Page 86
I open the velvet box.
Inside is the ring I've spent months choosing. I've looked at diamonds worth more than most houses, but none of them seemed right until I found this one. Bridget isn't a woman who needs the biggest or most expensive thing in the room. She needs to know somebody chose it because he knows her.
"Bridget Collins, I knew I wanted you from the moment I saw you at this wedding. I was an arrogant bastard who almost lost you because I thought I had the right to decide what was best for both of us."
Her eyes fill with tears.
"You taught me that loving somebody means trusting them with the truth, even when you're afraid of what they'll do with it. And you taught me that having somebody choose you means a hell of a lot more than making sure they never have the chance to leave."
She presses a hand over her mouth.
"I love you, sweetheart. I love your smart mouth, your beautiful heart, your ridiculous cats, and every ordinary moment I get to spend with you. I want the mornings when you're grumpy before coffee, the nights you fall asleep reading against my chest, and every argument we're going to have about whether Murder Mittens is allowed on the kitchen counter."
"He isn't," she whispers, laughing through her tears.
"Then perhaps you could explain that to him."
She laughs again, and I take her hand.
"I'm not asking because I think I can give you a perfect life. You've seen enough of mine to know better. I'm asking because I want us to keep choosing each other, every goddamn day."
I look up at the woman who has made me happier than I ever believed possible.
"Will you marry me?"
She starts nodding before I finish asking.
"Yes, you bossy bastard. Of course I'll marry you."
I slide the ring onto her finger and stand, pulling her carefully into my arms. She kisses me with enough enthusiasm to make me consider canceling our dinner reservation.
"I love you," she whispers against my mouth.
"I love you more."
"Impossible. I'm the one who agreed to share a bed with you and five cats."
I laugh and kiss her again.
When we get home, Bridget immediately wants to show the cats her ring.
Naturally.
We make it halfway into the living room before Murder Mittens spots the empty velvet box in my hand, snatches it, and disappears beneath the couch.
"Son of a bitch."
Bridget doubles over laughing.
"He's just welcoming you to the family."
"I've been part of this family for a year."
"Then you should know better than to leave something shiny where he can reach it."
I look around our beautiful, ridiculous home, with its cat toys scattered across expensive rugs and books stacked beside Bridget's favorite chair.
For most of my life, I thought having everything meant there was nothing left to want.
