Chapter Thirty-Four (Jane POV)
"Isn't this breaking and entering?"
I twist a dubious frown over my shoulder at Mom following that ridiculous question. She and Dad are crouched behind me as if they are actually taking part in a heist. If they pulled out ski masks and covered their faces right then, I would not have been surprised. I barely suppress my answering eye roll.
"What are you two doing? Breaking and entering implies intent to rob or vandalize, neither of which I'm interested in doing. Besides," I say, hoisting my duplicate key to Michael's apartment aloft, "it's not breaking and entering if you use a key."
"Well, you're still sneaking in and removing furniture without his knowledge," Mom insists in a stage whisper, "So semantics."
"I am not removing furniture. I am replacing furniture," I tell her as I unlock the door, "And I'm doing it for a good cause."
She and Dad breeze past me into the apartment and Mom asks in mocking challenge as they do, "Oh yeah? And what good cause is that?"
Dad is good enough to answer to provide the answer. "Because Michael lives in a rathole and I find that personally offensive."
That statement is aptly punctuated as we take in the apartment's interior together. Michael has literally three pieces of furniture in his living room, a black, leather futon, a rickety coffee table that he took off of someone's curb and a television set. His dining room is worse. There are two chairs (and the second chair is only a recent purchase for my benefit and doesn't match the first one) and a set of fold out dinner trays. And his bedroom isn't much better and is furnished with only the basic necessities. Bed, dresser, mirror. And none of those pieces match either. But, at least there is a pop of life in that room because it's now littered with my belongings for the nights when I sleep over.
But that's it. There's not a plant, a painting, a bowl of fruit, nothing to personalize the place or make it anything other than what it was. Functional. Michael uses the apartment for little else other than to sleep, have sex and occasionally have dinner. We don't spend an inordinate amount of time here unless we're doing one of those three things (or all three at once) and Michael has even admitted to me that he didn't give the place a whole lot of forethought when he signed the lease. Back then, he had been going through a mild depression and had cared about very little beyond finding a space apart from his mother. Unfortunately, now he is locked into his leasing contract for another six months at least, unless he decides to pay the penalty.
It's amazing how drastically life can change in such a short period of time. When Michael had signed the lease for this place all those months ago, he and I weren't even speaking and I had no definitive plans to tell him about the baby. Rafael and I were barely civil and my novel was at a standstill. My mother was in the middle of chemotherapy and my father splitting his time between taking care of her and promoting the Americanized version of the Passions of Santos, aptly called The Passions of Steve and Brenda. And my grandmother was just beginning to realize her green card marriage wasn't so much about the green card after all.
Now everything is different. Michael and I are together again and have formed an odd but surprisingly strong family unit with Mateo, Rafael, Petra and the twins. After several months of falling to the wayside, Saturday brunch has resumed but this time with Michael and Jane Ramos (Petra's girlfriend) included. Those two were wary of each other in the beginning, much the way Jane had been lukewarm towards me but they've gradually grown to respect one another. Michael and Rafael have even formed a tentative friendship, one not born from an investigation into the criminal exploits of Rafael's absentee mother but from mutual esteem instead.
There seems to be an unspoken understanding between them now, which I suppose is what eventually led to Rafael dating Michael's partner's youngest daughter, Katie Sisquo. (Yeah, I'm still wrapping my mind around that one too.) But she is beautiful and smart and ambitious and I can't deny that it's good to see him happy and smiling again. I also have to be grateful to Katie, a practicing attorney, for encouraging Michael to actually give law school a try. She and Jane have been a godsend in that regard because they were able to accomplish what I had failed to do…get Michael to see beyond being a cop.
He is now in the process of taking his necessary undergraduate courses online while still working for the police department. The added coursework has left him tired and perpetually busy but he's sticking with it. I'm proud of him. And I'm just looking forward to the day when I can watch him leave for work and not feel terrified.
I still have nightmares about his near death. The fear of losing him again continues to hold me in its unrelenting grip and I know that Michael is having the same struggles when it comes to losing me. He has nightmares too. Sometimes he wakes shaking and screaming in the night, drenched in sweat and more afraid than I've ever seen him. At those times, the only thing I can do is hold him and murmur soothing reassurances until he's able to fall asleep again. He continues to attend his therapy sessions faithfully every week, which I encourage because I know from experience how valuable that is. We work through our personal issues together, a little bent and broken but still standing, still in love.
