Monster in His Eyes(47)

I meet his eyes. "What?"

"I see you having everything you've ever wanted," he says. "Everything  you've ever dreamed of. Clothes, shoes, houses, cars …  boats."

I laugh. "Boats?"

He shrugs. "You might want a boat, you know, take one down the canal in Venice when you visit Italy someday."

"Okay, I'll give you that one," I say. "I don't really need all of that, though."

"But you can still have it," he says. "Anything you want out of life.  You can finish school and build a life however you want it to be. A  family, children …  whatever you want. I see it for you."

I smile. "It sounds wonderful."

"It can be," he says quietly. "God willing, it will be."

"Does this life include you?"

"Do you want it to?"

"Of course. I'd give all that other stuff up if it meant I could just keep you."

He stares at me in silence for a moment, not responding to what I've  said, before slowly reaching into his coat. He pulls out a small velvet  box, and every muscle inside of me seizes up at the sight of it. My  heart stalls a beat before kick starting again, like its been shocked  into action, frantically pounding against my rib cage.

Oh shit.

Oh shit.

Oh shit.

He wordlessly flips the box open, the last tiny bit of sunlight hitting  the oval-shaped diamond dead center of the ring. I gape at it as it  sparkles in the light. I don't know anything about jewelry, couldn't  guess the carat to save my life, but I know enough to tell it's  extravagant.

He says nothing.

I say nothing.

He glances down at the box in his hand, pulling the ring from it after a moment, holding it up in front of him.

There's no way he's doing what I think he's doing.

There's just no way.

His eyes lift to meet mine again, and I see the truth there, lurking in the darkness. "You really mean it?"

I slowly nod. "I wouldn't say it if I didn't."

This has to be a dream. It's a dream. I'm asleep, or in a coma. Maybe he  choked me last night until I fell unconscious, or maybe I'm dead, or  maybe he's just fucking with me. Maybe I'm mistaken.

Maybe someone's playing a cruel joke.

Something, anything …  but there's just no way this is real. There's no  way this means what I think it means, that he means what I think he  means. There's no way he's about to say-

"Marry me."

Those two words suck the oxygen from the courtyard. My chest burns, my eyes blurring. I inhale sharply. I can't fucking breathe.

Blinking rapidly, my gaze bounces between him and the ring. My brain is  screaming in protest, shouting out everything that is wrong about this  entire thing. The list is a mile long. I've known him only months.  There's so much about him that's a mystery to me. I'm young, and maybe  I'm naïve, and he's dark, and maybe he's a bit dangerous. I only vaguely  know his history, and my mother doesn't even know he exists.

So many things wrong, so why do those words feel so right?

Marry me.

He didn't ask.

It's not a question.

He knows.

He fucking knows me.

My voice betrays me when I try to speak. My lips part, but nothing comes  out besides a shaky exhale. Naz stares at me, a smile slowly spreading  across his face, flashing those deep dimples. He holds the ring out,  cocking an eyebrow.

I extend my hand across the table, trembling as he slips it on my finger.

I let out a squeak before stammering incoherently, but my words are cut  off when he stands and leans across the table, silencing me with a kiss.  I kiss him back as he lets go of my hands, and I reach up, wrapping my  arms around his neck. It's a fiery kiss, full of all of Naz's passion.  It vibrates through my body, throttling my soul, his lips, and skin, and  words forever altering me.                       
       
           



       

How could I ever deny something so all consuming? How could I say no to  someone who means so much to me? It's crazy, and stupid, and utterly  overwhelming, but how will I ever fly if I'm too terrified to take the  first leap?

"I will," I whisper against his mouth. "I'll marry you."





The air is electric.

I can feel it buzzing along my skin, the hair on my arms sticking  straight up as the current flows through my body. Every centimeter of me  tingles.

The arena is loud …  so loud I can hardly hear myself think. Thousands  upon thousands of people cram the vast room, packed together in seats,  screaming and stomping. The noise seems to pound through my skull,  fueling the electricity. It's pandemonium.

