34. EPILOGUE

EPILOGUE

“I’m gonna love you till the planets die”

Back For More – Nia Hendricks

Deon

Six months later

“ N athalie,” I hiss, voice low, as we weave through the Paris Catacombs. This place is creepy and my skin crawls as my head dips to fit the opening into the next open area. Some parts of history give me the heebie jeebies, and this is one of them.

Hundreds of thousands of bones lay on either side of the dirt path, neatly stacked. Towers of femurs lay beside shin bones. Skulls are arranged to resemble a heart or cross and the air is cold and damp. There’s a chill in the air like this is not a place that we were meant to see.

My girlfriend does not harbor the same fears of curses and ghosts as she snaps photos and ohs and ahs at the wonder of human existence.

I nearly tapped out after creeping down the narrow spiraled staircase. Dizzy and disoriented, I was blasted with the scent of tilled earth and stagnant air and I nearly hauled myself back up those stairs.

But Nathalie took hold of my arm and guided us through the beginning of the Catacombs, all void of skeletal remains. I’ve been chasing her the last few minutes, trying not to lose her in the crowd of tourists. I’ve seen the horror movies about the Paris catacombs and I have no intentions of Nathalie or I getting lost in the maze beneath the city.

I have important plans for this trip and they will not be derailed. My hand subtly pats the left pocket of my khakis, ensuring the small pouch I’ve been carrying is still there and not lost to the Catacombs.

Nathalie’s braids fly around as she darts in my direction, intertwining our fingers. The subtle buzz of anxiety fades when she touches me.

“How are you doing?” She whispers, leaning against me as we creep into the next room, more bones neatly stacked on either side.

“Uh…” I trail off. I don’t want to ruin this for her. She was so excited to visit the Catacombs, but all I could think about was the horror movie As Above, So Below.

“Are you creeped out?”

Her smile is knowing.

I may have her up with a night terror that we were stuck down here and chased by a murderer.

When I imagined our trip to Paris, I saw us at the Louvre, admiring paintings. I saw lunch by the Seine and shopping at old bookstores.

I imagined us beneath the Eiffel Tower, the golden band in my pocket on her finger.

“A little,” I admit, dragging her closer until she’s pressed against my side.

Nathalie responds immediately, clasping her hands around my waist. Her hand slides to my hip and I jerk, her fingers dangerously close to the custom-made engagement ring I hope to give her.

It’s fast and we’ve only been together for the last six months, but I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life. There are no nerves, only giddy excitement about bending down on one knee and asking her to become my wife.

I’m hoping for a long engagement so that Nathalie can have the wedding she deserves, the fairytale one I know she’s planned in her mind.

My girl is a hopeless romantic and, fuck me, but being in love with her has turned me into one too.

Bone-deep contentment sits beneath my diaphragm as I think about the life we’re building together. My home has become our home, full of her knick-knacks and romance novels and shoes.

Our nights are spent with puzzles and tea or dating shows and snack mix. On days that I’m bored, I surprise her at GameChangers and hang out with her and the kids.

Every single day, she tells me she loves me. Without fail. And every day, I’m shocked that I could love her any more than the day before. She is, by far, the most magnificent person I’ve ever met.

She’s held my hand in therapy as I worked through my trauma. We cook dinner every night, with Gordie by our sides, and as I clean up the dishes, she always sits on the barstool and ogles me.

It’s the best part of my day.

There are no words, but I can feel the love and affection she holds for me.

“Thank you for doing this with me,” she says, breaking the embrace, but keeping our hands locked. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

I kiss the crown of her head, allowing her to lead me through the rest of the tunnels, taking photos of her to put into our scrapbook.

It’s our love story and as corny as it sounds, I’m proud of that silly scrapbook and I want to fill it with every memory that I can.

She rolls her eyes when she notices my camera is aimed at her and she throws out a hand.

“No paparazzi,” she giggles, sticking out her tongue, before taking the winding steps out of the Catacombs and into the gift shop.

“We have to capture the memory,” I say, grabbing a postcard we can add beside the photos in the scrapbook.

“ We have to capture the memory, ” Nathalie mocks, but her smile gives her away.

She loves the scrapbook as much as I do.

As we exit the gift shop, I finally take a full breath, reveling in the crisp June air. Nathalie holds my hand as we walk down a boulevard, trees on either side of the path .

Nathalie’s hair shines in the summer sun, the strands the color of freshly brewed coffee. I love her hair, running my fingers through it, gently unknotting the tangles, how her eyes lull closed in bliss.

We sit down on a bench, silently watching people pass and her head falls on my shoulder.

“Thank you,” she whispers, though the words come out a bit choppy. “This is more than I could have ever imagined.”

She squeezes my thigh and rests her hand there as she leans against me.

The rays of the sun filter through the trees, birds chirp and pieces of conversation fill the air as Parisians pass by, going about their day.

The normalcy of it all reminds me how lucky I am to have found Nathalie in a world with so many people.

Maybe it’s the realization that I need to hold onto what I’ve found, or maybe it’s the way the weight of her head on my shoulder is the most comforting thing in the world, whatever it is, it allows the practiced words to fall from my lips.

“Will you marry me?”

Nathalie’s head jerks up, banging into mine and sending me reeling as she launches from the bench.

Her eyes are wide as saucers as she stands in front of me.

“What did you say?”

“I—”

No. No. No.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. This moment was supposed to be magical and romantic. A proposal beneath the Eiffel Tower when the lights turn on, sparkling in the background as I bend down on one knee and ask her to marry me.

