Jump 3: Diamonds, and a Girl's Best Friend
Kate saw Lanie from her table by the window at their recent favorite brunch spot in Soho, 508. Lanie waved and waded through the small crowd at the door, then unloaded her jacket and purse before sitting.
"Did you—"
The waiter interrupted Lanie's usual first question with its answer.
"Your coffees and mimosas, ladies."
"I knew I liked having brunch with you for a reason."
She held up the flute to toast Kate and then took a sip.
"Can I take your orders? Or do you need a few minutes?"
"I have been fantasizing about your eggs Benedict with lobster for a week. Salad on the side."
Thankfully Kate had had a few minutes to review the menu before her friend arrived.
"508 waffles with berries and mascarpone, with the truffle fries."
She'd run five miles that morning, she could afford a few carbs.
"Perfect. Be back with those shortly."
Kate turned to look out the window at the crowd as she swallowed the fresh orange juice and champagne, but whipped her head back around when Lanie spluttered.
The physician set down her drink and proceeded to go into a coughing fit.
"Are you okay?"
Lanie nodded and took a sip of her water, cleared her throat.
"Katherine Ann Beckett, when, exactly, did you become a walking advertisement for De Beer's?"
Lanie's still-watering eyes were shifting back and forth from one side of her face to the other.
Kate smiled self-consciously.
"He gave them to me last night. It's apparently the six-month anniversary of the week I moved in."
"And he not only remembered that, but commemorated the occasion with a pair of one-and-a-half carat, D, flawless Asscher sparklers basket set in platinum? Do you know what wedding anniversary is the "diamond" anniversary? Sixty years, Katherine. Yes, that's years, y-e-a-r-s."
Lanie always had a way of putting things in perspective for her.
"How can you tell all of that from across the table, anyway?"
"You may be the detective, but you don't have the monopoly on superior powers of observation. And besides, precious stones happen to be one of my hobbies."
Lanie took a swallow of her mimosa.
"I actually thought he was proposing."
And she choked again.
"Quit that!" she wheezed out between coughs.
She apparently gave up on water and swigged her cocktail to calm the coughing. She stuck out one index finger and circled it in Kate's direction.
"Now back up for a second. You thought he was proposing marriage to you? Last night?"
Kate looked at her friend, then down into her coffee cup.
"Ever since he thought... ever since the warehouse on Wednesday, I've been getting this nervous, serious, love-eyeballs-all-the-time sort of vibe from him." She shifted her glance out the window. "Kind of before that, too, but more for the past couple of days." Lanie was silent, obviously waiting for the details, so she elaborated.
"We were in the back seat of the car on the way to the Steampunk Haunted House last night and he pulled out this little wooden box—looked like a ring box. I sort of flipped out, but then it just turned out to be earrings." She tried to nonchalantly sip her coffee.
Lanie's eyebrows shot up despite Kate's casual tone.
"Just…? Do my ears deceive me, or do I hear a twinge of disappointment in your voice?"
"No, absolutely not." That was way too quick of an answer, she should know better. Kate's eyes shot up—Lanie wasn't buying it, her gaze retreated back out the window, lighting on a honking cab. She concentrated on making her voice sound steady, reasonable. Not defensive.
"There's no way we're ready for that. He wouldn't, anyway, not so soon."
"I don't know about that. What with Wednesday and all, thinking you'd gone up in flames might have a way of lighting a fire under his talented, millionaire tush."
Kate studiously focused on the traffic, switched back to her mimosa.
"I don't think so. He hasn't said a word about marrying me in months."
Oh, she really meant that to be her inside voice….
"Excuse me? At some point he said words about marriage and you did not tell me this tiny detail?"
It was somewhat comforting, this shrill and demanding side of her best friend. Made Kate realize that some things never change. Unfortunately. How to explain herself out of this…. Look her in the eye, appear unfazed, sound even and calm, diffuse the Parish bomb.
"Way back when we first started dating, he made a few off-hand comments and I sort of freaked out."
"Well, then, no wonder he hasn't said anything else. He's scared you're gonna say 'no'! No man with an ego the size of Rick Castle's is going to ask a woman to marry him if he thinks he's getting turned down flat."
