30. Epilogue

EPILOGUE

A year later…

I shove my hands into the pockets of my slacks for the umpteenth time today.

Yep. The ring box is still there, right where I put it this morning before leaving the house.

I never thought a proposal would be so fucking nerve wracking. Now I feel bad for making fun of Nate and Mason back when they proposed to Laney.

"Psst, Seth."

I turn to find Solomon leaning toward me from his second-row seat. He taps my empty first-row seat. "Why don't you sit, Seth? Show's going to start soon."

I glance at the empty chair and then back at the catwalk that crosses through the middle of the room. It is empty for now, but still taunting.

Despite most of the front row seats being reserved for celebrities and people in the fashion industry, I've been able to snag a front row seat toward the middle of the catwalk between Deborah Angelise and some woman who introduced herself to me like I should know who she was.

"Sitting just makes me more nervous."

Solomon exchanges a look with Mom beside him.

She pats his knee and then gives me a smile. "Seth, honey, it's going to be great."

I tug on the hem of my suit jacket. "Maybe I shouldn't do this here. Maybe it's a mistake."

"She'll love it," Solomon says.

My mom nods.

It seemed perfect in my head when I started planning this a few months ago.

Bridget's first big runway show as a part of New York Fashion Week. A smaller show, but still a slot on the roster means big things for the future.

I already knew I wanted to propose soon, so why not fucking make it big? Why not make her show the best it could be?

Now I'm questioning it, though. Maybe she'll think I'm stealing her spotlight. Maybe I'm overshadowing her with a proposal.

"I'm going to go take a lap around the room," I say.

Solomon opens his mouth to say something, but my mom grabs him and speaks instead. "Okay, honey. We're here if you need anything."

I again shove my hands in my pockets and head down the length of the catwalk to the section of audience at the end of the runway.

I climb the steps until I catch Sonia's attention.

She sits up, the corners of her eyes folding. Her worried look has gotten even more worried since the twins were born four months ago.

By the time I reach her and the section of our friends, she's on her feet and extending her arms to embrace me. "Everything okay?"

"Just nervous," I say.

She wraps her arms around me tighter. "Oh, it's going to be great. Don't be nervous." She draws away and looks at the line of friends beside her. "Right? It's going to be great, right, everyone?"

Nate, Mason, and Laney are the most vocal with their confirmation, followed by Jack, then Abigail who seems distracted with her phone.

Sonia narrows her eyes at Edwin who seems completely glazed over as he stares out at the empty catwalk. She slaps his shoulder. "Edwin!"

His body snaps to attention. "What?! What?"

"Tell Seth it's going to be okay."

Edwin smiles. The bags under his eyes look like they're full of bricks.

I guess that's what being over fifty with newborn twins back at home does to a person. "Don't sweat it."

It's nice of them, but not helpful.

No one is worried Bridget might not say yes. For them, it's been a given from the second she moved into my apartment about a month and change after our first real date.

Marriage has just been the next logical step.

Sonia beams and squeezes my arm again. "You know she's going to say yes."

"In theory…" But in practice?

She rolls her eyes. "Don't be like that. You have the ring?"

My hand shoots into my pocket for the hundred and first time. Once again, I met with relief when I feel the ring inside. "Y-yes. It's still there."

"Oh, you poor thing." Sonia sighs. "Let's see it."

I open the box for her, tucking it behind my jacket in case the light glints off the emerald and blinds everyone.

"Beautiful as the day you bought it. She'll love it," Sonia says.

Sonia and Abigail both went with me to pick the ring out.

I was set on an emerald. I like her in blue, but I wanted the ring to match her eyes. Spared no expense on the size of the emerald or the diamonds inlaid around the band. I was thankful to have the support of her friends.

The music shifts and lights in the audience start to dim.

I shove the ring as deep into my pocket as it will go. "I better go back to my seat."

I turn and walk away before I can acknowledge any more words of comfort. I know I won't feel the comfort. Just have to get it over with.

And I don't want to feel that way. Because this is the most important moment of my life thus far. More important than telling Bridget I wanted her to be my sub, more important than collaring her, more important than telling her I love her.

Now, I'm going to tell her, in front of all these people, not just people we love, but strangers, that I want to be with her forever.

Throughout my life, I've risked more. Grandeur things, more expensive things, my life, even. And yet, this risk is paramount to all of them.

I take my seat just in time for the show to begin. Deborah Angelise gives me an appraising smile, watches the show from behind amber tinted sunglasses.

I'm a fine dresser, but I do not get fashion.

The moment the first model walks out, though, my worries fade away.

I'm here for Bridget. To support her and all the work she's done the past year now that her brand isn't just hers, but so many others. There have been nights where she gets into bed after me which is a feat since I spend too many nights working late. Less so since Bridget came into my life.

Now, to see all her work pay off…I've always been proud of her. But I'm overwhelmed by the way my heart swells in my chest as model after model comes out.

Her signature mixing of materials, lingerie playing with elegant lines and classic forms of lace, interspliced with latex, leather. Good girls gone bad. Flouncy skirts and garters paired with silicon ball gags. Leather cut and formed to move like silk, paired with a matching flogger.

