Luca’s Pov Ever After

LUCA’S POV EVER AFTER

For the first time in forever, I was nervous. Really nervous. Palm-sweating, heart-pounding, can’t-quite-breathe-properly nervous. After parking my car on an outcropping that overlooked the golden sprawl of Crystal Cove, I sat with my hands on the steering wheel, trying to remember what I was going to say.

Do not mess this up.

The ring was like lead in my pocket.

What if she hated it?

What if she said no?

What if I suddenly woke up to find that the last five years had been an impossible dream?

Get it together, Falcone.

Long gone were my days of my being a ruthless numb-to-the world assassin, where a typical Friday afternoon could easily turn into a bloodbath, and every family dinner ended in a black eye (though rarely my own). Now, the source of my raging anxiety was a girl with sunlit hair and grey-blue eyes, a wicked grin and a laugh that bubbled out of her like a song.

Sophie Gracewell.

She was standing down by the shore. I spotted her the second I got out of the car, this tiny speck upon the sand. She was staring out at the waves, letting the sinking sun gild her effortless beauty.

Somewhere back in Chicago, a snowstorm was brewing. But here, along the sandy southern coast of California, the day was bright and warm. Danger was a faraway thought.

I grabbed my rucksack and rolled up the sleeves of my dress shirt as I made my way down to the cove. It was hard not think of how far we’d come since that day outside Evelina Falcone’s house in Boulder Colorado five years ago, when the world was violent and dark and full of grief, and the only constant in it – the only shard of sunlight – was our love for each other. Unshakeable, infallible.

Now, the world was full of sunlight, and Sophie wore it like a second skin. Not long after that reunion, we flew west, as far from Chicago as we could get, to a place where everything was new, and we could be that way too.

We remade ourselves over the following months – found a two-bedroom apartment in Brentwood, bought a fern (that wilted) and a goldfish (that died), and a special bird feeder for the hummingbirds. Later, we enrolled in college, adopted a rescue dog. Sophie insisted on calling her Buttercup. I surrendered my dignity and folded. I immersed myself in astrophysics, got a degree and a research internship and then a graduate position for good measure. Sophie flung herself into film. She took dance classes while I learnt to cook. On the weekends, we went hiking with Buttercup, exploring the rocky hinterland and hidden hills of California, sometimes making our way up north to Yosemite.

Slowly, seamlessly, that life we’d always wanted came together. Our old wounds faded, and we let them. And now, as if in the blink of an eye, we were here, the same and somehow different.

Ready, I hoped, for what would come next…

As I walked across the beach, Sophie turned like she could sense me coming. A whip of sea wind tossed her hair across her face. She raked it back to reveal her grin.

‘Come and look!’ she called out. ‘There’s a pod of dolphins!’

‘Oh good, they’re on time,’ I called back. ‘I got those for you.’

She released that tinkling laugh that still set my soul alight. ‘You’ve really pushed the boat out this year!’

She was wearing a short, pale blue dress with a tied back, her feet bare on the sand. They were tanned from morning walks with Buttercup, a generous sprinkling of freckles now scattered across the bridge of her nose. Sunshine suited Sophie. Freedom suited her.

I came to stand beside her, kissing her cheek before straining to see the dolphins playing in the surf. A good omen, I hoped. They don’t have dolphins in Lake Michigan. Just bodies.

‘You’re early,’ I said. ‘I thought you didn’t get out until six.’

‘Our lead actress cut her foot on a piece of broken glass. It was like a murder scene.’ A pause then, her smile turning sheepish. ‘Well. Not really, actually.’ We had seen our fair share of those. ‘Anyway, we were let out early and I beat the traffic. Win-win.’

‘Well. Unless she gets sepsis.’

She pulled a face. ‘Ugh. That would really set the shooting schedule back.’ She turned to look up at me. ‘As seriously as I’m taking my internship, I’m much happier being with you on our anniversary.’

Five years since we had fled Colorado.

Five years since we had bet on ourselves. Bet on a future together.