Lanie waved her off with her mimosa.
"He knows I'm not going to turn him down flat."
Lanie's jaw dropped open at that.
"I mean… he knows I'm open to getting there eventually… maybe… someday… when we're both ready…"
"No-ho-ho you don't. No back-peddling with me. If you thought he was going to propose last night, then you had at least ten seconds of panic between when you saw the box and when you opened the box to decide what your answer was going to be."
Kate just kept her mouth shut, hoping that wasn't actually a question.
"What were you going to say to him?"
No such luck. Damn. Maybe she could evade…
"I don't know."
"Bull."
Or vehemently deny…
"I really don't know! It never got to that point!"
Lanie was having none of it. She put her empty glass down, leaned in and smiled sweetly. Kate knew better—this was the face of girl talk combat.
"Shut your eyes. Now picture that little box in your hand, Rick looking all nervous and adorable."
She rolled her eyes before she closed them. When Lanie got like this, it was always best to just go along.
"Now, don't think. He takes your hand and says 'Kate Beckett, will you marry me?' What do you say?"
Yes.
Her eyes shot open. Lanie was grinning at her from across the table. Kate was sure she hadn't said anything out loud. But God, she'd thought it so loudly inside her head. The little breathy exclamation just slipped out.
"Oh God."
And as if on cue, the waiter appeared with their brunch plates.
"That's what I thought, sweetie. Now stop the mental meltdown, accept it for what it is, and eat your waffles. You need about five more pounds on your skinny little butt before we start shopping for dresses."
Lanie reached across and patted her hand. Her left hand.
Their waiter cleared his throat.
"Can I get you anything else right now?"
"Oh, we definitely need another round." Lanie tapped the rim of Kate's half-full mimosa. "Drink up, future Mrs. Writer-Boy."
Kate spent most of the afternoon in a daze, what with the three mimosas and the massive psychological ramifications of her little visualization exercise with her best friend.
As she stood in their bedroom that evening, clad in her scarlet satin and black lace underwear and bra, costume laid out on the bed before her, she ran through it in her mind again.
Yes. She would have said yes.
Holy crap.
And Lanie thought he really might ask her.
Any minute now.
Holy crap.
She had been lulled into this sense of complacency about moving forward. He hadn't pushed. She was comfortable with where they were and what they were doing. Why did they have to change anything?
Because she wanted to make promises to this man.
The looming possibility of either of them breaking promises of forever, and the ominous knowledge that her job could break them even if she didn't mean to, had been keeping her in an emotional holding pattern.
Everything they had was wonderful, but at some point, when she wasn't paying attention, it had stopped being enough. She wanted what her parents had—a partnership in every sense of the word. And for the first time in her life, with this man, she thought she could have it.
So damn right, she would say yes.
And if he didn't ask, she would take matters into her own hands.
Yeah, this was right. This was her. Enough with the shrinking and the doubting and the freaking out.
She wanted this.
She wanted him.
Forever.
No hurry, but now at least she knew where she stood.
She turned to the mirror, herself and her lingerie.
The red and black did make for a dramatic contrast. Dora had some serious talent.
Kate had walked in to Dora's the week before and said she needed lingerie to go under her red sequined mini-dress. She was going as the Devil, with Castle as her angel, and she felt there had to be layers to her particular version of evil.
Dora produced this set, with feathery black lace barely covering her breasts, red satin snaking around her back to the clasp, and a black satin ribbon, yes an actual ribbon, tying the tiny briefs at her right hip.
Never in her life would she have tried something like this on without it coming from the sage and savvy hands of her lingerie guru and now-trusted advisor in matters of the heart and her boudoir wardrobe. And it really didn't help that Dora had refused to let her pay for the set.
"Fresh Start gave me very specific instructions the last time we chatted, Katie. You bought that darlin' little naughty surprise for your trip to the Hamptons, and he told me you'd agreed to let him get whatever the next ensemble happened to be…"
Dora had been right, of course. It had been one of their compromises. Damn it.