In the meantime, I keep myself staunchly focused on good things. My mother has, at last, completed her chemotherapy regimen and has been officially declared cancer free. She will continue with a therapeutic infusion every three weeks for the next nine months to neutralize any microscopic cancer cells that might remain but, for the most part, she is in the clear. My father's telenovela is set to premiere on the CW next month and is receiving all sorts of media buzz in anticipation. And my grandmother and Jorge are officially living together as husband and wife, which is part of the reason I've been spending so much time at Michael's place lately. I want to give the newlyweds their space.
But Dad is right. This place is definitely lacking appeal. And even though Michael and I are planning to start looking for our own place in the very near future, I would still like to liven up the apartment in the meantime, since I spend 98.9% of my time here. Especially because I sense an impending marriage proposal coming my way.
While Michael and I have freely talked about getting remarried we haven't been in an extreme rush to make it official. Mateo was still adjusting to the idea of us as a couple and so was Rafael. My mother was still in the midst of chemotherapy. My dad was my dad. And I was having a terrible time finding my writing mojo again. Not to mention, all the issues that had stemmed from Michael's kidnapping, namely his PTSD, Rose's trial and his coming to terms with Lorena's part in all of that. We had a lot on our plate. Marriage had been very, very low on the totem pole of priorities.
But now I'm less than two weeks away from entering my third trimester of pregnancy. Rose is on death row. Lorena and her brother have been committed to witness protection and have relocated to God knows where. I've finally moved past my writer's block and recently finished the first draft of my second novel. The large, multi-generational story I had initially envisioned has now been broken down into a series of books and, having completed the first of five, I am now in the process of putting the finishing touches on the second. The first of those books, however, is set to go to print in two weeks.
And Mateo? Well, it took a few months, but even he has finally reached his limits of patience and has begun asking when Michael and I are going to get married. I know that if we've reached the point where Mateo is onboard there is really nothing holding us back any longer. So, what are we waiting for? The time is right and I'm definitely ready.
"Okay, I get why you want to spruce the place up," Mom says, shaking me from my internal musing, "It's very sad in here. But aren't you and Michael planning to get a place of your own soon? Why waste your time redecorating this one then?"
"Xiomara, it is never a waste of time to redecorate," Dad sniffs, appalled that she would dare to say such a thing. He glances over at me. "How long did you say we have until Michael arrives home?"
"Roughly eight hours."
He's clearly disappointed with the estimate and sweeps another repulsed glance around the apartment. "That's hardly enough time but I'll see what I can do," he sighs, "Anything would be better than this travesty. Jane, I wish you had told me that he was living like this sooner. I would have intervened. This is clearly a cry for help."
Mom and I trade repressed smirks. "Sorry, Dad."
"Don't apologize. Just be better."
"Yes. Of course."
"What's done is done," he declares magnanimously, "My team will be here soon and we will see what can be done about this place. I'll take some measurements in the meantime."
We watch as he begins to bustle from one corner of the apartment to the other, muttering to himself the entire time. "You have no idea how excited he was when you asked him to do this," Mom tells me, "It's all he's talked about for the last five days. The fact that it's a secret from Michael is a bonus."
Not that he's been the best about keeping that secret. To have so many years to his credit as a seasoned actor, Dad has been making it rather obvious by his behavior around Michael that something is going on with him. Even if Michael weren't a detective, which he is, and didn't know my father so well, which he does, he would likely still suspect that something was up with my father. But the fact that he is an investigator and is also good friends with Dad only made his suspicions keener.
I've learned that trying to surprise Michael Cordero requires quite a mental workout. He's already questioned me about Dad's odd behavior numerous times over the past week and I've grown less and less adept at putting him off. We've had the same conversation in different variations every night before going to bed.
"Jane, do you know what's up with Rogelio?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"He's still acting really, really strange."
"Define strange. That's pretty much par for the course when it comes to my father, Michael."
"No. This is a different kind of strange. Something is definitely off with him. Maybe I should ask him about it."
"No, don't do that! Maybe…maybe you could give him a few days just to see if his 'strangeness' works itself out."
Unsurprisingly, I did not succeed in throwing Michael off the scent at all but instead heightened his suspicion of my father…and me, because my response made it absolutely clear that whatever Rogelio was into I was also in on it up to my neck. Ever since then, Michael has been trying to trip me up, even going so far as to mislead me into believing that Rogelio had already broken and I nearly fell for it. I probably wasn't going to last too much longer so it's good that our big reveal is today.
