“Take the box. Open it.”
I do as he says. My hands are shaking so hard that it takes me a couple tries to open the box.
“Do you need a hand?” he asks from the floor.
“Shut up.” The box opens. “Oh,Mac,” I whisper.
“Look at me.”
It’s said in a low voice, and I spin around, still holding the box. “This is a ring.”
“It’s actually a wedding ring, darling.”
“Oh my god.” I take a closer look at it. “Is this my fake wedding ring?”
His mouth twitches. “I was tempted to get you one covered with diamonds so the whole world would know you’re mine.”
“But?”
“But we already know that fact, and I knew you were attached to this one.”
I swallow hard. “You were right. It’s very special to me.”
He turns suddenly serious. “I love you, Wes. With everything that I am, I love you. Every bone, every muscle, every sinew of me is yours. I’ve never wanted anyone like you, never dreamed I could have anyone like you. You bring me peace and make me laugh. You’ve made me who I am today—the man kneeling before you, trying to propose and not laugh simultaneously. Just you and only you. So, will you marry me?”
I swallow hard, but I can’t stop the tear from sliding down my face. “Yes,” I whisper. “If you asked me that question until the end of days, I would always answer yes.”
His eyebrow quirks. “Even when I tell you to tidy up because we’re not running a council tip?”
I snort and wipe my face. “Even then. Always then.”
We stare at each other, and his eyebrows rise. “Going to put it on?”
“I thought I’d leave that to you.”
I hold out my hand and watch as, head down, he focuses on sliding the ring onto my finger. The plain gold band slides on like a knife through butter. He stays there, looking down at it. “Mac?”
When he looks up, his eyes are wet. “Thank you,” he says solemnly. “You’ve made me very happy.” He pauses and says so earnestly that it hurts my heart, “Youalwaysmake me happy.”
I wipe my face again, and sliding my arms around him, I pull him to his feet and kiss him. It’s a soft kiss and completely unlike any other kisses we’ve had. We’ve had rough kisses, loving kisses, and sleepy kisses where our lips just brush in that first moment of waking up, but I realise this one… this is a promise kiss.
I pull back, and we stare at each other. “Hello, fiancé,” I finally say. He immediately grimaces. “Well, what should I call you then? Fusband? Fubby?”
He rolls his eyes. “And once more, the sentiment has gone. Thank youverymuch, Wes.”
“Has it?”
He smiles and pulls me close. “Never.”
“And don’t think I haven’t noticed that you proposed naked,” I say tartly into his chest. He smells clean and warm and just Mac. I tighten my hold on him, and despite making anexaggerated grunt, he complies, and we hold each other while I admire the gleam on my finger.
“I’ve always been naked with you,” he says suddenly.
I look up. “What do you mean?”
“There’s something about you, Wes, that has always stripped me bare.”
“Is that as painful as your current expression is indicating?”