Naz leads me straight to the front row, surrounding a large boxing ring.  As soon as we get there, I spot the two empty seats in the middle, most  of the row filled with familiar faces. Naz ushers me to one, and I  nervously sit down beside the girl I'd met last night-Brandy. She's  leaning against Raymond, his arm draped around her, as he eyes us  curiously, gaze shifting from me to Naz. "Vitale."

"Ray."

Raymond's eyes drift back to me once more, meeting mine, before scanning  me. His gaze settles straight on the ring on my finger, like he knew to  look for it. A laugh bursts from him as he shakes his head. "You did  it."

"Yes," Naz says. "Just a bit ago."

"Did what?" Brandy asks. "What happened?"

Raymond motions toward my hand, and I slip it onto the seat beside me,  out of view, but I'm not fast enough. Brandy's eyes widen as she  snatches ahold of my hand, holding it up. "No fucking way! You got  engaged?"

I can feel the heat rushing to my face. The entire row seems to silence as a dozen sets of eyes strain to look our way.

"We did," Naz says.

The silence is broken by quiet murmurs, a few congratulations, but even  more shock. Brandy clutches my hand tightly, admiring the ring in the  light, as male laughter cuts through the air. Naz tenses at the sound as  it echoes from the guy who rubbed him the wrong way last night.

"Never thought I'd see the day," the guy says. "Vitale tying the knot again."

My expression falls at those words.

Vitale tying the knot again.

Again.

The others fall silent once more, looking away. I turn to Naz, confused,  and see he's staring straight ahead at the ring, not a hint of emotion  on his face. He's a stone cold statue. It's like he hadn't heard …  he's  here, but he's gone.

"Strike three," Raymond mutters, the words barely audible over the roar of the crowd. "You're out."

Naz slouches back in his seat after a moment, throwing his arm over my  shoulder and pulling me toward him. I have a million questions (like  what the fuck did he mean by again?) but I know now's not the time to  ask that. Naz presses a kiss to the top of my head and says not a word  as the arena erupts in chaos.

I don't know what's going on-who's who or what's what-but everyone  around us is immersed in our surroundings. Two men make their way to the  ring, music blaring as people scream. One's in blue shorts, the other  in red, with names I can't pronounce and faces I don't recognize.

The brutality right from the ding of the bell is alarming. I sit still  in my seat, in Naz's arms, as the men in the ring ferociously pound on  each other, round after round, very little letting up. We're so close I  can see the blood, sweat, and tears, hear the sickening blows, the  grunts and pants and cries. It's barbaric.

I'm appalled.

A quick glance at Naz tells me he's enthralled.

He watches the fight with gross fascination. The others around us cheer  and jeer, screaming and jumping up out of their seats, but Naz just sits  there, watching attentively, his thumb absently stroking my arm.

The fighters seem to be equally matched as they go toe-to-toe. Naz  squeezes me tighter to him after a few rounds. "Who are you pulling  for?"

"Blue shorts guy."

"Blue shorts guy," he echoes with a laugh. "Is there a reason?"

There is, but I'm not going to admit it. The guy with the blue shorts  has a design shaved into his hair on the side of his head. It's  fascinating.

Instead, I shrug. I don't really care who wins.

The fight goes on and on. Every punch sends the crowd reeling. I hear  their frenzied yells, feel it vibrating the floor beneath my feet,  rocking the air around me. Naz doesn't say anything else, watching, his  expression darkening as he stares into the ring. During the last round,  the room erupts in commotion when red shorts hits blue so hard I hear  the crack and feel the thump as he hits the ground.

He's out cold.

It's over. Half the arena cheers, while a low thrum of boos seems to  underlay the celebration. Naz finally pulls his eyes away from the ring  as I frown. "Guess red shorts won."                       
       
           



       

"Guess so," he says. "Good thing, too."