The Answer
Chapter 1
"So . . . how is it?" Catherine stole a glance at Vincent under her lashes. He'd hardly said a word since coming through the door an hour earlier and sitting down for dinner.
"Mmmm. It's great."
"Better than pizza and a beer, I hope," she quipped, uncertain. He was in a strange mood.
"Much better." He looked up then and studied her face. "I'm sorry. Ignore me. I'm just beat. It was a very long afternoon. This is the best meal I've had in days."
She frowned to think what he'd been doing and where he'd been eating, but she wouldn't ask. He'd tell her in his time. He always did, now. "You know, you're welcome to eat here every night. I'd love to cook for you, and it would be easier on JT's budget, I'm sure."
"I'd like that."
There wasn't going to be a better time. He'd probably fall asleep after dinner, as weary as he looked. Catherine sucked in a breath and held it. It was now or never. "So, . . . is this a good or bad time to tell you I've been rethinking our conversation of a few nights ago—movie night?"
Vincent stopped mid-chew and looked at her, instantly alert, fork still poised in his hand.
"I—I mean, I've been giving some thought to what you said, about . . . about any marriage between us not being legal but still being real, and—what are you doing?"
He swallowed forcefully. The fork clinked to the table and he pushed his chair back and stood. Without preamble, he stepped in front of her and started to go down on one knee.
"No!"
His eyes flew to hers, confused.
"I-I-I mean, oh! I d-didn't realize you would do this right now."
"I'm sorry. Was there something else you wanted to discuss first?"
She looked about frantically. "But the . . . the dirty dishes! So unromantic."
Vincent immediately rose to his full height and started clearing the table. "I'll help put them away."
She got to her feet as well and started grabbing items herself. A distraction. She needed a distraction. Finally, when there was nothing left to do, she pitched around for purpose and almost bumped into him.
That she'd run out of excuses was painfully clear. Vincent didn't say a word—simply took her by the hand and led her over to the living room sofa and started to kneel again at her feet.
"How's this? Better?"
"Oh my God, Vincent. Should I . . . I should get on my knees, too, right?"
He laughed. "You don't need to, but . . . whatever you want to do." He reached for her hand.
"Wait!"
The first time was humorous. Now he was starting to get annoyed. "Now what? You know, I'm beginning to think you don't really want me to do this."
"No, it's just that I—I should do something with my hair, shouldn't I? I look a mess—"
He grabbed the hand going to her hair and caught it, then ran his fingers through her silky fine hair. "Catherine, this is not the ceremony. Just the question. First things first. And you always look beautiful to me. Besides, there won't be any pictures." Probably not even of the wedding, if it ever happened at this rate. "There's just you and me, okay?"
"Oh my God, oh my God."
"Are you okay?" He didn't want to laugh at her, but this was a bit over the top, even for Catherine.
She nodded, putting fingers over her trembling lips, trying to control it. She wasn't being very successful, but the effect was endearing. Hadn't she started this conversation? Vincent smiled to himself. Lifting her hand to his mouth and his eyes to hers, he kissed each finger and whispered, "Just breathe."
After a few beats, when he saw she wasn't going to bolt, he tried again. He hadn't expected to do this tonight, although he'd been thinking about what he would say for weeks now. "You know," reaching for some calm himself. "I would do this in the middle of Times Square if I could. I want the whole world to know what I feel for you."
She was starting to make little keening sounds now, but he ignored it. She was in a zone of her own. "Catherine Elizabeth Chandler—" When she let out a surprised gasp, he said, "You're not the only one who knows how to do research." He brought her wrist to his lips. "Catherine, I love you more than life. With everything I am. And I want to spend the rest of my days, however long that may be, making you happy. Will you . . . will you marry me?"
Catherine tried to breathe. She really did. It came in and out in soft little gasps instead.
Everything he said was written on his face—his scarred, beautiful face—and in those entrancing eyes which always saw into the deepest parts of her.
"Now would be the appropriate time to give me your answer," he prompted, his cheek dimple deepening.
Even though they would have to keep it a secret, like everything else in their lives, this was the real thing. This man, whom she loved beyond anything, was asking her to be his wife. Till death do they part. Today, tomorrow, or thirty years down the road. She wanted it. More than anything.
Her answer sounded more like a sob but her head was saying yes.
Vincent let out the breath he was holding and dropped his face into her palm. His body was shaking with . . . relief? joy? tears? exhaustion? He didn't know and it didn't matter. She was his. He lifted wet lashes to her and laughed. She catapulted herself into his arms. "Okay, then. See, that wasn't so hard, was it?"
"You want me to apply for what? A Justice of the Peace license?" JT lifted his head from the chemistry text he had spread across the pool table, studying. When Vincent didn't move, JT's jaw dropped. "Oh my God. You want to marry Catherine."
It wasn't a question. And it never had been. "She already said yes."
JT peered at him over his glasses. "So-so-so, what? Next you're going to go house hunting with her?"
"JT—"
"I'm going to perform the ceremony, then send it to the state to hold, just in case?"
"No. We'll put it in the safety deposit box. Just in case." Vincent paced in front of him. "If things ever turn around and I become a free man again, I want it to be legal. A death certificate can be un-done."
