Chapter Eight

Curt

Soft rays of sunlight filter through the open window of the hospital room, highlighting the delicate curve of London's face. She looks so pale, even though she no longer has all those machines attached to her body. The doctor assured me earlier, for the millionth time after she was transferred from the ICU to a regular hospital room, that she'll wake up soon. They say she's stable and healing well, and I wish I could believe them. I wish I could rid myself of this fear, guilt, and bitterness at myself for failing to protect her.

I clasp my hands around hers, willing her to open her eyes… even for a few seconds.

"Please, London. Come on, baby," I mutter, raising our clasped hands to my cheek.

I close my eyes, letting the emotions that I've bottled in the past few days wash over me: anger, sadness, guilt. Most especially guilt.

"Curt?"

I snap my eyes open to see London looking at me with a puzzled expression. Relief washes over me so suddenly that I almost buckle from the weight of it.

I lean forward in my chair, reaching out to caress her face. "Hey, honey," I say softly, smiling into her eyes.

"You're crying," she says, searching my face, her brow furrowing deeper with concern. "I'm not dying, am I?"

I chuckle, slowly shaking my head. Only London would make a joke in a situation like this.

"No, love. I'm just glad you're awake," I reply, raising the back of her hand to my mouth for a lingering kiss. "How do you feel?"

She tries to sit up and I quickly stand to help her, propping pillows around her until she indicates she's comfortable. Then I lower myself to the bed beside her.

"How do you feel?" I ask again, searching her face for any sign of discomfort.

"Like I've narrowly escaped death," she replies with a wry smile, reaching up with her free hand to wipe my tears away. I lean into her touch and close my eyes. I remain that way for a while, mentally reassuring myself that this moment is real.

"What happened to Tom?" she asks after a while.

"The cops came just after you passed out and took him away," I reply, struggling to keep myself detached from the horrors of the memory that her question evoked -- the desperation and helplessness that I felt at that moment. "I'd called to give them the address before I came."

"How did you know where to find me?"

"Amelia put a call through to me after you rushed out of her cafe," I reply. "She guessed it was your mom who called and thought she might be in trouble. But I'd found some quite serious dirt on Tom Miller, and I knew how dangerous a man he was. I thought you might be in trouble, so it didn't make sense to wait around for the cops."

"What'll happen now?" she asks quietly.

My heart clenches at the shadow of fear that I can still see in her eyes. It's going to take a while before she overcomes the trauma of the monster who raised her, but I'm determined to stay right by her side, to love and protect her through it.

"What about my mom?" She drops her gaze, but not before I catch the fluttering sadness in her eyes.

I squeeze her hands gently, reassuring her of my presence, my support. "Tom Miller will be indicted next week, mainly for drug trafficking and use. However, he'll be charged with crimes like domestic violence, shoplifting, and a hit-and-run case. He'll be gone for a long time. Your mom went through a psychological evaluation on the court's order and was sent to a rehab facility, where she'll be until she's deemed well enough to return to society."

"Thank you," she whispers after a while, a lone tear sliding down the corner of her eyes.

I nod in response, tightening my hands around hers. At that moment, there's no need for more words between us. Her eyes speak volumes, and I understand them all.

"I guess it's all over now," she says, finally breaking the charged silence that descended between us. "Now I can do everything I've always wanted to without being ridiculed and gaslit by my parents."

"What do you want to do?" I ask. "Have you thought again about going to culinary school?"

She smiles, her eyes brightening up just a little, enough to light a spark of hope in my soul. "You remembered."

"Of course I did." I brush a lock of hair behind her ear. "So tell me about it."

"Being a chef is all I ever really wanted," she replies, her smile turning wistful. "When I was younger, before my dad died, we'd sit down together in the evenings and watch cooking shows together. I remember always telling him I wanted to be a chef and cook fancy meals like the ones on TV. I'd lost the dream somewhere along the way, but I'd like to make it a reality now."

"You can do that, baby," I say, returning her smile. "You can be anything you want."

Her expression grows sad again. This time, there's an air of defeat about her.

"Is this goodbye?" she asks in a small, quavering voice.

I blink at her in surprise. "What are you talking about?"

She shrugs her shoulders lightly. "I heard you speaking with Amelia in the study when I first arrived… You gave me one month to figure things out. It's about time…"

"Amelia was right," I say with a chuckle.

"About what?" she asks with an adorable frown.

"About you growing on people before they realize it," I reply. "Now I can't live without you."

She stares blankly at my face for a while, as if trying to make sense of my words.

"What does that mean?" she finally stammers.

"Marry me, London," I say quietly.

It's not an impulsive proposal; I've thought about it from the very first day we made love, but I'd planned to do it differently. I planned to give her enough time to get to know me, to convince her to want to be with me, but the events of the past few days have made me realize the fickleness of life and time.

There's really no promise of tomorrow…

So I'm going to lay my heart out at her feet. It doesn't matter if she tramples on it; I'll pick it up and give it to her again. And again.

"You can go to culinary school, become a chef, and anything else you want," I continue, ignoring the anxiety in the pit of my stomach. "But please give me a chance to walk with you… To hold your hand through the good and bad times. To laugh and cry with you. To love you…"

"Oh, Curt…."

"I love you, London," I say quickly, as if that will influence her response. "I know it's only been a few weeks and it seems like things are going too fast, but I've never been more sure of anything in my life. You complete me, London, and life without you would be a misery. So, please… please, marry me. You don't have to love me back right away. I'll love you enough for both of us."

"Yes."

I clear my throat. "What?"

"Yes, I'll marry you, silly," she replies with a giggle, her eyes brimming with tears that do nothing to dim the happiness sparkling in those beautiful brown depths.

"Really?"

My heart is beating so fast and hard in my chest, but she's all I can see at that moment. Her gorgeous smile… The heartwarming emotions swirling in her eyes… The love that I should have seen ages ago.

I see it all now.

"Of course! I love you too, Curt," she says, then chuckles despite the tears spilling down her face. "Heck, I've loved you all my life. So yes! I'll marry you."

I lean forward and lower my mouth to hers. Her eyes drift close as our lips meet in a passionate kiss that seals the promise of our hearts.

I've never felt so complete… so fulfilled.