Chapter 10
He closed the bedroom door and I heard the lock click, soft, final. The yacht's engine hummed underneath us and somewhere above, the four women were setting up for lunch on the main deck. Their voices carried down the hallway, silverware clinking, laughter being rehearsed.
I sat on the edge of the bed in my cream satin. The chain was still around my neck. His was too, catching the recessed light.
"You said we planned to announce it later," I said.
He stood with his back to the door, his black shirt untucked now, sleeves pushed up. He didn't answer right away. He breathed, looked at the floor, then at me.
"I know," he said. "I shouldn't have said it."
"But you did. In front of them. You made it sound like we had a plan."
"I was trying to buy us time."
"You bought us a trap," I said. "You made me complicit in a lie before I even understood what was happening to me."
He came closer and sat next to me, not touching me at first. The mattress dipped. The wood paneling reflected the warm light and made the room feel smaller than it had at dawn.
"Do you want to know why that ring was locked in my office?" he asked.
I nodded. My throat was tight.
"Because it wasn't for now. It was for after," he said. "After the cruise. I was going to bring you back to the city, take you to dinner, just us. I had the whole thing timed for next month when your lease was up. I didn't want your family or my family turning it into a board meeting. I wanted it to be ours."
The words hung there. I felt my eyes sting, but I didn't look away.
"You were going to propose," I said. It wasn't a question.
"With that exact ring," he said. "My grandfather's band. The black enamel, the gold. My mom helped me have it resized. It's been in my desk drawer for three weeks. I kept checking it was still locked."
I touched the pendant at my chest. The metal was warm from my skin.
"Why didn't you tell me you had it?" I asked.
"Because I was scared," he said, his voice dropping. "Not because I wasn't sure about you. Because I was sure. And I didn't know how to ask without messing it up. I kept thinking if I waited for the perfect moment, I wouldn't ruin it. I told myself delay was romantic. It was just fear."
I let that sit between us. The engine hummed. Outside, a gull cried.
"When you said 'we planned to announce it later,' I froze," I said. "Everyone smiled. They started clapping. Your mom — the younger one — she looked relieved. Like we'd finally done what she wanted. And I was standing there wearing something I didn't agree to wear, agreeing to a story I didn't write."
He rubbed his hands over his face. The stubble on his jaw caught the light.
"I know," he said again. "I saw your face when I said it. I panicked. They were staring. The older woman had her hands over her mouth. I thought if I said it was a misunderstanding they'd think we were lying about being together at all. I thought the lie would protect us."
"It protected you," I said. "It left me holding the line. I had to smile through breakfast and watch them toast us while I had no idea if you even wanted this now, or next month, or ever."
"I want it," he said, quick, clear. "I want you. That hasn't changed. But I should have let you speak. I should have said — this was put on us, we didn't choose this moment, give us a minute."
I stood up and walked to the dresser, needing space. My reflection showed the chain, the satin, the tired eyes.
"I need something from you," I said, turning back to him. "If this ever happens — if you ever ask me, for real — it can't be your cover story. It can't be because someone forced our hands or because the family needs optics. It has to be my words, too. Any announcement we make is in my voice, not yours. Not his. Not theirs."
He stood too.
"Yes," he said. "Anything we tell them comes from you first. I won't speak for us again without you."
"Say it plain," I said.
He looked me in the eyes, and for the first time that day his breathing steadied.
"I was going to propose after the cruise because I was scared to do it wrong," he said. "I lied about us planning an announcement and I made you carry that lie without your consent. From now on, no announcement, no story, no promise leaves this room unless you say it, in your words, when you want."
I felt my shoulders drop a fraction.
"I'm not ready to say yes to a real proposal yet," I said. "Not like this. Not on a boat where someone put jewelry on us while we slept."
"I know," he said. "I don't want a yes that was forced."
"But I'm not saying no to us," I added.
He nodded, and his eyes got wet. He didn't move to touch the chain.
"So we go up there united," I said. "We wear the rings because taking them off now starts another fight we can't control. But we don't pretend we're engaged. We tell the truth — that we care about each other, privately, without a public timeline. And we decide together what happens next."
He stepped forward and took my hand, careful, asking without words. I let him.
"United," he said.
From above, a voice called down the stairs — the younger woman's voice, bright, hosting. "We're ready for you two when you are!"
May you like
We looked at each other, still holding hands, the two gold chains glinting the same.
"Let them wait a minute longer," I said.
