You, With a View(101)
In the reflection of the framed glass, I see Theo behind me, kneeling.
I turn around, my hands over my mouth, and stumble to him. He’s holding the ring from the picture between his thumb and forefinger.
“Are you kidding me?” I cry, kneeling down with him. If we’re doing this, it’s going to be together.
He smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. I love him. I want to watch those lines deepen with time, until he’s old and gray, too.
“I know we don’t use the word perfect, but the past year and a half has been as close as I’ve ever had,” he says, his voice going hoarse as he fights against the emotion welling in his eyes. “And I know we don’t do secrets, either, but it’s not a secret that I want to spend the rest of my life with you, right?”
I let out a wet laugh. “No, you’ve been pretty obvious.”
He grins, a tear slipping down his cheek. “No one loves me like you do, Noelle. I wake up every morning thinking it can’t get better, and then it does. It’s never going to be perfect, but we can spend the next sixty years or so making it really damn good, if that’s what you want, too.”
“Sixty years, huh?” Even two lifetimes don’t feel like enough.
“At least.” He runs a finger over my wet cheek, then asks quietly, “Will you marry me?”
I throw my arms around his neck, and he teeters with a laugh, wrapping his arms around my waist to keep us steady.
“I will marry the hell out of you,” I say, pulling him to me for a kiss that’s all him laughing, me crying.
“I love you,” he whispers once, then again as he slides the brilliant diamond onto my finger. I say it back, against his mouth, his cheek, right up against his ear so he never forgets this moment and what he’s given me.
After a few minutes of dizzy, euphoric making out, Theo pulls me to a stand.
I gaze at the pictures, imagining someone finding them someday. Wanting to know our story. “How did you do all this without me knowing?”
His hand moves up and down my back in soothing strokes as he appraises them. “I worked it out in advance with someone, depending on where we were—sometimes it was days in advance, like with the boat tour, and sometimes minutes, like that picture in Rome. I gave them my number so they could text me the picture afterward.”
“Who printed them out? Who put them up? My whole family was involved?”
Theo nods. “Thomas and Granddad got them printed. Everyone, including your parents, came and swapped out the old pictures with these.”
That explains the FaceTime call I got from my family two days ago. They were all giddy to the point of hysterical laughter. I chalked it up to a boozy brunch, but now I know they were just beside themselves with excitement.
“You are all so sneaky, oh my god.” I press my hand against my forehead, feeling the cool metal of the ring against my heated skin. “How am I ever going to beat this?”
Theo turns to me, pulling me back into his arms. He gazes down at me, pure happiness and unabashed affection written all over his face. “It’s not a contest, remember?”
I stare down at my ring, mesmerized, before blinking up at him. “Is this real? This is my life?”
“Shepard,” he says, grazing his lips against mine. “It’s ours.”
His glancing touch turns into searching kisses, and I push him back toward our bedroom, yanking at his shirt. He lets me pull it over his head, laughing, bringing my hand up to his mouth so he can kiss my finger right above the ring he just gave me.
We’ve had all kinds of sex many times over—frantic, slow, intense and rough, the makeup kind after a fight, the sneaky type in places we could get caught—but engaged sex is going to be my favorite. I can already tell by the way he grips my hips tight in his hands, by the need in his eyes.
Theo backs me into the wall next to the bedroom, dipping his mouth to my throat. He presses it right over my steadily beating pulse and smiles against my skin. “Where should we go on our honeymoon?”
I consider it, but only for a second. Then I smile, wrapping my arms around his neck. “How about a road trip?”
Acknowledgments
When I was a teenager, my grandma found a story I’d left up on my computer. When she told me she’d read it, I wanted to dissolve into a puddle of angst and humiliation. But she assured me she loved what I’d written, and said something that stuck with me: “Finish writing it. I want to see how it ends.”
I never finished that story, nor did I finish the dozen that followed it. But I did finish this one with her encouragement echoing in my head. I think that if she’d been able to hold this book in her hands, she’d tell me just how much she loved the ending. But more than that, she’d tell me how excited she was for the beginning of this thing I’ve been dreaming about for so long. I want to thank her first, because the spark of this story began with her.
My endless gratitude goes to my incredible agent, Samantha Fabien. The way you understood this story and Noelle’s journey from the beginning, and your unwavering belief in me, still feels a little unreal. I’m so grateful for you—and our grandmas for conspiring to bring us together! Many thanks also to the larger, equally wonderful Root Lit family.
To my amazing editor, Kerry Donovan, thank you for loving Noelle and Theo as much as I do and for taking a chance on all of us. I feel so lucky to have access to your guidance, skill, and deep well of knowledge. To the rest of the Berkley team who’ve helped make this a real, actual book—Mary Baker, Megan Elmore, Christine Legon, Dache’ Rogers, Fareeda Bullert, and Anika Bates. Thank you to Emily Osborne for the incredible cover direction and Anna Kuptsova for her stunning cover artwork. I’m so appreciative of all of you!