Chapter Thirty-Nine

“How come most airlines don’t have first-class seats anymore?” Emmabelle pouted next to me on the flight back home later that evening. She was munching on dried fruit.

I flipped a page in the Wall Street Journal, taking a sip of my virgin Bloody Mary, possibly the only virgin I had ever consumed. I would have gone for whiskey, but Belle was the kind of woman who insisted I sympathize with her by staying sober.

“There was hardly any difference between first and business class to begin with. Add to that the fact that business-class seats by definition count as a work expense, and you’ll get why most western airlines don’t want to be bothered. Why are you asking?” I glanced her way.

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, looking left and right.

“There’s not enough leg room.”

I tapped my lap, folding the paper and tucking it under my arm. “Put your feet on me. Problem solved.”

“No, not for that. Oh shit. Fuck. I mean … this is bullshit,” she scoffed, rubbing at her forehead.

“Please continue.” I sat back. “I love it when you whisper sweet nothings to me.”

But she didn’t. She waited until we were exactly at the halfway point between the United Kingdom and the United States. Beneath us, there was nothing but the giant, deep expanse of the Atlantic. All that kept us in the air was a tiny metal tube and faith. And suddenly, I realized exactly the analogy she was trying to make.

That marriage was about giving and taking.

About making concessions and meeting each other halfway.

“Okay. Don’t hate me if I screw it up. Or if I can’t get up or anything. This baby is messing with my center of gravity.” Belle plucked a square velvet thing from her purse and stood up, before crouching to one knee and groaning in annoyance.

I sat up straight, every bone in my body screaming at me to pay attention.

Everyone in business class turned their sleepy gazes in our direction.

“Devon Whitehall, you’re the best man I’ve ever met by leaps and bounds. I have been in love with you from the first moment our gazes met. I want to grow old with you, to be with you through thick and thin, to have your last name. I know I’ve been … difficult the past few months, but I promise I’m a changed woman. Please, would you do me the honor of becoming my husband?”

“Yes.”

There was more to be said.

But for now, this one word seemed to sum it up.

People clapped from the seats beside us. One woman took a picture of the whole thing on her phone. But somehow I couldn’t care less if we wound up being on the cover of a tabloid.

“Oh, Dev.” Belle covered her mouth with her hands, tears welling in her eyes. “This is awesome. Now can you please help me up?”