"I'm glad Dad was so willing to help," I sigh, "I don't think I could have done it on my own. It's a big job. We're pretty much making this apartment over from scratch." As I'm speaking, I absently rub my hand over the mound of my belly because the baby has started her daily acrobatics routine and is currently wedging her feet beneath my ribs.
Mom smiles at me perceptively when I grimace my discomfort. "She's kicking again?"
"Stretching is more like it." I pull her hand over to feel the series of lazy rolls which are followed by rapid thumps of movement. Mom ooh's and ahh's in delighted surprise with each one.
"She's really strong," she says with grandmotherly pride, "Typical character trait of a Villanueva woman."
"It feels like she's running out of room in there. But it's so much worse when Michael's here. I think she recognizes his voice and she gets so excited."
"You sound happy, hon."
"I am happy. If you had told me a year ago that Michael and I would be together again, I would have laughed in your face. I could not have imagined something like this." I can see that Mom is fighting back tears when she suddenly clasps me in a tight hug. "What was that for?" I ask after she finally releases me.
"Because I love you and I'm so proud of you."
"For what?"
"For knowing what you wanted and for having the courage to stick it out even when it got hard," she says, "I knew if you chose to be with Michael, it would be complicated. When he came back, it turned everything upside down and you along with it. I didn't want that for you. I thought it made more sense for you to be with Rafael…but I was wrong."
"You're just saying that because I'm pregnant and you're feeling sentimental," I tease her with a good-natured smile.
"No. I mean it, Jane. I was so excited to see you moving on with your life and falling in love again and I was so grateful that Rafael was able to give that to you."
"But…" I prompt, sensing she wants to say more.
"But after you lost Michael, you changed. I'm not saying it's a bad thing but… I lost a piece of you with him and I grieved for that. Don't get me wrong…I love the woman you've become but I've also missed the idealistic girl you used to be too. And when Michael came back, so did that part of you. He did that for you. He gave you back that missing part of yourself…he gave me back that part of you."
"Thank you, Mom."
"For what?" she asks, turning my earlier question to her back on me.
I blink back gathering tears. "For always knowing the right thing to say to me and for loving Michael."
"Oh, Janie, he makes it easy."
"Hey!" Dad calls, rudely interrupting our mother-daughter moment, "Are you two going to stand around all day or are you going to help me transform this hell pit?"
"Coming, Dad…" I call back with a teary laugh.
Five hours later, Michael has a brand new tv complete with wall mount, a new coffee table, side tables and lamps, two accent chairs to compliment his futon which is now decorated with several accent pillows, a real dining room set, potted plants and a half dozen wall hangings to adorn his newly painted walls. Dad has also taken it upon himself to provide Michael with a new coffeemaker, food processor and a gourmet knife set. I managed to hold him back from demolishing the kitchen cabinetry but just barely. But I am happy with the end results. It almost looks like a completely different apartment.
While Dad personally expresses his gratitude to his painters and moving team on my behalf, I fall down onto the futon for a much needed siesta. Mom drops down beside me. I fix her with a tired smile.
"You think he'll like it?"
"I think he'll love it," she reassures me, "But I still don't know why you went through all the trouble of fixing this place up when you're out of here in six months anyway. Sooner if you get married…" She leaves the last of that hanging meaningfully.
"Ma."
"I just don't understand why he's dragging his feet about it," she argues, "He loves you. Mateo loves him. You've been married before and you're giving birth to his child in three months! What exactly is his hold up? The last time he planned to propose to you, I knew about it even before he bought the ring! This time? Nada!"
"Actually, I think he's going to propose tonight," I confess with a thrill of excitement.
Her mild flash of irritation abruptly transforms into barely leashed enthusiasm. "You found the ring?"
"No. But he's been acting secretive all week and tonight he has this whole 'romantic evening' planned for us. We're going to have dinner on a yacht! You know, that dinner cruise thing they do for tourists?"
"No way. That's crazy expensive."
"I know and he wouldn't be going out like that for an ordinary date. He's going to ask me. I know it. I can feel it."
"Oh…" Mom drawls, "So no wonder you suddenly got bitten by the redecorating bug. You wanted to set up a romantic backdrop for tonight, huh?"