"You're serious about this? About marriage . . . because—"
"JT. She already gave me her answer."
JT sat down on the corner of the table. His friend meant business. About time. He hid his smile behind a frown. "This is going to cost me a fortune, isn't it?"
"Where will we have the ceremony? We can't use a church, obviously, or a judge's chambers. I suppose we could do it at my apartment, or yours, or anywhere really—"
She was nervously babbling again. Cute, but babbling. It hadn't stopped since the night before when he'd left his fiancé at the door with a promise to return the next evening. Vincent smiled to himself.
"Catherine, it doesn't matter. It's just . . . I want it to be somewhere meaningful to us." JT had suggested they didn't even really need an actual ceremony—they could just sign the papers. But he would have none of it. It was the only marriage ceremony either of them were likely to have. He wouldn't cut corners.
Catherine had calmed down some now that the question and her answer were out of the way, but he could hear the hint of excitement in her voice. That was all right with him. He'd always known she wanted normal. Thinking about a wedding, even as small and secretive as theirs would have to be, had given her new purpose.
"You know," she said with a twinkle in her eye. "If I were feeling brave, you just might be able to talk me into having it on the fire escape."
"Oh, really? The fire escape, huh?" He laughed. Appropriate, but not very practical, and a little too public. His face turned serious, because he'd already thought this through. "I was actually thinking about the rooftop?"
JT met him on the stairs. "Did you get it? The license?" Vincent had seen the very official looking envelope come in the mail and suspected what it was.
"I got it. I can now officially pronounce you manimal and wife," JT said with a giggle.
Vincent didn't laugh. "Good."
"I'm still not clear on how I'm supposed to be the official and the best man at the same time, though."
"JT, it will be fine. We'll figure it out."
The medical researcher pushed open the door at the top and dropped down onto an old bench nearby. "I still don't see why we can't just sit around a table and sign the forms. Seems like a lot less work—and money."
Vincent sighed. They'd been over this already. "JT, this is the only wedding Catherine may ever have. I want it to be special for her. Her mom is gone; she's confused about her father. It's difficult enough that she can't have Heather here. She only has one sister."
"A half-sister."
"A sister is a sister. She can't have any of her friends here except for Tess, so I have to find creative ways to make it special. And I think," he said, looking around the space, "this just might work." He'd had fun decorating it for their anniversary a few months back. They could do the same and more.
"Okay, but Dude, you seriously need to find gainful employment sometime in the near future. You're beggaring me. Do you have any idea how much it costs just to rent those tuxes?" At Vincent's look, he threw up his hands. "Hey, don't take your beast out on me. I didn't design the world. But someone needs to be the voice of reason here."
When Vincent continued to frown, JT said, "What is it?"
"You know, I talked Catherine into this." He sat down, as well. "I'm not sure she was ready. What if I pushed too hard?"
"Hey, as much as Catherine tries to play the tough guy all the time, she is so into you. Madly in love. Accept it. Despite what she says, she wants this as much as you do."
"You really think so?"
"I know so. And besides, I don't think you can make that woman do anything she doesn't want to do. I'm just saying. At least, I wouldn't try."
Vincent laughed. "I guess you're right. It's just . . . it didn't start out to be some fancy thing like this. It just grew. But I can't give her everything she deserves, so this needs to be amazing-for her."
"And for you."
"Yeah."
At the look on Vincent's face, JT acquiesced. Money was nothing when compared to the hopeful look on his long-time friend's face. The guy was deliriously happy for the first time in ten long years. "Well, then, let's go make it amazing. Do you have your vows written out?"
Vincent fished into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. He handed it to JT, who glanced down at what he'd written.
"Catherine is one lucky lady," he said, all kidding aside.
"No, I'm the lucky one."
To have found love in the midst of their tragedy was pretty amazing. JT pulled his best friend into a bear hug. "Then let's get to work."
"What is this?"
"Open it." They sat on the fire escape enjoying the cool evening breeze and the sights and sounds of the city below. At least one part of the scenario could play out in this setting. Vincent smiled and held out the small, black leather box.
"I'm afraid to. It looks suspiciously like a ring box."
He smiled. "Does it? You know, there's only one way to find out."
She held his eyes a moment before reaching for the box. Sliding a nail underneath the catch, she opened the lid. An elegant square-cut solitaire set in a gold band lay sparkling against a black velvet swatch. "Oh, Vincent."
"Do you recognize it?"
She looked at him in surprise. "Is this the one we looked at—"
"In Milltown, yes."
"How on earth did you get it?"
"I have my ways." He tilted his head. "Okay, JT ordered it on line," he admitted. "They have a website."
"It's so beautiful," she said, carefully lifting it out. Then her eyes met his. "But you know I can never wear it."
"Not every day. But maybe when we're alone?"
That hopeful note was back in his voice again. She hated to squash it but this just wasn't very practical. "An awful lot of money for something I can't wear very often."
He took it from her and pulled a cloth bag from his pocket. "You can, with this." A small gold chain slid down from his fingers. He threaded the chain through the ring and held it out to her. "You and I are the only ones who need to know."
