Chapter 8

Remington had hoped to propose to Laura with all the grace and charm of Cary Grant. Now, down on bended knee with his slacks getting soaked by the snow, presenting the ring in trembling hands, and his heart pounding so hard in his chest he was certain Laura could see it through his four layers of clothing, he had the alarming sensation of feeling more like Jim Carrey than Cary Grant. The idea that they may have changed genres from an epic romance to slapstick comedy was only emphasized by Laura, who stood blinking down at him, her mouth opening and closing repeatedly, much like a fish.

His proposal had been anything but spontaneous. He'd planned it with the meticulous precision he'd employed when planning a heist, leaving no contingency, no variable, unaccounted for. He'd allotted himself weeks to convince Laura to close the office for three weeks over the holiday, but in that she'd been remarkably accommodating, agreeing readily to the suggestion, leaving him inordinately pleased. She'd been equally facile when it had come to his suggestion that they spend a goodly portion of the holiday in Aspen, had even eagerly anticipated their getaway, warming his heart further.

When Abigail had called with news of the trip she'd won to New York it had felt like providence come to call. A romantic engagement in New York City, one of the most vibrant cities in the world, was certainly a far cry from…

I need you to save my arse, again. How 'bout popping 'round to that trawler with me and exchanging a few vows, eh?

It was time to do this thing right, beginning with asking Abigail for Laura's hand, which was more than a bit nerve racking given he'd never known the woman to keep a single thought to herself. He'd laid the charm on thick, then secured her silence – after he'd received her blessing – by painting a vibrant picture of the all that he had in mind. He would, after all, likely be in need of a helping hand if he wished to assure Laura wouldn't have the opportunity to stop and think for even a moment.

The woman could, after all, sniff out one of his gambits within moments of him implementing it…

Thus, he left work midday on a pair of days, allowing Laura to reach her own, natural conclusion as to where he taken himself off to, earning him a lengthy lecture on the second occasion.

"I accepted a long time ago, Mr. Steele, that I'd have to look the other way when you sneak off to the movies in the middle of the workday once a week if I wanted to get any work out of you at all, but…"

He hadn't, of course, gone to the movies, but back to their flat where he'd spent hours on the phone reserving a carriage, locating a quartet, hiring an actor, upgrading their hotel room, changing their Aspen reservations… all the small details that couldn't be done underneath Laura's nose or once they arrived in the city. He'd been patting himself on the back until last evening when he realized he'd not come up with a plan on how to get Laura into that carriage without making those little hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention. Thus, the night before when he and Abigail had spoken, he'd enlisted her help, for Abigail Holt could get Laura to do just about anything, even if the younger woman did so stomping her feet and throwing up her hands the entire time.

Yes, a plan flawlessly executed in the end, except for the smallest detail…

"Laura?"

Her eyes snapped to his face, and with a disbelieving shake of her head, she wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. Did he? Had he? Her thoughts sputtered…

"I'm sorry… I thought… Did you…" Another shake of her head. "What did you say?" she finally managed, her voice going up an octave. It was on such a rare occasion that he truly managed to catch her unaware that he couldn't stop the smile that lit his face.

"I said: Laura Holt, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?" he repeated, amusement making his blue eyes twinkle. A pair of brown eyes regarded him before shifting to the ring, then immediately back to his face again.

"You're proposing?" The question only served to amuse him further. Pursing his lips, he glanced pointedly down at himself then at the ring still held before him.

"I should hope so," he teased, "Given the position I currently find myself in." She tentatively reached a hand out towards the ring, her fingertips hovering over it, before she pulled her hand back to finger her throat.

"You've never mentioned marriage before," she drew out the words while unconsciously shaking her head. He swallowed hard, his eyes darting towards the quartet whose octet of eyes were upon them, to the coachman, then back to her.

"To the contrary," he retorted, forcing a humorous tone to his voice, "I vividly recall asking you to make an honest man of me on a pair of occasions now." She frowned, her still sputtering brain trying to understand what he was alluding to. Obviously he was referring to their hasty marriage on the tuna boat, but what did he mean by a pair—

Then it clicked.

"Somebody is going around killing bachelors."

"In that case, will you marry me, Laura?"

"Pfft." She flipped a dismissive hand in his direction as she paced away. "You know perfectly well what I meant. I just assumed…" She drew out the last word then let the thought trail off as her mind continued to reel. His smile began to falter, as he worried his epic romance turned slapstick comedy had just veered towards tragedy. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered how it was possible he was breaking out into a fine sweat whilst his teeth were on the verge of chattering from the cold.

"Assumed what?" he asked, after several long seconds of watching her pace in silence.

