He laughed. Busted. “Because I was going to. I had a speech. It was very good. It used the word ‘synergy’ twice.”
She laughed—a real, full laugh that echoed off the water towers. Then she reached out, took the box from his hand, and opened it herself. The diamond inside was small, imperfect, a little off-kilter. He’d chosen it on purpose. It looked like her. caprice - marry me
“You know,” she said quietly, “I’ve always hated the word ‘obey.’” He laughed
“I’m not asking you to be my wife,” he said. “I’m asking you to be my next caprice. The big one. The one where we wake up one day and we’re old, and you’ve dyed your hair purple this time, and I’ve finally learned to stop planning every meal. I’m asking you to let me be your constant variable while you change everything else.” I had a speech
She didn’t say “yes.” She didn’t say “no.”
He reached into his pocket, pulled out the box, and didn’t open it. Instead, he held it between them like a question mark.
Leo set down the champagne. His heart, usually a steady metronome, was now a timpani drum. He had rehearsed this. For weeks. He had a speech about stability, about building a foundation, about the logical next step. He had a backup speech about passion, about how she made his spreadsheets feel like poetry. He had a third speech that was just bullet points.