Martin is not sure how they make it to the hotel Theresa is staying at; they've had a little drink, and he envies the way alcohol seems to have no effect on her composure.
A real princess, that's what she is; one more reason why he shouldn't be here, fooling himself into thinking there's the slightest chance of a future together.
"Stupid fairy tales," he murmurs, and he hears an amused chuckle coming from somewhere over his shoulder. "No hope in hell for the poor boy to marry the woman of his dreams – not in real life anyway."
"Well, you never know unless you try," she says gently, and that's enough to sober him up for the time being.
"I – what?" he blurts out, turning around so quickly that his head spins a little.
Theresa gives him a fond smile, the one that means she's taking charge. "Would you marry me?"
"Are you proposing?" he says in utter amazement. "Shouldn't it be the other way round?"
"Is that a yes?"
"Yes?" he replies tentatively, his eyes fluttering shut when she leans forward to kiss him.
(Douglas almost chokes on his morning tea when he reads the announcement over the papers.)