‘Now, where are my snacks, Space Man? You promised me there’d be food.’

I pointed at the rucksack on my back. ‘Only the finest for you, Scorsese.’

She laughed. ‘Well, not quite yet.’

I set the rucksack down in the sand, careful not to dislodge the ring in my pocket. I could practically feel it burning against my thigh. The sun was almost setting and I was starting to sweat.

Hold your nerve, Falcone.

I removed a throw blanket and spread it across the sand. ‘Your throne.’

Sophie plopped down on top of it with a contented sigh. ‘This is so much better than the Ritz.’

‘Just wait.’ I carefully removed the bouquet of flowers I had been smuggling, unwrapping the plastic around them. ‘These are for you.’

Violets.

She practically snatched them from me.

‘I’m not sure if you remember that day we—’

‘I remember,’ she said, pressing them against her heart. ‘We met at the prison. We talked. Like, really talked. You picked violets for me on the way home.’

My throat dried out. They looked so paltry in her hand, their heads already drooping a little. Maybe I had made a mistake. ‘I’m sorry. I should have gotten you a thousand roses.’

‘No,’ she said, quickly. ‘These are perfect.’ She buried her face in them. ‘I love them. I love you.’

I blew out a breath. So far so good.

‘Snack?’

‘ Please ,’ she said. ‘I’m so hungry I could eat one of those dolphins.’

Of course, I had made real dinner reservations at Paradiso, our favourite restaurant. But I had something else in store first.

I removed a small paper bag, and set it on the blanket between us.

‘How intriguing…’ She removed the doughnut with exaggerated slowness, building suspense. It was pink, and topped with sprinkles.

I could tell by the way her eyes lit up that she remembered that too. The day we had shared a doughnut just like this after the prison, bite for bite.

‘My favourite ,’ she said, taking a bite now. It left a ring of sugar on her mouth, and I leant in to taste it. She kissed me back, her fingers curling in the collar of my shirt.

‘Your turn.’ Her eyes danced as she held it up to my mouth. I nibbled at the other side, letting the sugar fill me with courage.

‘I remember everything about that day,’ I told her. ‘The bench by the prison. The doughnut. The violets. It was the first time I realized you were special. Not just beautiful and brazen and mouthy as all hell… but soft and hopeful, and resilient and…’ I paused. She waited. ‘And maybe, just maybe, meant for me. Just in another life.’

‘In this life, Luca,’ she whispered.

I smiled. ‘When I picked those violets for you and your face lit up, I realiszed I wanted to give you flowers every day just to see that smile. And when we shared that doughnut all the way home, I realized it was the first of a hundred thousand meals I wanted to share with you. For me, that day, was the very beginning of us. It just took me a while to realize it. To be brave about it.’

The sun was setting, casting a halo around her hair, making her teeth gleam. ‘You’re very poetic today,’ she said, almost suspiciously.

‘Just a bit.’ I stood, tugging her down towards the sea. She came, but not before looking forlornly over her shoulder at that half-eaten doughnut.

‘I bought six of them,’ I said, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

She turned back to me, a question in her eyes.

‘The truth is, Sophie, I never felt like I deserved you.’

‘Don’t say things like that,’ she said, lightly prodding my chest.

‘But back then, you made me want to fight for you. You made me want to be better. To be brave. You still make me want to be brave.’ I slid my hand into my pocket, my heart hammering so hard, it was louder than the waves lapping at the shore.

Falling to one knee, I slipped the red velvet ring-box from my pocket. Her eyes went wide. A gasp sprung from her as she stumbled backwards.

‘No way ,’ she squealed. ‘No freaking way!’

I swallowed a rush of nerves. ‘Sophie, I’m trying to propose here.’

‘I’m not even wearing shoes!’

‘You look beautiful.’

‘There’s sand in my hair!’ She covered her face. Peered through a gap in her fingers. ‘Please go on,’ she squeaked. ‘I’ll try not to ruin it.’

