He smiled.
‘Then, while I sat with you on the bathroom floor, I just realised that every minute with you is special, that I didn’t need to wait for the perfect moment because when you are with me, that’s perfection to me.’
I was still speechless when he gently lifted my face to his.
‘We’ve been together eight years, Fran. I want you to be my wife, if you’ll have me,’ he said resolutely.
He then took my hand in his and fished a little blue box out of his pocket.
His hands shook slightly, his eyes – sparkling in the dim light – didn’t quite meet mine. ‘Fran, I understand you well enough to know that you’ll want to wait until you finish your PhD, until you’ve accomplished what you set yourself as a goal before even considering getting married, but I love you so much and I promise that if you just say yes …’
‘Yes,’ I said, interrupting him.
‘Yes?’ he asked in confirmation, frowning at me.
‘Yes!’ I repeated. My voice was shaking now.
‘You said yes?’ Paul asked again, hesitant, testing the words.
I nodded, interrupting his next sentence with a kiss.
‘Yes, I want to marry you, Paul,’ I said, looking straight into his eyes. ‘Even if I haven’t finished my PhD. Even if I don’t have a job or a penny to my name. Even if I’ll be terrible at it,’ I warned him.
‘We can wait until you’ve finished your studies. I’ll support you until you get the job you want and I won’t let you be terrible at it. We are in this together, Fran; we’ll make it work,’ he declared with a certainty that made me want to make it work.
‘You are really sure about this, about us?’ I asked and then held my breath.
‘I’ve always been sure. I knew the day I met you, Fran. I knew when I was away from you all those years at Stanford. I knew when I kissed you at the top of our tree, and I even knew when you puked out your soul about an hour ago. I know it every time I look at you, every time I make love to you, every hour that we spend together, and every second that we spend apart. I want to be with you jusqu’à la mort nous sépare …’
His tone was solemn, like a promise, and the look in his eyes, the joy tugging at his lips, gave me goose bumps.
‘Till death do us part.’ I translated his words looking at the one man I had loved since I knew it was possible to love, the one man who had just promised to spend the rest of his life with me.
‘I love you with all my heart, Paul.’
He kissed me and with his forehead resting on mine he whispered, ‘Looks like we just got engaged. Let me make this official.’ He opened the box in his hand. He took the heirloom ring from its nesting place and slid it onto my finger. It fitted perfectly. Then after lifting my hand to his lips, he kissed it softly.
‘It’s beautiful,’ I said, looking down at the emerald-cut diamond ring on my finger. ‘I love it even more because it was Josephine’s.’
‘When she gave it to me, she told me that she would bless anyone I chose to share my life with, but she just hoped it would go to you.’ He winked at me with those final words.
I couldn’t stop the tears that flooded my eyes, and when I blinked they ran down my cheeks leaving a wet trail behind them. Paul dried them with soft kisses and soothing words.
‘She loved you as though you were her own daughter. She was always so proud of you,’ he murmured. His warm breath caressing my skin comforted my aching heart.
‘I miss her so much,’ I whispered while Paul trailed kisses over my forehead and my temples, to the sides of my lips and along my jawline. While I let the pleasure of his affection console me, an idea popped into my head. ‘Can I choose the date?’ I asked.
He stopped the kissing and tilted his head, then, hesitantly said, ‘Sure, when do you have in mind?’
‘February 29th. Leap day,’ I said quickly, expecting him to rejoice at my choice.
‘OK …’ he accepted reluctantly instead. I could see the shadow of disappointment across his face, his lips no longer curled quite so far upwards and I frowned in surprise.
‘What’s wrong? Don’t you like it?’ I said, stroking his hair off his forehead.
‘Of course I like it if you like it. It’s just, well, just … slightly further away than I’d hoped; but sure, leap day is perfect.’
‘Further away than you’d hoped?’ I repeated, looking at him with surprise. ‘The 29th is only four days away. Such a special day should be worth the wait.’
Paul frowned. ‘Yes totally worth it, but four years is a very long time.’
I shook my head. ‘Not four years, Paul. I said four days, as in next Monday.’
He looked at me with a baffled expression on his face. ‘Let me get this straight: you want to get married in four days. As in four days. So, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and then we get married. Next Monday?’
I nodded, rolling my eyes and waiting for him to finally get the picture.
‘Monday, 29th of February,’ he spelled out holding my hands in his, his thumb tracing circles on my skin, leaving goose bumps in its wake. His smile returned.
‘The very same,’ I confirmed.
‘But how? I mean where? I don’t know if …’ he stuttered and for the first time since I met him, Paul Alexander Hugh FitzRoy was flustered. I couldn’t stop the giggle that burst from my lips.
‘We’ll work it all out, Paul. We’ll figure out a way; we always do.’ He kept staring at me as if he was in shock.
‘Do you want to marry me or not?’ I demanded.
He laughed then, shaking away the doubts that I’d seen in his eyes. He lifted my chin and kissed me. ‘I do, Fran, really … I do.’ And we both smiled at the future ahead of us.
‘Then, let’s just figure something out. How about Gretna Green?’ I suggested.
‘Mhmm, we’re not minors; we’re in a hurry,’ he answered noncommittally, and I knew then he would just come up with the perfect solution, like he always did. Paul was a man who had a plan for everything, so I knew he’d rise to the occasion and find a way for us to be man and wife before Monday was over.
While he searched the web using his tablet, stroking my hair and playing with the ring on my finger, I curled up, snuggling in the crook of his arm and let out a sigh of contentment, enjoying the feel of his chest rising and falling as he breathed, the smell of his shampoo, and the way I couldn’t wipe the smile from my face.
I closed my eyes to concentrate on the enormity of what was about to happen. In four days’ time, I’d become Mrs FitzRoy. The idea was both frightening and elating and it was incredibly hard to keep my heartbeat steady. All sorts of images entered my head about the future, our honeymoon, our kids, and the beautiful life just ahead of us.
After a few minutes, Paul interrupted my reverie. ‘A marriage licence everywhere in England needs fifteen days’ notice, so with only four days to spare … it’ll have to be Vegas.’
His tone was firm, no joking, just complete and utter seriousness.
I turned to fully look at him, my eyes bright.
‘Vegas it is!’ I agreed, propping myself up, ready for action. ‘I can look for flights and you can book the chapel and we …’
‘Later