Not on a random park bench in the middle of Paris with zero lead-up.

“Deon.” Nathalie’s voice cuts through the panic and as our eyes meet, tears begin to brim behind her glasses. “No takesies backsies.”

Her bag dangles in her grip, the top of the macaron box peaking out beside the books she bought from a small vendor on the Seine.

With shaky fingers, I pull out the small pouch and undo the laces. I fumble to pull out the ring, the small gold band tiny in my grip.

A pear-shaped green sapphire sits in the center, surrounded by small diamonds, set on the band. On the inside, the words pinky promise are engraved into the band, a declaration to her.

A sacred oath to love her for the rest of our lives.

“Nathalie…” I clear my throat, ready to run through the speech I practiced with Declan to make sure it was perfect.

“No. Stop.”

Nathalie holds up a palm and my stomach plummets, tears springing to my eyes.

Is she rejecting me?

“N-No?” My voice crack on the terrible word, but she’s not looking at me,she’s frantically digging through her bag, heaving things out and onto the Paris streets. She quickly opens the macarons and shoves a pink one in my mouth, which is agape in horror.

The strawberry flavor bursts on my tongue, but it quickly turns bitter as she ruffles through her bag while I’m mid-proposal.

This is not how I expected this to go.

Nothing ever seems to happen how I expect it.

Like when Ian was one of the last two men on our dating show and in the final hour—when everyone was convinced she would choose him—she decided to leave with David.

The only good outcome of that tragic loss is that The Fellowship of the Rings poster stayed in The Lair since Nathalie moved in.

I’m finishing chewing the macaron, tears beginning to cascade down my cheeks as the rejection settles.

It was too fast. Maybe it’s a no for now and later, when we’ve been together longer, she’ll say yes. It’s what I tell myself as she throws her books to the ground and tears into her bag, completely ignoring my breakdown.

I rip the fidget spinner from my pocket, trying to focus on the calming motion in my hands when she yells.

“Aha!”

Nathalie pops off the ground, her things surrounding her feet, and the brightest smile on her face. That’s not a rejection smile.

“Ask me again,” She demands, nodding her head at the ring I’m clutching in my palm.

My head begins to spin.

Her soft brown eyes are full of emotion and her lips twitch with the force of her grin. She pokes me right between my pectoral muscles.

“Are you short-circuiting?”

I’m ready to take my words back and pretend this all never happened when Nathalie takes my hand and slides a titanium band onto my left ring finger.

My heart stops beating at the sight of it. A perfect fit.

“I-I…How?”

“I bought it a month ago,” she says, holding my shaking hand in hers. “I found the invoice for a ring in The Lair. I was trying to tidy up,” she gives me a sheepish grin, “and I found it stuffed between two books.”

Oh.

I thought that was a good hiding spot.

She’s not the one to tidy up between books, so I figured that spot was safe until I had the ring in my hands and could throw the paperwork away.

“Remember when you couldn’t find your championship ring and I blamed its disappearance on Gordie?”

I numbly nod. I remember being pissed at my cat for a week until it magically reappeared. That was my college championship ring and he had batted it somewhere and I couldn’t find it.

“I stole it so the jeweler knew your size and I've been keeping it in my purse ever since.” My hand is still in hers, the ring sitting perfectly on my finger. “I thought you deserved a proposal, too.”

Tears are streaming down my cheeks and distantly I realize I’m crying in the middle of Paris and all of Nathalie’s belongings are sitting on the street, open for anyone to take.

But I can’t peel my eyes from her, from the woman who’s brought me back to life, who’s shown me what true, unconditional love is supposed to feel like.

With her, I am free of what haunted me for so long. She’s my sunrise, the promise of a new day, a better day, full of love and hope and joy.

I open my palm, the ring I bought her sitting in the center. She gasps, dropping my other hand.

“Will you—” I choke on the words, emotion clogging my throat, “Will you marry me?”

It’s not my planned proposal and my speech is long forgotten, but it’s raw and real and a moment that will be seared into my brain for the rest of my life.

Nathalie nods frantically, lip quivering as I slide the ring onto her finger. She lifts it to the sky.

“It’s beautiful,” she croaks, and then her hands fly over her face as she begins to sob. I drag her to my chest as she heaves air into her lungs. “I—The adrenaline…”

At least we’re both crying. Maybe it won’t look so weird to the people passing by.

Her breathing evens and when she pulls away, her lips meet mine in a crushing kiss and she crawls up my body to wrap her legs around my waist.

“I love you. I love you. I love you,” she chants between kisses, only stopping to say the words or glance at her ring.

She kisses me until we’re both breathless, desperate for oxygen and someone yells in our direction in French.

Her cheeks are flushed as she holds my head between her hands, leaning in for one last kiss. This one is soft and slow and full of promise.

I’ll never understand how I got so lucky. She’s beaming as she slides out of my grip, stopping a random woman on the street, screaming, “We’re engaged!”

The woman gives her a quizzical look, but congratulates us, before moving on.

“We need to tell our friends and family!” she screams, scrambling for her things on the ground, shoving her belongings back into her bag. “We’re getting married.” She pauses, brows crinkling, before her eyes widen comically. “Deon? ”

“Yeah?”

“Can Gordie wear a tuxedo at our wedding?”

I bark a laugh, crouching down to help her collect her things. My chest bursts with joy as she stops every few seconds to look at her ring.

God, I love her.

I can’t wait to marry her, even if she hijacked my proposal.