"You won't tell him—"
"Do I look like the kind of gal who would charge and tell? My lips are sealed. I do have one requirement in this little contract we have goin' here. You are shy. Goodness knows why with that glorious body of yours. But I would bet my Daddy's prize bird dog, Lulla, that you have almost, if not completely, chickened out at least three times with the very most inspiring items you've gotten from me."
Kate had stayed silent rather than admit to nearly having backed out four times. She took solace in the fact that she had actually worn every single item she'd purchased, even if a few had been in near-complete darkness.
"So my one condition is no chickening out! These-" she held up the red and black confection "-get seen, in enough light that he can actually tell what they look like and appreciate the time and tender lovin' care that went into choosing them. Think you can handle that?"
Why did she always feel like she should be answering with a "Yes, Ma'am," when Dora got like this?
"I promise to wear them so that he can actually see them."
"And he has to untie the bow."
"Dora!"
"Well, that's the whole point of having the bow!"
"Fine, yes, he will have the opportunity to untie the damn bow."
"Well okay then. You have yourself some devilish lingerie for your Halloween party."
Pushy, intrusive, completely endearing woman. Somehow she had Kate wrapped around her little red-lacquered finger.
Now she wondered if this was the lingerie she might get engaged in…
Oh this mental contortionism was doing her absolutely no good. Time to get dressed and meet Castle at the Old Haunt. He'd been there all afternoon helping set up decorations. She'd begged off, claiming she needed girl time with Lanie, which was partly true. She just left out the part about sitting on the couch staring at the wall for three hours contemplating her future as the third Mrs. Richard Castle. He wasn't really going to expect her to change her name, was he?
Enough! Dress. Shoes. Diamonds. Purse. Door.
Her sequined ruby dress fit her like a glove, wide straps plunging to a deep V neckline. She'd even found a satin devil's tail to attach to the back, and tiny, red, crystal-encrusted devil's horns on an elastic headband. Her last touches were the four-inch, red, peep-toe heels, which were sort of like Dorothy's ruby slippers on crack, and the understated red pitchfork that she could carry with her clutch.
The whole ensemble had been designed to drive Castle to distraction, and that was well before she had consciously thought he might be on the verge of proposing.
She slicked on one last coat of her matching red lipstick and headed for the car waiting downstairs.
When Kate swung the cobweb-covered door open, she thought it was creakier than usual. Music wafted through, reminding her of the theme song to Doctor Who.
The Old Haunt looked dark and spooky already, and most of the staff was still scurrying to put the finishing touches on the décor. They had been closed all afternoon to set up, and they were expecting a big crowd. Alexis and Martha would be there soon, probably each with an entourage, and Lanie and the rest from the Twelfth wouldn't be far behind. Castle had invited all of the staff from the bar, his usual poker buddies, and he'd even made a special call to her dad to invite him.
Oh, Castle had called her dad to invite him tonight. And all their friends and family would be here. Oh.
She tamped down the residual flutters in her chest. She was fine with this. If he proposed tonight, she was prepared. No butterflies.
She scanned the costumed wait staff and spotted Castle near the top of a twelve-foot ladder, attaching cobwebs to a ceiling corner. One of the bartenders, currently sporting a meat cleaver through the top of his head, was holding the ladder and directing.
She stayed near the door thinking he'd have a better vantage point to see her costume from that angle.
"Hey Castle, you look more like Hugh Heffner than Heavenly Host in those white silk pajamas."
He didn't turn to look at her, as he was adjusting a large wire spider over the cobwebs.
"Ah, but the beauty of letting you pick our theme was that then I got to pick the actual costume. And now, I get to wear my pajamas to our Halloween party!"
He was backing down the ladder cautiously. As he neared the bottom, he finally turned to look in her direction. The smile on his face froze; his eyes tracked all the way down and then all the way back up her form. And then he missed the second-to-last rung and fell on top of meat-cleaver boy. Even worse, he let out a decidedly girlie yip along the way.
"Hey boss, careful there. I think we've got the rest of this under control."
He steadied Rick on his feet and slapped him on the back, sending him lurching slightly in Kate's direction.
Castle seemed to get himself under control as they crossed the room to meet each other.
As he kissed her on the cheek, he laid his palm against her ribcage and squeezed slightly, whispering into her ear.