The final piece is a model wearing a metal negligee that has been detailed and cut to resemble lace. It is incredible, the craftsmanship and detail.

I grin, remembering the moment Bridget came home and declared she needed to learn how to weld.

It's innovative. It's brilliant. It's Bridget. Smart, talented, fucking amazing.

Mine.

However, knowing it's the final piece means…

Solomon grabs my shoulder and squeezes. "You're up, kid."

I look at him and then my mom. The fear in my eyes must be more apparent than I'd like it to be because Mom touches my chin. Our eyes lock.

"There's nothing to be afraid of," she says.

I take a deep breath and return my gaze to the runway. The final model walks off, the music changes again, and one by one the line of models struts down the runway. This time, though, the big reveal is not the final piece in the collection.

The reveal is Bridget. In a blue blazer without a blouse underneath, matching pencil skirt, and tall stilettos. She could have been a model out there with the best of them. She throws a glance in our direction, her long brown ponytail bobbing with her head.

Her collar gleams.

God, the way she teases me with that thing drives me nuts.

Her smile, the flash of her eyes, however brief, is everything to me.

The audience showers her in applause and cheers.

She waves at them, blows kisses, spots our friends in the back and waves to them. I'm almost taken away by the moment, watching her receive her metaphorical flowers. The culmination of all her work.

That is, until the stage manager, the one with whom I cleared all of this, pokes his head out from the wing and snaps at me, points to the catwalk.

I leap out of my chair and rub my sweaty palms down the fronts of my pants before reaching into my pocket and…yep, the box is still there.

The stage manager holds his hand out for me.

I grab it, letting him swing me up onto the stairs.

I find my balance only to be totally overwhelmed by lights and the skyscraper models filing past me, faster than they would during a normal show.

They have been briefed and have already started scurrying backstage faster than they already move on their mile-long legs.

I hurry down the center of the runway.

I can see audience members flabbergasted and concerned that this strange man is wading through a sea of models, but I can't be bothered by them. I have to focus on my prize.

Bridget takes a step back with the intent to turn around and tag onto the train of models.

I wanted to meet her at the end of the runway, but I'm not fast enough so I stop in my tracks and drop to my knee.

The room gasps.

And Bridget turns.

Her beaming smile falters when she sees me. "Seth, what's…"

I can tell she's having trouble computing, the way her eyes flick away like someone else might have an explanation.

She didn't expect it.

"Bridget." I hold my hand out to her. "Come here."

Bridget takes a few steps toward me, absolutely dumbfounded.

And though we are surrounded by not just our loved ones but her fans, her public, cameras, and crew, it's just us.

It has always been just us.

"What are you doing?" A laugh burbles from the back of her throat.

"Take my hand," I say.

As always, Bridget follows my instructions, but her hand is shaking in mine.

Not great considering my body feels moments away from the shakes as well. But I will remain composed. Always. For her.

"You know how much I love you, don't you?"

‘Bridget nods.

"From the moment I saw you," I go on. "Even though you were supposed to be…" I glance over at our parents in the audience. Our biggest champions since it all came to light.

They normalized it so quickly that anyone who had any qualms with it couldn't say a damn thing because the only people who mattered didn't care.

That's real love there.

"All I've ever wanted to do is make you happy. Even if I had a crappy way of showing it," I say.

She giggles. A few tears slide down her cheeks. She catches a fat one underneath her palm.

"I'm so proud of you. And honored that you have chosen me to be the person you lean on. It is and will always be my greatest honor."

Her smile grows.

"And what I'd like more than anything…" I hold up the ring box in my free hand, flick it open with my thumb as I practiced because I was nervous I might drop it one-handed. "Is if you'd do me the honor of allowing me to be there for you always and forever."

Bridget's smile is so big, pretty lips bathed in a pretty petal pink, I think it might break her face.

There are so many more things I'd like to say. But the adrenaline is pumping, the energy around us is thrumming, an audience waiting on the edge of their seat to know if I've just made a fool out of myself. I need to know her answer.

"Will you marry me?"

She nods, head bobbing. Takes her a second to get the word out. "Yes, yes, of course."

I try to maintain my composure as I slide the ring onto her finger, but it's hard when everyone has just seen her nodding her head and is celebrating in kind. However, the second my ring is on her finger, I shoot up to my feet, pull her into my arms and give her a long, unflinching kiss.

We bask in the glow. Under the eyes of so many. To think our love was borne from a place of secrecy. Something to be kept behind closed doors.

And now we're being photographed on a runway at New York Fashion Week. Bridget, me, and the promise I've just put on her finger.

I wasted ten years of my life staying away from her. Now, I'm grateful every single day to have her in my arms.

For her to be mine.

As the kiss ebbs, my hand slides from the side of her head to her neck where the metal collar sits.

I stroke the chain link.

Bridget's eyes lingering on me with such profound love it makes my head spin.

"You belong to me for life now," I say.

Her lips curl up, and she ghosts her hand over mine, the one that touches the collar. "I didn't need a ring to know that."