I favor her with a coy grin. "Maybe."
Before she can tease me about it further, I begin the process of shooing both her and Dad from the apartment. I manage to get my parents out of there a mere twenty minutes before Michael is set to arrive home. It helps that he calls to let me know he's on his way.
After taking a satisfying moment to admire all of my handiwork (well, Dad's handiwork but I assisted), I turn off all of the lamps and scramble to light the scented candles I've set out to create a romantic atmosphere. I even put on a selection of music that I know Michael likes while I debate with myself about putting on something sexy. On the one hand, it seems appropriate. On the other, I don't want to derail Michael's plans for tonight…and the marriage proposal that I'm expecting. In the end, I decide to dress for dinner instead and await his arrival on the futon.
When he steps through the door, I have an unobstructed view of his reaction when he sees the interior of his apartment and it's worth the nagging backache I developed while painting and moving around furniture today. He stumbles inside with an awed smile before becoming frozen in place while he takes it all in. And then he looks over at me with a knowing expression and a wagging finger.
"I knew you were up to something." He comes further into the apartment and drops his work bag to the floor and hangs his keys on the key hook I convinced him to buy. His smile widens considerably as he detects the gentle melodic chords of his favorite band. "Aww, and you're playing my favorite 'white boy' music too," he croons with a goofy smile, "You really do love me."
"This one isn't too bad," I say with a giggle, rising to go into his waiting arms, "I actually like this song."
He kisses me sweetly and the way he looks at me right then makes me feel like the most beautiful woman on earth, like I'm the only thing in the world that exists for him. I hope he'll look at me the same way for the rest of our lives together. "So, why did you do all this? What's the occasion?"
"No occasion. I love you and I wanted to surprise you. Besides, you're not a college frat boy, Michael. You shouldn't live like one."
"It's beautiful," he breathes appreciatively, "And it has Rogelio written all over it."
"It does," I admit with a laugh, "But I supervised."
He grins at my answer. "Okay. So, give me the tour."
I start in the kitchen, acquainting him with his brand new appliances. "Dad thought you should have them," I explain, "since it's likely you'll be doing the bulk of the cooking."
"It's probably safer that way," he teases.
That crack earns him a light punch to the midsection. He yelps and dances out of my reach. "Keep it up with the cooking jokes," I warn him, shaking my fist in mock threat, "I'll come after you, Cordero."
Michael throws up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, I'll be good. May we resume the tour, Ms. Villanueva?"
"We may."
It's not much of a tour really. There's no demarcation between the living room and the dining room so the two are actually one large room and only a small partition that separates the kitchen. Michael can stand in the living room and see every change we've made but I meticulously take him through each one anyway. When I'm done, he pulls me against him for a long, slow kiss.
"This is beyond anything I could have imagined," he says, "I have to send your father a thank you card."
"That's not going to cut it, I'm afraid. He's already called Sunday dinner…as in forever."
"Really? Every Sunday?"
"For the rest of your life," I tell him straight-faced.
"As long as we're together," he whispers, lowering his head for another kiss, "I'm good with that." But just before our lips can touch, the baby gives a particularly hard kick, hard enough for Michael to feel the impact. He rears back with a stunned smile and frames my belly in his hands. "Wow. Someone is feeling feisty. I think she just karate chopped me."
"Because she's trying to say 'hi' to her daddy and so far you've ignored her."
Dutifully, he drops down to his knees and presses a tender kiss to the center of my belly. "Hi, baby. I didn't mean to ignore you. How's my awesome girl doing today?" I'm not at all surprised when there's a thump in response. The sound of Michael's answering laugh makes me laugh too. I sift my fingers through the soft waves of his hair, marveling over how I could possibly love him so much. I didn't even know my heart had the capacity to contain such expanding emotion.
Michael must be feeling something similar because he tips his head back to regard me with a heavy-lidded stare, his expression a mixture of love, gratitude and desire. "I really want to kiss you right now," he tells me softly, "but, if I do, I'm not going to stop at kissing. I'm going to have to take off your clothes and we're going to have sex and then we'll never go to dinner."
"In that case, off to the shower with you," I reply, stepping back and assisting him to his feet, "Because I'm having dinner on a yacht tonight." It's not so much about the dinner as it is the proposal I suspect is coming but I don't need to clarify that for him. The end result is still the same.
