It had been perfect; she had been perfect. The cabin had been the absolute perfect idea for everything. Rhys knew in the coming weeks he would long for lounging in bed until late morning when hunger finally drove them from the warm covers and each other's bodies. He knew he would long for the quiet of watching Feyre paint or sketch while he pretended to read. He knew he would long for the way Feyre took in the beautiful pine forest scenery that trailed up and down the mountain side. And he knew for certain he would long for that absolute perfect moment once more.
It hadn't come when he had expected. He had thought it might happen on one of their hikes. That the beauty of it all would cause just the perfect setting and mood. It hadn't. It had been beautiful and wonderful, but never the perfect moment.
It hadn't come during quiet evenings drinking hot chocolate before the fire while cuddling on the couch. Those evenings had been very intimate and would remain burned into his memory forever, but they had not been perfect for what he wanted.
It hadn't come during long hours where he had been on his knees before her, worshipping her body. Or when she had been on her knees before him. Or when they had both been in other positions, as they had gone through many. Their love making was always perfect, proof she and he had somehow been made to fit together. But none of it had been the perfect time to propose marriage.
It had happened on the second to last night. He had gone out for a hike while she had been far too entranced in a painting to join him. That had been fine, space apart was always rewarded with far less space between them later. So he had gone, attempting to scout for the most beautiful place where he would finally propose because time had been running out. But when he had returned home still not feeling right, Feyre was no longer painting. She was in the kitchen at the stove, a sight he had never witnessed before. If he was a bad cook, Feyre was worse. She had never learned and never had had time to hone those skills. In the last week between the two of them, they had enjoyed many frozen pizzas, very simple meals that Rhys had been able to actually cook, and a lot of precooked food that only needed to be warmed. Feyre was working on the warming part it seemed as she stirred a pot.
"You're beautiful," Rhys had told her and she had smiled over her shoulder at him. Then he had come up behind her, holding her against him just to watch her stir soup and to be close to her.
"I like how we fit together," she had commented. "Like I belong just right here, always. Like this is the place I was created to be in." She had wiggled back against him to emphasize she had meant against his body.
"I have thought the same thing many times over," he had murmured back. "But not just how well you fit against my body." He had then detailed every moment he had ever thought she might be perfect for him, starting from the day he had met her in the elevator and it had occurred to him right then and there, it was perfect. Them talking about how they fit together so well and him telling her all of the ways she had been amazing for him.
He had intended to be all traditional when he proposed, to take a knee and ask for her to marry him. He had intended to do this correctly, but instead he had taken the ring out of his pocket while he had been talking and had slipped it onto her left ring finger without her so much as realizing until she had gone to stir the pot of soup once more.
"Rhys," she had breathed out his name and it had never sounded sweeter.
"Darling," he had murmured back. "You said you didn't want a diamond for an engagement ring, am I correct?" He hadn't planned on the teasing but the laugh Feyre had broken into had been worth it and soon they were both laughing, and kissing, and it wasn't until the soup had boiled over that they had sobered. "Marry me?" He had whispered after they had taken the soup from the stove.
"You love me?" She had asked and he had nodded, unable to tell her that love was not a strong enough word for what he felt deep in his bones for her. "Then yes."
The smile on his face, on her face, even as they had packed up the car two mornings later, had still been from that night and the following day and night. They hadn't left the bedroom except to eat. Rhys had marveled at how well that ring had fit her. It had never truly fit his mother's hand though she had worn it often enough. But it had always been a bit tight on her. But with Feyre it seemed to have been made to fit her slender artist's hands.
"You're sure you would be okay with a small wedding?" Feyre asked when they got into the car.
"I'm sure," he assured her for the tenth time since she had brought up that she didn't want some big, crazy, over the top wedding. "If you truly wanted it could be just me and you going to the court house together."
"Our family might have objections to that," she replied and he grinned at her. Our family. She was a part of his family already but that she realized it too was beautiful.
"Tell me what you are envisioning in that lovely mind," he begged and she gave in. It was clear Feyre had never been one of those girls to plan out her entire wedding. And she wasn't a girl to lean towards tradition either. She wasn't sure she wanted a traditional wedding gown. White tulle, lace, and gossamer weren't really here style and he couldn't help but agree. Not that she wouldn't make any gown look beautiful by association with her, but perhaps one needed to be custom made for her specifically.
"My sister, Elain, owns a flower shop," Feyre had hummed out an hour into their drive.
"She does," Rhys recalled. The same sister he had bought the wedding gown of and had never heard from after, Feyre had never heard from after, though he had received the bill. He wondered if she had married yet or if that was still to come.
"Her shop is the kind Velaris would help. Perhaps I'll make a stop out there to enquire both about that and about wedding flowers," Feyre turned her beautiful eyes to him. "I should invite my sisters. They are the only blood family I have left."
"You can do whatever you want," he told her honestly. "You don't have to feel obligated just because they are your sisters. And I can play nice if they do come."
Over the quiet of the week, they had had time to talk about her sisters a little more. He had told her all about his family and she had told him all about hers. She knew exactly how he felt about both of her sisters. They should have taken care of her, not the other way around. Had his parents died and his sister had lived, he would have found himself in a similar situation to Nesta, albeit with more money to support them. But he never would have forced his sister to work. He would have worked himself to death to keep her fed, educated, and happy. He certainly never would have demanded more and more money from his sister if she had worked. Nesta and Elain, it seemed, always had an eye on current fashions and required new clothes with every fashion season while Feyre had worn patch clothes that were close to falling apart.
"Somehow I doubt that you can play nice," Feyre chuckled. "Please tell me you don't want some horrible garden venue covered in roses."
"Gardens can be good venues, but they aren't really what I am thinking for my beautiful bride," he grinned at the words. His bride. He was going to marry Feyre Archeron. "What do you have in mind? An art gallery?"
He listened as she started talking through the different merits of different venues, and the benefits of keeping it small, if he was fine with it. He snorted whenever she brought up the size. Feyre didn't like being observed by crowds, he understood that. Being the center of attention hadn't ever been a good thing for her. But something with the family and maybe a few others would be perfect for both of them. All he wanted was his close family.
Rhys felt, rather than saw, something hurtle for the driver's side window. The glass shattered as he instinctively swerved the SUV and then all he feel was pain. All he could see was blood. And all he could hear was Feyre screaming his name as the vehicle came to a sudden halt. The airbag exploded out of the steering wheel and merciful darkness overtook everything but the sound of Feyre still screaming his name.