"You truly are evil, aren't you? I'm not sure I can stand next to you all night looking like that when all I have on are these white satin pajamas. Maybe we should just go home now…"
She whispered back, making sure he felt her warm breath against the shell of his ear.
"Oh, just wait 'til you see what's under this, Writer-Boy."
He shut his eyes as they rolled back in his head.
"Killing me, here, Beckett."
She patted his biceps. The satin PJs actually showed off his chest and arms pretty well.
"You'll die happy."
She couldn't keep a straight face witnessing his struggle to keep it together, and not stare at her chest.
He shook his head and took a breath through flared nostrils, then grabbed her hand and took off in the direction of the stairs.
"Didn't you say you had ridiculous wings to wear?"
"Mother got them for me. Don't ask her where she got them; I don't want to know."
"And a halo, too, right?" She snickered as she quirked a half-smile.
"Office. That's where the rest of my gear is. And I got something for you that I think will match your outfit."
They really were ridiculous wings. He wore a little harness contraption to keep the giant, feather-covered appendages in place, but she had to help him figure out how to put it on, and there was no way he was getting them off without some assistance. She had ideas about what that assistance might lead to…
He hadn't seemed in any hurry to get around to whatever it was he had bought for her. She was pushing the thought of it being a ring out of her head for now, because really, he was wearing giant wings and a halo on a headband.
But once he had checked the cant of his halo in the mirror on the wall behind his desk, he turned to her with nervous eyes.
"I have something for you. I don't know what you're going to say, but I don't want to put it off anymore. I just think the timing fits, and if I don't shut up now I'm just going to get myself in trouble."
He had been backing away from her as he spoke, hands out in a gesture of forestalling. At his last admission, he turned his back to her and opened the safe on the back wall.
His body was blocking her view of whatever it was he was pulling out, but he seemed to pause and his shoulders rose as he breathed in, then fell, before he turned back to face her.
She immediately recognized the shiny wood of the box in his hand.
This one was slightly bigger, but it had the same curves, the same luster.
And she had the same butterflies. Where had all her well-rehearsed calm gone?
He looked so serious as he paced out the distance between them, holding the little box between his hands.
"So there was actually another stone in the set that Ron called me about, and I didn't want him to split them up."
This time he didn't hand the box over to her. He opened it facing toward him, lid shielding its contents. His eyes flicked down to the box, seemed to approve of what he saw, then moved back up to hers.
He was standing close now; she could see the warm flush creeping up his neck, the slight tremble to his fingers as they began to turn the box. He just kept looking silently into her eyes, as though seeking an answer there.
She smiled, ignored the stinging threat of tears behind her eyes, and looked down.
It wasn't a ring.
It still wasn't a ring.
Her mind staggered. She had been so convinced. First Lanie, and then her own logic, and none of it was true.
It was a beautiful stone set as a single drop from a white metal chain.
And it wasn't a ring.
She didn't let the smile melt completely from her face. She kept the corners of her mouth up by sheer force of will.
"I know what you're going to say. It's too much. It's not, though. And you had the earrings on when you walked in, so I thought you could wear it tonight. Please don't be upset with me…."
He sounded so desperate to please her. His nerves and his uncertainty and the obvious undercurrent of love pouring out of him doused the surge of anger at herself for believing, again, that this was more than what it was.
She let her smile reach her eyes again.
"Well, what are you waiting for?"
She turned her back to him and lifted up her hair, and heard him let out a breath.
His hands threaded the chain around her neck, and she felt the cool metal tickle her skin. Once he'd fastened the clasp, he placed his hands gently on her shoulders, squeezing lightly.
She dropped her hair over his hands and leaned back against his chest as she reached to press the stone between her fingers.
She felt his chin press just behind her ear.
"Thank you."
"What are you thanking me for? I'm the one who just got a gorgeous diamond necklace to match the gorgeous diamond earrings that my gorgeous boyfriend gave me yesterday."
"Thank you for letting me."
She turned in his arms and wound hers around his neck. She ruffled a few feathers trying to negotiate the wings, but eventually she laced her fingers together just above his satin collar. She looked up at him through her lashes; she could suddenly see the effect that all her insecurities about his money had had on him. She wanted to erase it, let him find that joy in his generosity again with her.