It turns out, however, that there's a dress code for dinner on this yacht and it's black tie. I haven't dressed formally since the last time I had accompanied my father to one of his premieres. I'm not even certain I have anything to wear and, if I do, it most definitely won't fit. Fortunately, my thoughtful and clever boyfriend has already considered that problem and devised a solution.
"You're not the only one with surprises. I actually got you something," he reveals with a proud smile, "Give me a sec to go get it." He disappears back into the bedroom and I can hear him rummaging around. I'm about to ask him what he's doing when he suddenly reemerges carrying a large, white boutique box.
"Where were you hiding that?" I demand in disbelief.
"My ways are many and secret, grasshopper," he replies cheekily as he passes me the box, "Go ahead. Open it."
Requiring no further invitation than that, I eagerly flip off the top and toss it away before pawing my way through the delicate tissue paper that conceals the box contents. I gasp aloud when I pull free a strapless champagne colored evening gown with a rhinestone encrusted bodice and a long, floor length skirt made of flowing chiffon. The box falls away completely as I pull the dress against my body and twirl about with it for full effect.
"Oh my God, Michael…it's so beautiful," I sing, already half in love with it without even trying the gown on, "Did you pick this out yourself?"
"Well, sort of. Rafael helped. It's actually maternity wear if you can believe that."
It definitely wasn't something you could tell by looking at it which made me suspect that the price had been pretty steep. "Do I even want to know how much this cost?"
"Eh…" Michael hedges, "You probably don't." I groan his name in consternation but he simply shrugs as if the matter is inconsequential. "It's only money. I'll spend it how I choose and I choose to spend it on you. So get over it."
"Michael, I can't. You're trying to pay for school right now. It's too expensive."
"Nope. Not hearing any of it," he says, shaking his head, "Our reservation is in an hour so, if you want to make it for dinner, I suggest you put that on so we can go."
Twenty minutes later Michael is freshly showered and we are both dressed for dinner. He is wearing a black tuxedo that seems to be perfectly tailored to fit the long, lean lines of his body. I realize that this is the first time I've ever seen him wear one. He looks so incredible, his hair brushed back from his face in glossy, dark blonde waves, his blue eyes dancing with merriment, that I almost reconsider his earlier suggestion to stay in and have sex instead. Almost. The prospect of a marriage proposal holds me fast.
"You look ah-mazing, dahling," I gush in an exaggerated British accent as he steps forward and does a model's catwalk, complete with sassy turn and head toss, across the living room, "Seriously, if I had known you would look so good in a tuxedo I would have made you wear one a long time ago."`
Michael responds to the compliment with a formal bow. "Thank you, milady. You look stunning as well. I knew the second I saw that dress that you would look incredible in it."
I tug self-consciously at the bodice of my gown, acutely aware of how tightly it fits around my breasts. "I don't know about that," I mumble, "It's hard to feel sexy when you have a 26 week baby bump on display."
"Trust me," Michael murmurs, tugging me closer for a quick kiss, "You're plenty sexy. In fact, I don't think you've ever been more beautiful to me, Jane."
We share several more slow, nibbling kisses, our hands meandering on a lazy trek all over each other's bodies. Yet again, I'm thinking that we should stay home in bed and Michael can propose to me there but he has other ideas. Instead, he reluctantly cuts our makeout session short and takes me to dinner just as he planned.
Seated out on the balcony together, eating dinner by candlelight with the backdrop of the sun setting over the water, I'm convinced that a proposal is imminent. The mood is set. The timing is right. Dinner is exquisite. And Michael has never been more charming. I sit there with nervous butterflies anticipating that final moment when he will drop to one knee…and it doesn't happen.
Dessert is served and we polish off our shared piece of three berry cheesecake with chocolate drizzle and still nothing. Not even a hint that he has anything planned. The server brings us our check and still Michael doesn't make a single overture. By the time we sail back to shore and disembark from the boat I'm beginning to wonder if I somehow misread his signals. Maybe this dinner was really meant just to be a romantic dinner after all.
But I am once again rethinking that conclusion when Michael suggests that we take a walk on the beach together rather than returning straight to the car. The waves spill across our bare feet and washes wet, sifting granules of sand over and between our toes as we stroll hand in hand under the twinkling night sky. We dance and play in the foamy surf, mostly impervious to our evening wear as we chase one another through the crashing waves and laugh like children.