"I didn't even know marriage was an option, at least not in your mind," she admitted. With a quick flash of his pearly whites, and an exaggerated glance at the ring still held high, he tried to force an ease he didn't feel, at all, into his voice.

"Clearly it is." When she merely frowned before pacing away again, he swallowed hard. In a hundred fantasies of what would happen in those moments after he'd 'popped the question' – from tear-filled brown eyes regarding him while her lips uttered a breathy 'yes,' to flinging herself into his arms while shouting a resounding acceptance – not once had he envisioned the possibility that she'd reject him. Absently, he closed the ring box then stood, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning his backside against a carriage wheel. Thoroughly confounded by her reaction, his eyes followed her as she continued to pace.

"Do you honestly believe we're ready for marriage?" she asked. He shifted uncomfortably.

"Isn't that what we've been playing at this last year-and-a-half? I thought we were doing well enough. " he replied, averting his face. "Was I mistaken?" His face pinched with distress as he awaited her answer.

"You know you're not," she answered, softly, drawing his eyes back to her. The truth was, she couldn't recall a period in her life when she'd been so content, had felt so… secure – particularly in her personal life. "I suppose it's just that I believed when the two years were up, we'd stage a phony divorce for the INS then continue as we were."

"Is that what you want? To stay where we are now, never moving forward?" he questioned, finding it difficult to speak past the heart in his throat. He breathed a little easier when she shook her head.

"I meant I've worked very hard at learning how to live in the present and not to worry too much about the future," she corrected. Embracing herself, she rubbed at her arms, pacing away from him as she continued pensively, "We came very close to losing everything we'd been working towards for four years because of all the 'what come next's' and ' what-if's'. I don't want that to happen again. What we have means too much to me." She turned to face him, her warm brown eyes meeting his pained blue ones. "You mean too much to me." For the first time in minutes, as hope surged through him, he drew an easy breath. Pushing himself upright, he walked slowly towards her, his eyes holding hers.

"And do you recall how it is we came to be here? Hmmm?" he posed the question, quietly.

"Why do we always draw the line at the bedroom door?"

"I don't know. I guess the timing's never been quite right. When one of us was ready, the other wasn't."

"But haven't we been avoiding it? Afraid of what comes after that magical moment?"

"What does come after?"

"I don't know."

"That's the scary part."

"Mmm-hmm. But we're never going to know unless we take a risk."

"It wasn't that we didn't know what would come after 'that magical moment' that kept us from crossing that line, but that we did," he postulated, stooping down slightly so they were eye-to-eye, "And it scared the bloody hell out of the both of us. How could it not, after a lifetime of lessons had taught us we weren't entitled to even this bit of happiness? It wasn't until we were faced with having nothing at all, that we were willing to risk everything on a leap of faith, and look how that's turned out. Hmmmm?"

She blinked at him, as though trying to compute what he'd just said, before her eyes flitted away in the direction of the quartet. Lifting her hand, she fingered her throat as her eyes darted towards the lane they'd just driven down then to the fountain and, finally, to the carriage. All of it spoke to how much planning he'd put into this proposal. Only then did her eyes alight on him again, recognizing at a glance the strain on his face, the heavy lift and fall of his chest as he breathed but it was the hope and fear she saw warring in the depths of that she latched on to.

"Yes."After minutes had ticked by and his concern she might actually turn him down had mounted, it was his brain that stumbled this time. He moistened his lips and blinked several times at her.

"Yes?"

"Yes," she repeated with firm conviction.

Still he couldn't quite believe. Then, there in the depths of her brown eyes, he found the warm acceptance that had drawn him to her from the very beginning and his lingering insecurity vanished in that instant. She squeaked, then laughed, in surprise when he wrapped an arm around her waist, crushing her to him, and, with a hand cupping the back of her head, sealed his lips over hers. The kiss, in both its intensity and thoroughness left her clutching his upper arms in her hands. When their lips parted, he kept her head palmed in his hand.

"Are you certain?" She drew a hand through his hair, joy glimmering in her eyes.

"As certain as I was in Mexico about… other matters… And look how that worked out. So, why not?" He basked in the warmth of her optimism.

"Why not," he repeated, then presented her with a quick, hard, touch of his lips against her forehead before he leaned his head down to rest his forehead against hers. "Then marry me, Laura," he repeated, softly, his hand squeezing her waist. "Marry me, here, on New Year's Eve."

Much as he'd anticipated all the possible impediments to his planned proposal, so too had he prepared an argument for every reason she might come up with to delay. He wasn't surprised when she tilted back her head to study his face, gauging his sincerity.

And then she shocked the hell out of him, in the very best of ways.

"What the hell," she smiled up at him, linking her arms around his neck. "Let's be bold…"