"I never meant to make you so nervous about giving me things. I mean, I don't like the idea of you spending all your money dressing me up and taking me out, but if it's something really meaningful-"
He ducked down to make her look at him fully.
"Like our sculpture..."
She nodded slightly and one corner of her lips turned up as she finished.
"Yeah, or like this, then don't be afraid."
He gave her a rueful smirk and ran his hands up and down her waist.
"I thought you might actually kill me with the art."
"But now I love it."
He pulled her against him and pressed a soft kiss against her smile.
"I just love you. Sometimes it bubbles over in the form of shopping."
She smiled and fought a chuckle.
"Just don't get carried away."
She nudged his nose with hers.
"Well, so this guy I know is selling his yacht..."
She pulled back and attempted a glare.
"Castle!"
"What, it's a small yacht, and guess what its name is?"
His eyebrows were halfway to his hairline, eyes a-twinkle.
"I don't think I want to know," she deadpanned.
"Lady Kate!"
She unlatched her hands from behind his head and pointed what she hoped was a menacing finger at him.
"Don't you dare..."
"But it's fate, Kate! See, it even rhymes!"
He was so cute when he turned into the seven-year-old version of himself.
"Enough, Mr. I-have-enough-money-to-buy-you-a-yacht-for-your-birthday..."
His eyes widened.
"Oh! I hadn't even thought of that! What great timing!"
She let out an exasperated "Oh!" and turned to stalk back upstairs.
She had nearly fallen asleep against his shoulder, legs draped over his lap, in the back seat of the car on the way home.
By the time they trudged into the loft, it was after two.
There had been a lot of dancing. They did "Thriller" at least twice. Might have been three times. She sort of lost count of everything after midnight.
At one point, she, Lanie, Alexis, Martha, Jenny, and Maddie had all been barefoot, up on a pool table, singing, "Who you gonna call?" with the guys chanting back from below, "Ghost Busters!"
In Castle's words, "Funnest Halloween party ever."
When the door was locked behind them, she headed straight to the kitchen to get water for them both, while Rick headed in to put his wings away. He'd taken them off around midnight, when Kate got fed up with his whining about the itching.
When she entered their bedroom, water glasses in hand, he was exiting the bathroom, halo and wings discarded in some unknown locale. There would be feathers to clean up tomorrow.
"Hey, Evil Temptress." He'd been calling her that all night. "I have an idea. Think you have a second wind in you?"
She set their glasses on his bedside table and contemplated her aching feet.
"I don't have to work tomorrow. Do I have to stay standing for this second wind?"
He was the one with the evil grin now.
"Horizontal would be ideal."
He closed the distance between them and ran his over her upper arms.
"What's your plan, Writer-Man?"
"Oh, I was thinking maybe we could have our private costume party…"
Suddenly she did have a second wind, a very warm second wind. Amazing how that gravelly voice could still do this to her.
"It may take me a minute to get changed. And no peeking."
She leaned in to give him a peck on the lips. A sort of sloppy, slightly tongue-infused peck on the lips.
"Take your time. I can get ready out here."
As she turned toward the closet, she wondered where, exactly, he was keeping his costume…
She took the ruby slippers off first. She loved her heels, but suddenly she understood why Judy Garland filmed in flats in that movie. She found a spot for them on her shoe rack, though she should probably box them until Christmas or Valentine's or some other red-wearing holiday.
It took some of her best yoga poses to manage the zipper on her dress. Somehow getting the thing down was so much harder than zipping it up. And the hook at the top proved to be its own problem, as she had apparently caught a sequin in when she'd fastened it. And of course there was the issue of having sweated in sequins for seven hours.
She refused to ask for Rick's help, though, since she was now going to save the red and black lingerie underneath her dress for another fun evening. It wasn't chickening out if she wore it later…
After hanging the dress, removing her headband devil horns, and working the kink out of her left shoulder from her contortionism, she opened her top drawer to find the satin bag she had pushed all the way to the back after her earlier "special" purchase from Dora.
But she stopped short as she rolled the drawer halfway out.