A laugh sprung from me. How could she ruin it, when she was being entirely, perfectly herself?

I opened the box, revealing the diamond ring I had spent months designing, years dreaming about. A solid gold band, crowned with a clear-cut circular diamond. And at each compass-point, four smaller inlaid diamonds made it resemble Polaris, the North Star.

She started hopping up and down, then quickly gathered herself. ‘You have a speech, don’t you?’ she said, reading me too well.

‘I have a speech,’ I said, grinning. ‘All my life, I’ve looked up at the stars for comfort. For a direction in life, a respite from the violence that has always surrounded me. Even now, I dedicate my life – my job – to the study of the universe and its vast wonders, but there is nothing in the universe more impossibly wonderful to me than you, Sophie. All this time, I’ve been looking to the heavens for guidance, but the truth is, you are my North Star. I’ll go anywhere with you, today, and all the days after that, if you’ll have me.’

She couldn’t stop nodding, silent tears streaming down her face.

I offered the Polaris diamond to her. ‘Will you marry me, Sophie Gracewell?’

‘Yes! Obviously! Yes!’ She came to her knees, throwing herself into my arms. ‘Yes! Of course! A thousand times yes!’ She kissed my face, my neck, that word ringing like an aria between us.

Yes.

Yes to this.

Yes to us.

Yes to forever.

The ring fit, the diamond sparkling under the setting sun. We sat together on the sand, her back against my chest, my arms tight around her as we shared another doughnut and watched the last of the rays melt along the clear blue water.

‘This is a perfect day,’ said Sophie, twisting to kiss me. ‘I honestly didn’t think you could top the dolphins.’

‘And it’s not over yet. I have another surprise for you.’

‘Ooh, what is it?’ she said, eagerly.

‘Tell me… What has six letters and screeches like a howler monkey?’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘I don’t—’

‘OH MY GOD IT’S SO SPARKLY I CAN SEE IT FROM HERE!’ Millie’s voice rang out across the entire cove, scattering the seagulls into oblivion. Her flip-flops flew off as she came bounding down the strand, her dress bunching around her ankles. She fell. Twice. But remained undeterred. ‘I CAN’T BELIEVE MY BEST FRIEND IS GETTING MARRIED!!’ she shrieked, rising from the sand.

Sophie scrambled to her feet, blinking in disbelief. ‘Is that Millie ?’

‘Either that, or the doughnut we just shared was full of powerful hallucinogens.’

I had flown Millie in from Seattle that afternoon, since she was the closest thing Sophie had to family. Maybe even closer than that.

Sophie took off like a rocket, the girls racing towards each other across the cove. They barrelled into each other in a riot of giddy laughter, hugging and twirling, while stopping every three seconds to look at Sophie’s ring. More squealing. Lots of hugging. Several more ring inspections.

After a while, I sauntered over.

Millie threw her arms around me in congratulations.

‘ Excellent choice on the blingy ring, Falcone,’ she said, patting me on the shoulder. ‘Turns out nerds do have good taste. In diamonds and brides.’

I put my arm around Sophie. ‘Thanks, Mil.’

‘Now,’ she said, hands on hips as she looked between us. ‘Where are we getting married?’

‘We’ve literally just gotten engaged,’ said Sophie, laughing.

Millie hmm’d. ‘Lake Como. Say no more.’

‘I didn’t say anything. And we can’t take Buttercup to Lake Como.’

‘Well. Not without considerable expense.’ Millie eyed the diamond ring again. ‘By the looks of things, that shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll take care of it.’ She pulled a miniature bottle of pink champagne out of her purse and popped it with impressive ease. ‘After all, I am your wedding planner. And your Maid of Honour. And your celebrant. And your general life guru.’

She gave the bottle to Sophie, who took a swig before passing it to me.

I took a long, deep glug.

‘Get used to this, Falcone,’ said Millie, smirking as she watched me. ‘This is only the beginning.’

Good , I thought, as the champagne fizzed through me.

I was ready for all of it.