He gently swipes a finger and catches my blowing hair and tucks it behind my ear. “Please mean it. Do you mean it?”
His shirt is open in the front, his bow tie, just a hanging bit of cloth around his collar now. I touch his stomach. His perfect stomach. “You’re built like a god, do you know that”
He cups my face with his hands. “Grace, I’m fucking dying here, sweets. Be my wife. I can’t leave here without you. I can’t. I’ve never wanted a woman so much in all my life. And I don’t want you just for sex, Grace. I want you for that and more. I want you for lying in bed naked on a Sunday afternoon. I want to cook dinners with you. I want to buy a puppy together and give him a ridiculous name, like Boris or Dave. Please, be mine, Grace.”
“Jesus Christ, Kinsella, you’re gonna give me a heart attack. I asked you if you’d marry me. Are you gonna say yes?”
I watch his eyes as they search mine, so filled with anxiety over my decision. “No,” I say softly.
His smile fades. “What?”
I shake my head. “I won’t marry you again, Vaughn. Because… because we don’t need a do-over.”
He drops his head to his chest and waits me out.
“I don’t want to marry you again, Vaughn. I remember that night now.”
He looks up quickly. “You do?”
“You said…”
“Grace, I know you’ve had a hard life. I know some of your secrets—” My panic must be evident, because he lays both palms flat against my cheeks and kisses me softly. “Not everything, princess. Not everything. But some.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Not now. I only want to talk about happy things. But tomorrow, maybe. Just give me one happy night and I’ll tell you tomorrow. Be my prince, Vaughn. Be my prince and make me your princess and then I can deal with reality. But tonight, I just want the fairytale.”
“And then I called in Carl,” Vaughn says as he opens the Tiffany’s box and presents me with the rings. There’s three in there. One giant engagement ring, platinum. Easily a three-carat diamond, big, but not too big. And two platinum wedding bands. “They have inscriptions,” he says as he takes his out of the velvet cushion. “Read mine.”
He holds it out and I take it from him, tilting it in the light just so, until the writing becomes clear. “The Prince.” I laugh. And then I look him in the eye and slip it on his finger.
“Read yours now,” he sighs.
I take it and hold it under the light. “The Princess.” And then he holds up the engagement ring so we can read it together.
“The Fairytale.”
He slips the band on my finger, then adds the rock.
He kisses me, whispering in my mouth, “You’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” I say back.
“No do-overs for us?”
“Never. It was perfect the first time.”