She couldn't believe it. What the hell was he doing now?
Another little wooden box was sitting right on top of her lingerie. This one was larger, maybe four inches square.
Her brain flashed to the two times in the past two days that she had been completely misled.
Not again.
She'd been understanding and thoughtful and willing to compromise and accept extravagant gifts both of those times, at least partly because of her befuddled emotions at the completely erroneous idea that she was being proposed to.
But now, now she was just getting irritated.
This was it.
Straw, meet overloaded camel.
She plucked the box from the pile of gauzy underwear and called out through the crack where the closet door hadn't completely shut behind her. She didn't want to go storming out there yelling. She could start with a door in between them.
"Castle? Listen, I know you're trying to be sweet, and I know I just told you that I was fine with presents if they were meaningful, but we're approaching ridiculous here."
She didn't get an answer, and she figured she should have this conversation face-to-face anyway. She headed toward the door, voice still raised to be heard through it.
"Let me guess, there were fifty more matching stones in that set Ron called you about, so you made me a tennis bracelet? I don't think I can go around wearing all of this."
She pushed the door open and stopped dead. Her mouth opened, but at first nothing came out. Finally she managed a whispered:
"Oh."
The bedroom was bathed in flickering shadows, lit only by dozens of candles spread over every surface.
Rick was turned away from her, still in his silk pajamas.
He was setting a champagne bucket on the dresser with two flutes.
Next to that was a vase full of red peonies.
Just like the ones he'd brought to her on their first real date.
Her heart stuttered, dipped low in her chest.
Rick wiped his hands on a towel as he turned to look at her where she was standing silhouetted in the light from their closet, dressed only in her red and black lingerie from under her costume.
His eyes were luminescent, blue and shining even in the candlelight, as he looked at her.
He crossed the room slowly, reached out for the box held between her now-trembling hands. His voice was low and soft as he took it from her.
"There was actually only one more stone in the set."
Her vision blurred. She wasn't crying. She wasn't.
Besides, maybe she was just reading into this again. She'd been fooled…
He dropped to one knee, and she let out a little sob, brought one hand up to cover her lips.
Oh, no, not fooling this time. Her breath caught, heart pounded against her ribs.
A single tear spilled, left a cool trail down her flaming cheek, fell to her chest.
She saw tears pooling in his eyes, too, as he began to speak again.
"I don't really care about the others, though, if you'll just promise me you'll wear this one every day for the rest of your life."
He opened the box, and there was her ring.
He pulled it from its velvet cushion and set the box aside, then reached for her left hand, gripped her fingertips, kissed her knuckles.
"Marry me, Kate."
He had tears streaming down now as he smiled up at her.
She could see that he knew. He wasn't afraid of her answer, just waiting patiently for it.
The lump in her throat wouldn't ease. She couldn't get words out. She wanted to tell him yes, of course, she loved him, and she would marry him, and stand up and put the ring on her finger already, but all she could manage was a nod and another hiccoughing little sob.
Apparently that was enough for him.
He stood and brushed his lips against hers.
It was barely a kiss, but the action was almost an afterthought, an accessory to the love that was radiating off him in warm waves.
He still held her hand in his, and now he looked down, released her fingers to slide on her ring. The metal had warmed as he held it in his fingers, and as he settled it into place on hers, it just felt… right.
Like it belonged there.
In that moment, there was no room inside her heart for doubt.
She reached for him, pulled his lips down to hers and poured all of her inarticulate emotion into a kiss.
This was no chaste meeting of mouths. She used every trick she knew—tongue stroking, teeth tugging, lips pressing. By the time they parted, they were wrapped around each other, chests heaving.
After a moment of leaning into each other, sharing air and drying tears, he finally spoke.
"Just to clarify, that was a 'Yes,' right?"
The adrenaline was making her giddy now, and a chirp of laughter escaped as she opened up with her biggest smile.
She finally found her voice.
"No Rick. That was an 'absolutely.'"
A/N: I just want to know what you thought-if I did it justice at all. I think I'm going to cry now…
There will be an M-chapter to follow, posted under a different story title, "Jump Journal: Into the Deep," over the weekend.
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