can’t even say why, really — it was just an impulse, I guess.” We exchanged a smile at that comment; lately, our impulses seemed to be directed by a higher power. “I saw the ring, and just thought it looked like you. I couldn’t really imagine you wearing some mass-market ring from a regular jewelry store.”
How well he knew me. If he’d bought me something like that, I would’ve worn it, because it had come from him. But this ring was an individual, something I knew I’d never see coming and going.
“Also, I know you like blue, have all that turquoise jewelry, so I thought the sapphires were nice.”
“It’s perfect,” I told him. “Just like you.”
“You’re going to give me a swelled head if you keep talking like that.”
“I’d rather give you a swelled something else.”
My hand moved lower, touching him, feeling him already growing hard as my fingers brushed against his shaft. He chuckled, shifting so I could reach him better, and I listened as his breathing quickened, felt my own body throbbing in response, the warm golden rush of heat going all through my veins. It seemed right to make love here, in this house that was ours, with the amber light of late afternoon slanting through the trees and making everything seem as if it were adrift in an enchanted forest, in a place of perfect peace, perfect harmony, perfect joy.
And then, content, we fell asleep in one another’s arms.
* * *
The ringing of Connor’s phone roused us both. I startled awake, blinking into the half-light of late dusk, a little disoriented. Then I remembered where we were. The new house. We were home.
Connor muttered a curse, then fumbled for the phone on the nightstand, nearly knocking over the lamp in the process. His reflexes were good enough that he was able to grab it before it crashed to the floor, though, and, still grumbling, he righted it before finally grabbing the phone.
“It’s Lucas,” he said after glancing briefly at the display.
“Then you’d better get it, I suppose.”
He tapped the screen and then held the phone to his ear. “No offense, Lucas, but this had better be important. We just moved everything over, and — ” Falling silent, he seemed to listen intently, at last saying, “Okay, we need to write that down. Angela…?”
I made a flailing motion with my hands. Right then I had no idea where anything I could write with might be, belatedly realizing that I’d dumped my purse on top of the dresser hours ago, and that I should at least have a pen in there, if not any actual writing paper. Grabbing my underwear, I sort of hopped into them as I crossed the floor and retrieved my purse. The pen had of course drifted to the bottom, but eventually I dug it out and gave it to Connor. No paper was to be had, but then he seemed to spy the discarded packing slip for the mattress on the floor, and leaned over to pick it up. Scribbling furiously, he said, “You’re sure? I don’t want to drive all the way out there and then…. No, okay, you’re right. Well, I’ll tell Angela. Thanks for everything, Lucas.” He hung up and turned back toward me, as I’d slipped under the covers once I’d given him the pen.