Chapter 11 - The Proposal Nobody Could Buy
Alessandro proposed on a Tuesday morning while I was eating cereal.
No restaurant.
No yacht.
No orchestra.
He walked into the kitchen, placed a small wooden box beside my bowl, and sat opposite me.
I looked at it.
“No.”
His eyebrows rose.
“You haven’t opened it.”
“You’re proposing.”
“How do you know?”
“You look like you’re negotiating a hostile takeover.”
“I’m nervous.”
That shocked me enough to put down my spoon.
“Alessandro Vitali gets nervous?”
“Apparently only around one woman.”
I opened the box.
Inside was no enormous diamond.
There was a simple antique ring.
Sofia’s.
I stopped breathing.
“Bianca and I agreed,” he said quietly. “Mom would want you to have it.”
Tears immediately filled my eyes.
“I hate pregnancy hormones.”
“Of course.”
“Don’t look pleased.”
“I’m terrified.”
That made me laugh.
He came around the table and knelt.
“Elizabeth Bellamy.”
“No speech?”
“I prepared one.”
“What happened?”
“I forgot it.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
Now I was crying and laughing.
He took my hand.
“I can promise you several things.”
His voice became steadier.
“I will annoy you.”
“Confirmed.”
“I will worry too much.”
“Definitely.”
“I will occasionally attempt to solve emotional problems by purchasing buildings.”
“Frequently.”
“I will try not to.”
“Important distinction.”
He smiled.
Then the humor left his face.
“I cannot promise nothing bad will ever happen.”
My throat tightened.
“But I can promise you will never face it alone.”
The room became very quiet.
“I spent my life believing love was something people could take away without warning.”
His thumb brushed my fingers.
“Then you walked into a ballroom under a false name, nearly destroyed six champagne glasses, lied directly to my face, and somehow made me want a future.”
“Very romantic.”
“I’m struggling.”
“You’re doing fine.”
He breathed.
“Marry me.”
I looked at this impossible man.
The billionaire.
The frightened boy.
The future father who had secretly read fourteen parenting books and highlighted them like corporate reports.
The controlling man learning that love required open hands.
“Yes.”
His eyes closed.
“You should probably put the ring on.”
“Right.”
His hands actually shook.
I smiled.
“Careful.”
His eyes met mine.
He remembered our first word.
“Careful,” he repeated.
Then he slid the ring onto my finger.
We married three months later.
Small ceremony.
Lake Michigan.
Thirty-two guests.
Bianca cried louder than Rebecca.
Liam gave a speech containing several legally actionable stories about my adolescence.
Marco smiled once, although nobody could later prove it.
My father walked me halfway down the aisle using a cane.
Alessandro met us there.
Jonathan looked at him for a long time.
Then said:
“Don’t become your father.”
Alessandro answered:
“I won’t.”
My father nodded.
“Good.”
Then he handed me over.
I immediately objected.
“Nobody is handing anybody over.”
Jonathan sighed.
Alessandro smiled.
“She does this.”
“I know,” Dad said.
“You like it.”
Alessandro looked at me.
“Yes.”
The ceremony stopped feeling ceremonial after that.
It became family.
Imperfect.
May you like
Reconstructed.
Alive.
