"Marry you?" I pulled away and stared up at him, thinking that I was FAR too sober and far too something to deal with the idea of marriage to ANYONE. "Clay, I think we should probably-" Clay's eyes were locked on mine and I swallowed down the anxiety that was rushing up. "It's just- We just met."
It was lame, even to me, but it was true. And it wasn't like I had such a great fuzzy feeling about marriage in general. LOOK at my parents, or you could look at them, if my mom wasn't six feet under from the fucking suicidal tendencies that her MARRIAGE caused.
"Char-" He sighed, and I knew that he was TRYING to see it from my point of view, but he was having difficulties since he wasn't emotionally stunted and he was clearly delusional from rescuing me from the clutches of twin assholes. "Sweetheart, you're tired and I know that I blurted it out. I should have waited until we've both had some time to rest and-"
I couldn't help the snort that slipped out of me. The poor man was operating under the misunderstanding that my problem with his "proposal" was that it wasn't romantic or something? "Clay, you could have waited until we'd rested for a week, you'd planned the entire time with roses and candlelight and I think I'd react the same way." His eyes tightened and I groaned. "I love you, I do, but marriage? I'm not sure I EVER want to get married. To ANYONE."
I was gratified when he didn't pull away from me, throw on his clothes, and leave in a huff. Instead, he pulled me closer, tucking my head under his chin and sighed again. "Then we're at an impasse, Char." I listened to his breathing, the steady thrum of his heartbeat, and started to drift off again as he laid back. "Because I'm not giving up until we have the same last name."
I woke up alone in my bed and I had a rush of fear that he'd given up after all and left me for good. Then I heard his voice in the living room and my heartbeat returned to normal. I didn't hear anyone answering him so I ventured a guess that he was talking on the phone. When he walked back into the bedroom with his cell in his hand, I knew I was correct.
"I didn't want to wake you," his smile caused the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes to crinkle and those dimples of his to peek out at me. "How do you feel?"
"Better seeing you," I opened my arms and he moved closer to give me what I was clearly asking him to give me. Wrapping his arms around me, our lips met and all was right in my world, even if my scalp felt like it was on fire and my face felt like it bore a terrible resemblance to hamburger. When he pulled back, much too soon for my liking, he was still smiling. "What?"
"I love you," his fingers brushed my bangs away from my forehead gently and his eyes seemed to be memorizing my face. "Even if your bruises have bruises." I shook my head and rolled my eyes, happy to find neither caused me pain. "Feel like a bath?"
My smile grew at the thought of Clay naked and a tub of hot water. "That depends," he cocked an eyebrow and I bit my lip, hissing at the pain it caused, but shrugging it off with the single-mindedness that came from thinking about Franklin Clay naked. "Are you joining me?"
I squealed when he yanked me into his arms, then giggled as he jostled me gently through the bedroom into the bathroom. "You're incorrigible, Charlotte Ramble, do you know that?"
I nodded when he set me down, grinning as he started to take off the pajamas I'd put on when Walter showed up to check on me. "I do know, and if it gets you in the bathtub with me, I'll be so damn incorrigible that you'll have to stick to me like fucking glue."
"Deal." Clay muttered, kissing me with a tenderness that promised more. So much more that I knew that impasse was still hovering, but I swore that I'd deal with it later. For now, I had a bath to take, and a naked Clay to play with.