Still, in the back of my mind, I continue to wait for Michael to make his move. Every time he bends down to examine a seashell or he stoops to inspect something in the shifting sand, I feel my heart leap into my throat. But it's never what I'm thinking at all and it's difficult not to feel disappointed in spite of how wonderfully the evening has gone.
When the times comes for him to take me home, I've moved past disappointment and straight into annoyance. I'm sulking. As I stare out the window, watching blindly as houses zip by in a dizzying blur, I ponder how I could have possibly gotten it so wrong. Part of me wants to ask him about it, wants to understand how I could have been so completely off base. But another part of me, a larger part, thinks that I should keep quiet and sit tight. What if I confront him about it and thereby ruin his carefully constructed surprise? I don't want to take the chance, so I continue to sit…and wait.
"Everything okay, Jane?"
His question startles me from my troubled thoughts. "Yeah. Why?"
"You seem distracted…ever since dinner," he says, "Are you upset because I decided to take you home tonight? You know I would rather you spend the night but I've got a big midterm tomorrow and I'll never get any studying done with you there."
So much for carefully constructed surprise. I'm mindful to conceal my irritation and frustration, however, when I say, "Sure. I completely understand." I'm beginning to wonder if he's changed his mind about marrying me altogether and the possibility stings beyond belief. It's conceivable that he doesn't see the need to get married again.
After all, we're together. We're having sex. We're expecting a baby. It's practically marriage without the actual legal paperwork and financial entanglements. Maybe that's enough for Michael. But, as I think about it, it's not enough for me. I want the legal aspect of it as well. I want the financial entanglements. I want my life to be inextricably linked with his, not be together while also maintaining our separate existences. In short, I want to be his wife again and I want him to be my husband.
That we might not be on the same page about that makes me ache inside. I want nothing more than to run into the house and lick my wounds right then so when Michael pulls up the car in front of the house, I am throwing open the door to exit before he's even put the vehicle in park. I jump out of the car and start marching up the walk without a backwards glance. Behind me, I hear the car door open and shut, a good indication that Michael is following me but I don't falter in my step until he calls my name. Even then, I don't turn to face him though I do remain frozen in place.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I lie. The fact that I continue to keep my back to him makes that lie rather obvious too.
"Really? Nothing? You're not even going to turn around and look at me, Jane?" he coaxes gently.
The question and his oblivious response infuriates me into action. I whip around to face him, fully prepared to demand that he make his intentions for me known right that second but the words stick in my throat. I discover him down on one knee before me, his mouth turned up in a knowing smirk. Tears of outrage and happiness immediately spring to my eyes.
"You jerk!" I admonish him softly, "You knew the entire time that I was waiting for you to propose to me and you misled me on purpose!"
His smile widens, thoroughly absent of contrition. "Well, it's not much of a surprise if you see it coming," he reasons, "Besides, this is like the 900th time I've proposed to you." I burst out laughing then and I almost miss what he has to say next when I do. "I've got to keep you on your toes." He reaches into his pocket then and pulls out the velvet box that I have been anticipating all night. "And now that I have your attention…"
"Yes!" I blurt before he can even ask the question.
"Nope. Not this time," he admonishes me laughingly, "I've been practicing this speech for a week now so you're going to let me ask!"
With a laugh, I quickly whisk away the tears falling on my cheeks and compose myself with a deep breath. "Okay. I'm ready. Go ahead."
"So, this feels a bit unnecessary in the grand scheme of things," he begins softly, "We've been married before. And, the legality aside, I've been married to you in my heart for a long time now but I suppose that's the reason this proposal has been a forgone conclusion since the moment I finally surrendered my heart to you and acknowledged the truth. I'm still in love with you. I'm always going to be in love with you, Jane.
"And I can't imagine anyone else as my life partner. You're the one I want to spend forever with and you always have been. So, no matter what happens, no matter how many times we come together or pull apart, I will always ask you this question and I'll keep asking it because it's you. It's always been you. Today, tomorrow, in this life and the next." He lifts the velvet top then to reveal the gleaming, platinum and diamond engagement ring inside. "Jane Villanueva, for the nine hundredth and first time and hopefully the last, will you please marry me?"
"Yes, Michael!" I cry, lurching forward to throw myself into his waiting arms and peppering his face with tearful kisses. "Yes! Yes! YES! The answer will always be yes!"
